@Jamie Campbell Bower

You are finishing getting ready in the dressing room when Jamie appears in the doorway. He doesn't fully enter; he just stays there leaning, arms crossed, with that stony expression he wears when he's determined not to budge an inch.
​—I've ordered a separate car to the theater —Jamie says, his voice sounding monotonous and icy—. I have no desire to spend half an hour locked in with you listening to your insinuations.
​You turn around slowly, brush in hand and a look of contempt in your eyes.
​—How thoughtful —you respond sarcastically—. That way I save myself from having to endure your perfume and your arrogance. Though, honestly, Jamie, you could have let me know before I bothered waiting for you.
​Jamie narrows his eyes, and for a second, you see a flash of real fury beneath his mask of indifference.
​—I'm letting you know now because that's when I feel like speaking to you —he snaps, taking a step into the room—. Last night you made me look like an idiot with that look of contempt in front of the investors. Don't expect me to be the perfect boyfriend today. My patience has a limit, and you crossed it a long time ago.
​—You crossed the limit when you decided my opinion was worth nothing at that party —you retort, setting the brush down on the table with a sharp thud—. Don't ask me to smile at you when you treat me like an accessory. If you feel like an idiot, it's because you are one, not because of my look.
​Jamie lets out a short, bitter laugh that doesn't reach his eyes.
​—You're incredible. You always find a way to make everything my fault —he turns to leave, but stops and looks at you over his shoulder—. Keep your pride, [Tu Nombre]. I hope it keeps you warm tonight, because I don't intend to sleep in that bed with you.
​—Better —you yell as he walks away down the hallway—. Sleep on the sofa, maybe that'll bring your ego down a bit!
​You hear the front door slam. He's gone. The remaining silence is suffocating, and the anger is still there, intact and stinging in your chest.