“These are the girls,” Blaze said and then, “Where’d they go?” @Chrisss stepped back and scanned the area. He lifted an arm and gestured at two men, standing bar-side in black and red leather jackets. They returned and @Chrisss arranged us all in a crescent, the men at either edge, arms around Girl and me, Blaze and Jake in the middle. I felt Jake’s hand on my waist. Below it, the new man’s palm: calloused. Girl felt far away and too fucked up. I waggled my jaw, heard it click.

“Everyone freeze,” @Chrisss yelled. The camera shot bursts of light, over in seconds. The man took his hand away. Jake didn’t. “Nice,” @Chrisss said. He had Girl pose alone, then me.

I was wreathed in neon. I was prostrate at the Rainbow Room, draped over the Las Vegas craps table, then posed over a pool of angry koi. Every image on my grid was in me and from them I knew where to go: gut tucked, elbows in, shoulders out, hips pitched. I sucked Blaze’s weed pen and exhaled its vapor, a heavy metal cloud. @Chrisss lowered the camera to see what was good and it was everything. He held the screen for Blaze, who blew smoke at it and nodded. Ella had appeared and looked too. Girl angled toward them all, and I wedged myself between her body and Jake’s.

Jake said, “Want to go to the VIP room?” a whisper just for me. I looked at Girl, thought I should stay. “Let me steal you,” Jake said, and handed me a drink. I sipped, watched Girl. He tugged my arm. I had perhaps hesitated too long. Because Ella took Girl’s hand, whispered in her ear, and they moved in a different direction. I sipped again, felt my legs begin to slur, every step an effort as Jake led me through the party. It parted for us. It tipped, turned sideways. I ditched my glass to hold his hand with both of mine. At the elevators, he nodded to security and they nodded back. Doors parted. We stepped into a silent box. When it lurched to take us down, I fell into Jake and he called me baby, took my face in both hands, kissed it all over. “Where’s your drink, baby?” he asked. I couldn’t answer, couldn’t remember. He propped me in the corner and reached in his pocket for a vial. It had a sticker on it. He held out the spoon.

“What’s that?” I asked and bumped before he answered, something that burned, harsher than 2CB, more chemical than cocaine. I made a face.

“Again,” he said. “It’ll get you right.” Again, I inhaled. My nose closed. When he kissed me, I couldn’t breathe.