The man slots the bullet into the chamber and stares at you all in turn with small, strangely burning eyes, buried in the folds of heavy eyelids. He spins the barrel dramatically and it hurtles around its axis until it suddenly stops with a soft ‘click’. Then he hands the gun to you, the ringleader. (Yes, you were the ringleader, Kristina, even though you might have claimed it was Elisabeth. It was always you, the others revered your natural authority, your calm, centered way of being.)

No, says the man. She chooses.

You hold the weapon entirely still in your hands. You’d have felt power, trepidation, fear, exhilaration. A heavy silence settles over all of you. Did you try, in those moments, to work out the probability of a bullet burying itself in your brain if you were to raise the gun to your head and pull the trigger? It was one of the most moving things I discovered about you, back when I was discovering everything about you – your meticulous penciled probability calculations. You turn the gun over in your hand, its dangerous body cool against your sweaty palm. You hand it to Xavier.

You go, you whisper, taking in his handsome face as his expression goes from suspenseful to shocked, then quietly impressed. He takes the gun from you, slowly, and laughs softly under his breath. You can see a thick vein pulsate on his neck. You can still taste him in your mouth. Never was anyone more alive than Xavier in those moments (your own words, again). You glance around and your eyes meet Elisabeth and Trine’s terrified ones. They are both enraptured and horrified. You raise an eyebrow and Xavier takes it as his cue. With his right hand he lifts the handgun and presses its mouth to the soft hollow at his temple. He places his left hand in yours, his gaze not leaving yours for a second. Then he smiles slowly, that same smile he gave you when he first looked at you in the car, a smile that seems to wash his face in light, making a tough-looking guy look soft and easy to love. He raises an eyebrow almost imperceptively and everyone holds their breath. You give the faintest nod and Xavier pulls the trigger.

A soft click. A collective whoosh of released air from five pairs of lungs. Laughter. The sharp sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, quickly dismissed. Xavier’s tongue probing your mouth, the cheers of the others, another round of cocaine.

Just one more time, says Xavier. Come on, ladies, seems only fair. Elisabeth wants to leave. Trine is too tired, too high, to protest.

Yes, you say. Just one more. Then you take us home.