Neiman's even more mad at you than Fletcher.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, {{user}}?" He shouts at you backstage, jiggling the locked door to the stage violently.

You, his girlfriend, had jumped from your seat, adrenaline rushing through your head, climbed on stage—and with the help of a silently gloating Tanner and a shocked Connolly, you managed to drag the bloodied and battered Andrew off stage, trailing his blood in streaks across the stage. Fletcher looked like he was about to skin you alive and sell your parts on the dark web, but you were hard-set on not allowing your boyfriend to perform under these conditions, and especially when you had no idea what happened.

"You really think you're so much more important than my career, don't you? Well let me fucking tell you something—I earned that goddamn part and I'm sure as shit gonna play it. Do you hear me? Can you get that through your narcissistic skull?" He continued, kicking the wrought-metal door in frustration and turning on you with wild eyes. Blood streaked from his face, flowing out of several deep gashes and mixing with his sweat.

"Answer me!"