He barrelled through the door, holding a little baggie of white powder between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it back and forth.

“Who’s ready to get fucked up?” he shouted.

I threw myself back onto the couch, launching my feet into the air, kicking wildly. Jack sat down next to me, grabbing my legs and placing them in his lap. He retrieved the scales from the drawer in the coffee table and weighed a dose for each of us.

“I’ll get the toilet paper.” I hopped up and ran into the bathroom, grabbing a roll from the cupboard. I returned, tossing it at Jack.

“Thanks, baby.” He wrapped the white powder in a piece of paper, twisting the top like a tiny present as I settled next to him, extending my hand.

He placed the drugs in my open palm. “Cheers.”

As I popped it in my mouth, I willed it to stay intact. Despite my hopes, the toilet paper cracked, and the bitterness of the MDMA hit my tongue. I took a long gulp of beer, swishing it around in my mouth before swallowing.

“Why does mine always break?” I whined.

“Because you, my sweet little girl, are a rookie.”

The sun was beginning to set. Jack drew the burgundy curtains, sheltering us from the outside world. I lit two cherry-scented candles to mask the smell of dope and cigarette smoke.

My concept of time had disappeared.

“Do you feel anything?” Jack asked. “I think I’m starting to come up.”

It always began with a feeling of mounting anxiousness, then a pleasant warmth in my stomach. It was like I was in a car with a busted muffler that was hydroplaning. I felt compelled to share every word that flashed through my overfiring brain.

I was surrendering to the rapture when the urge to vomit struck. I ran to the kitchen sink, both hands gripping the edge. My shoulders convulsed as my head thrust forward, heaving. My fingers tingled from the cool, clinical feel of the steel.

Wiping my face with my sleeve, I faced Jack. He was tugging at the collar of his Velvet Underground T-shirt, and when he let go, it hung asymmetrically around his neck. I couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, I think I’m starting to feel something.”

I turned the music up even louder, the drums reverberating, building something inside me that I felt could only be alleviated with destruction. I jumped onto the coffee table. Jack followed. Dancing savagely, we thrust our limbs, leaping from the table to the couch to the chair, screaming along to the lyrics. The furniture slid and knocked against the walls as we hurled our bodies around.

The song ended, and in the silence, the energy in the room vanished. The space was dim, the candles burning, a bloodish-red glow emanating from the sofa. A slow song began. Jack extended his hand to me. “May I have this waltz?”

I reached for him and stepped close, wrapping my arms around his neck. He placed his hands on the small of my back, humming in my ear as we swayed. He smelled burnt, like something that had recently caught fire.