“I remember when I got her,” I say, picturing the moment. “It was the morning after I fell at the end of the Dior runway. The most mortifying moment of my life. I couldn’t eat anything that morning. I mean, I never eat in the morning, but it’s different when you can’t. Anyway, I popped into the boutique before the Balmain show and there she was. I’d been hunting her down for months. London. Vienna. LA. She had just come in twenty minutes before I arrived. It was fate. And then my mom surprised me with the art for my birthday.”

I feel her tug on the bag, but I don’t let it go. Not yet.

She stares at me, waiting. “Thanks. Can I—”

“It’s like a breakup, you know. At least when you split with a guy there’s always the chance that you’ll have loud, sweaty make-up sex to cushion the blow.”

She forces a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll treat her well.”

She pulls again. I grip harder.

“She likes to be stored on a dark shelf. Cool, not moist.”

She nods slowly like she doesn’t know if I’m being serious or not, and when she starts to walk away, I’m on my feet without realizing it.

“Wait.” I lean over and check the inside pockets of the bag. “Okay. Sorry. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t leave a dime bag in there.”

She nods awkwardly and walks off.

I want to chase after her, tell her I’ve changed my mind and give her money back.

I can’t. I dig my heels into the floor and pull out my phone.

A shudder rolls through me when the message pops up.

Transfer completed.

By the time my driver lets me out by the pool, I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. I push into the garage and open the passenger door of my Audi. I reach under the seat and pull out a small black box. When I open it, it’s empty.

Fuck. I need a hit. Just one line. That’s it. One.

I don’t want to hear myself think. I don’t want to sleep.

I flip things around, check the backseat, the glove compartment. Nothing.

I open the trunk again; open the box one more time.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

I must have used it all the other night.

I lift my phone and glance at the time. I won’t be able to get to Mei fast enough to slide in that tiny gap she has between rehearsal and her show tonight.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I text her anyway, then throw the box against the door and scream until my throat goes raw.