Method Acting

I’m drowning. Every frustration, every angry thought I have ever felt towards him and never expressed comes poring out in a torrent of verbal abuse. I’m up to my chest in a sea of thrashing emotional fury, and if the water keeps rising soon it will fill my lungs and drag me below.
“How can you call me insensitive? What the hell do you mean?”
All I’m aware of is an overwhelming desire to break something; maybe I’ll hurl a shot glass for the sake of its satisfying crash and dramatic flair. I’m always acting, even away from the spotlights and pore-clogging stage foundation, every second I’m aware of my expressions, tones, and vocal inflections. Especially now, when the scene calls for swollen, red-faced screaming two octaves higher than my usual tone.
“How can you say that to me? Fine, you obviously don’t love me! If you loved me, you'd never be this mean to me. Well, I can see this is never going to work anyway.”
He always looks as if nothing touches him; very little can get through that unflappable exterior, but I’m nothing if not persistant.
“You don’t understand anything I say! You never have! Why did I waste a year and a half with you anyway? Don’t stand there looking at me like a moron! Be a man and grow some balls!”
He was exasperating, just staring at me with those big, gooey doe eyes of his, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy-dog. He's always trying to melt my heart. Maybe he doesn't remember that this is the part where he starts yelling back at me, we shout back and forth for a bit, and then he realizes the error of his ways, I forgive him, and we have hot, steamy make-up sex. I’ll have to prompt him.
“Hey--”
“Stop being a bitch to me. You're always doing this to me, playing games, saying things you know will hurt me. Who are you really? I don't think I've ever known the real you. Is she in there somewhere? Do you even know her?”
The puppy eyes have vanished, replaced by a glowering mastiff.
What? Huh? That’s unexpected. I can improvise. No matter.
“I’m a bitch, am I? Well why don’t you just get out? Here’s your suitcase, now GO!”
He looks at me for a few seconds, then turns and leaves. He’s leaving. He’s…leaving.
“Wait.”
He’s gone. That wasn’t in the script…