They wanted it to seem like they were helping me, carrying me, but really, they were pushing me out of the apartment. Propelling me forward into the hallway, and then we were at the top of the stairs. Everything seemed so loud, and I wondered if we’d wake anyone else up. I was trying to get them to stop, but the words came out garbled and wine-laden. They were talking to each other in worried, fuzzy breaths. I could see Hooks’s face clearly—he was the assertive one, taking on most of my weight. Emma was on my left, helping him, but her face was just out of view. My feet tapped on the padded stairs as they dragged me down, and all I could think was that I wanted to tell them I was sorry.

Sorry for what I’d done.

I was going down the stairs, fast.

Too fast.

The fingers cutting into my arm.

They were being careless, and I imagined their fingers slipping from my skin several seconds before it actually happened. Before anyone could stop it, I pitched forward, toppling the rest of the way down to the first floor, and the pain was simply just too much to bear.

• • •

When I woke up, someone was shouting.

“Paula!”

I was back in bed, and Keith was at my side again. The sunlight was gone, and in the back of my mind, I knew that I’d slept the morning away and part of the afternoon too. I felt sick, and my head throbbed, and I closed my eyes to feign sleep—maybe he would just go away.

“Paula!”

There were other words swimming in there too.

“I just got commission…art…”

I groaned and tried to pull the pillow over my face, but he pulled it away and kept talking.

“Art…wants a piece from me…”

I blinked, my eyes still tacky, the pillow wet again, and I covered my eyes with my hand.

“This week…Ryan Hooks.”

I sat up too quickly, and the room seemed to turn over, a full forward flip, but I turned my body to stare at him.

“What did you just say?” I asked.

“I said that Ryan Hooks just liked three of my vases on Twitter and then sent me a direct message. He’s interested in buying one.”

The mixture of emotion was too much: his sheer joy, the excitement pulsing from his body. He was watching me expectantly, waiting for me to say something, to react in some way.

“Paula?” he said. “Did you hear what I just said? You just went to his concert, right? You and Vanessa? What, did you put in a good word for me?”

I watched him, the horror of what he was saying washing over me, and suddenly, my stomach lurched, and I jumped up from the bed and ran to the bathroom.

He wheeled back to let me by.