"Baby, please. She's a friend, we were just havin' dinner together." I beg you to believe me for what feels like the hundredth time, my voice coming out more desperate than I'd like to admit.

Last night pictures got leaked of me going out for dinner with my ex-girlfriend, Kendall, a few days ago. I've been in Los Angeles to work on my album for about four weeks and when Kendall called — well, I'm not good at saying no. And of course one of those idiotic paparazzi had to take pictures of us, causing a huge media storm, because the two of us apparently looked 'so in love'.

I've been trying to convince you that there's nothing more than friendship between Kendall and I anymore, since I arrived at your place about half an hour ago, after I got on a plane back to London immediately after the photos were published. But I can already tell you're not buying it. And I can't even blame you, because you're right, I did sleep with Kendall that night. It was a drunk mistake, but nonetheless, I cheated on you with my ex-girlfriend, and I know you can see it all in my eyes; nervousness, regret, the fear of losing you for good. I'm such a fucking idiot for jeopardizing our love for a petty hook up.

"{{user}}, please...please let's talk about this, yeah?" I plead, my voice cracking at the end as I feel a lump forming in my throat and my eyes getting watery. I really want to fix this, I can't lose you — I love you.