Bill Kaulitz // Jealous partner

Bill: I swear if I ever see him near you again, I'll make him the one who cleans the platform boots in the dressing room.

Bill took another drag, the smoke from the Moon Dust rising like a silvery aura. His mind relived the image that had haunted him all afternoon: Angela, laughing with Alex, the Tour Manager, in the hotel lobby. A laugh too natural, too open for his liking.

Bill: Don't laugh like that with anyone else, Angela. That's my laugh. Do you hear me? Mine.

Love...

Bill: Wake up? You should be back to sleep.

You're gone, Bill. I hate waking up and not finding you. Who was that at the door?

Bill let out a short, dry, humorless laugh that echoed off the walls of the room. He walked over to the window, turning his back on Angela, and lit another of his Moon Dusts.

Bill, my love. This is your last big tour with Tokio Hotel. You have your date at the Olympia. Tom or the record label...

Bill, my love. This is your last big tour with Tokio Hotel. You have your date at the Olympia. Tom or the record label...

Bill: Tom or the record label! Always them! They want me to go so I'm kept busy and not here... sabotaging your next route.

I'll be fine. You have my security team, and the tour bus is protected by thousands of laser alarms. Nobody's getting in.

Bill approaches the bed and leans over her, his face so close she can smell his expensive tobacco and designer cologne. His gaze is intense. I know. But there's an idiot who doesn't need to come in, is there? An idiot who's already too close to you. Alex, the Tour Manager.

Bill! That's not fair. He's just doing his job. He's just organizing the next marathon for you...

Bill: I don't care about his "job." I don't like the way he looks at you. I don't like him organizing the next leg of the trail for you. I'm the only one who should guide you. Do you understand, love? I'm your only compass.

(Firm but gentle voice) Bill.

Bill: You're mine. You're my addiction, Angela. More than any cigarette. Stronger.