I try to ignore it and just keep playing. It’s not like I’ve never seen people do coke before, it’s just that I’ve never been so close to it. It was something I glanced from the other room at a party, or I saw people come out of the bathroom at a bar with white powder ringing their nostrils. I try to pay attention to my fingers and the way the stiff strings press into my calluses, but it’s so close. I feel like the dust will get everywhere. Tiny particles will cover my lips and get in my eyes.

He rolls up a five and snorts one of the lines and then another. It’s hollow and loud like his nose is a deep cavern. He shakes his head, blinks his eyes a bunch of times, and snorts again. His face is red.

“Oh, you know,” I say when he tries to hand me the rolled-up five, “I’m kind of tired. And I should hit the road early. I’ll just crash. I’m good right here.” I pat the couch.

“We haven’t fucked yet.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. I know what this is.”

My whole body shakes. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re all the same. Aren’t you?” he says, straightening his next line with the guitar pick. “You fuck for drugs. You’ll be gone in the morning. You’ll take the rest of my bag while I’m sleeping. I have to get mine now, so at least it’s a fair trade.”

I stand up and rest his guitar on the couch.

“I’m gonna go,” I say. I start walking to the door. He gets up and grabs my wrist so quickly.

“Don’t play games with me, April. You know how this works.”

His grip is tight. I twist my wrist to try to find a weak spot, but he squeezes harder and gets so close that I feel like he’s taking all the air away.

I back toward the door. He grabs my other arm.

“You look so young.” He tries to kiss me. I turn my head away. My back hits the wall. I can see my guitar and my bag by the door. I think it through. Picture it all in my head. It has to be quick.

“This could be so dirty,” he says. His breath smells like booze and burnt plastic. “I get the feeling you like it that way, don’t you, April?”