Melanie glared at Robert, her hand balled into a tight fist, manicured nails digging into her palm, to prevent herself from reaching out and slapping him right across his smug face.

Robert glared at Melanie, biting the inside of his cheek until he thought it might bleed to keep himself from shouting what a stupid manipulative bitch she was.

Tom, the director, looked at the two of them, squared off like cowboys ready to shoot. He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his eyes, trying to alleviate the tension building in his head.

“Mel. Rob,” he said calmly. “I know you two have your differences...”

Melanie snorted and rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest.

“Screw it. Let me rephrase that,” Tom snapped. “I know you two fucking hate each other.”

Melanie and Robert started like a gun had gone off. Tom was one of the rare breed of directors who didn’t swear at their actors. Hearing him curse had both of them staring at their director with rapt attention.

“You fucking hate each other. So use that. You’re actors. Channel your hate into passion. Attack each other. Dive into each other like you’re trying to suck the life out of the other one. I want to see teeth and nails and blood. Just fucking tear each other apart. Got it?”

The actors stared at Tom with the wide eyed expression of children being yelled at by an adult for the first time. They stood, shocked, for a few seconds before finally nodding and took their marks on the stage.

“Great,” Tom said, sitting down in his director’s chair. “3. 2. 1. Action.”