In fact, she hadn't noticed, not until she rolled her eyes at him and then saw that her usually tidy flat looked like a hurricane had gone through it. A hurricane named Jack, apparently. He jaw dropped a little as she quickly scanned over her living room; she could've cried, she felt so violated, but she didn't. An outburst like that was exactly what he wanted, and she'd be damned if she gave it to him.
"Get your own bloody drink," she spat, and she didn't move an inch from where she was standing. "I'm not your fucking slave, and besides, you've helped yourself to every other sodding thing in my home." It was safe to say the Clyde had rubbed off on her a little bit; she never usually cursed like this, even when she was furious. But, there was a first time for everything, wasn't there?