Mark’s frenzied thrusting was making my Mary Poppins headboard pound against the wall, and all I could think about was the marks it would leave on the paint. We had met while my ears were ringing at some loud club, but stripped of vodka and smoke and Guetta, heat and chemistry were replaced by a slobbering tongue two inches off target and excruciatingly unenticing animal jerks. I tried to concentrate on the fact that, from certain angles, he was a dead ringer for that hot-boss guy on Ugly Betty. But ecstasy had rendered his face ugly; scrunched up and gasping, he repulsed me.

‘Okay, we’re done. Get off me.’

He looked dazed. ‘Huh, what?’

‘This isn’t working for me right now, sorry.’

Then, because he said nothing, ‘Sorry.’

Shit, that didn’t really sound genuine. Oh well.

‘Tara, what’s wrong?’

The hurt concern in his voice made me recoil even further. Recoil to the point, in fact, that I then sprung out, straight towards anger. At what exactly, I don’t know. I mean, it was ostensibly because he had ruined what could have been a night of fun and then, instead of coming up with some redeeming, igniting rage of his own, squelched whatever chance there was of resurrecting lust with a cold dollop of greasy saccharine. But I couldn’t be that, that, well, whatever—selfish, irreverent, base, insensate—could I? At least not demonstrably so, no.

I wimped out and bowed to humanity’s goddamn code of conduct.

‘It’s just— I just have a lot on my mind, Mark.’

‘Oh okay, I see. It’s not really me, is it, babe?’ His voice softened, tendered. ‘You just don’t want to get even more attached and then have to leave.’

Apparently overwhelmed by emotion, he honed in for a hug. Ducking, I stroked his chest and pretended to sniffl e. At least he had perfect abs. I recalled him saying something about being a physical trainer; guess that explained it.

‘Yeah, and you know, I only have a couple of months left here. So, yeah.’

‘It’s just two months now?’

About seven, actually, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘Mmhm. I’m graduating early.’

‘Well, know that there is a heart here that already misses you very much.’

Miraculously, the welling urge to retch got expelled as a sob-like sound.

After he left, I sent Asher a text:

Who decided being kind to people was more important than being good in bed?

He replied with a laughing emoticon and an instruction to meet him at Jack’s in fifteen.

We came out in our Halloween best. The Lady of Shallot, a sexy ringmaster, white Grace Jones and a horse.

Asher and Jane had found a deserted children’s amusement park that was housing an all-night rave. The inappropriateness of it sat nicely with us, so Darya and I forked over a hundred dollars and stepped in.