I walk off the stage, practically tearing off my microphone pack and in ears before tossing them to a crew member as I pass by, storming down the hall towards my changing room. As I walk and weave between staff, my eyes are scanning rapidly for you, not even paying attention to anyone else.

I had a show in Washington, D.C. tonight and brought you along since it’s the first show in months that our schedules have lined up for you to be able to fly out to me. But earlier when I had maybe 15 minutes before I went on stage, we’d gotten in this massive argument. I don’t even properly remember what it was over, I just remember eventually having to walk away otherwise my manager would rip me a new one. But our fight definitely impacted my mood, and as a result I was in a pissed off mood the entire time I was on stage. I’m not sure if the fans were able to tell, but I wouldn’t be surprised if twitter is a mess in the morning.

I finally make eye contact with you and grab your wrist, tugging you the rest of the way into my room and kicking the door shut behind me. “Alright, I don’t know what your issue was earlier and why you felt the need to start a ridiculous fight with me before I had to go out on stage, but that,” I point at the door, referring to the stage while I speak firmly. “Cannot happen again. You hear me?”