By the time I’ve finished sucking the drink down, my knuckles are white on the side of the glass.

Angry. Why am I so angry?

I turn back to watch Gabriel smiling, uncertain. And James. There’s a standoff going on between them I’m not sure I understand.

I face the bar. Give me another, I say to Brian. He hesitates, but fills a glass and hands it to me.

This one goes down faster, and my head spins.

I glance back as Gabriel heads toward the bathroom. I head toward James.

That looked heated, I say.

James fiddles with a cigarette. Lights it. Blows out long and slow. Asks, Did it?

Eyebrow raised, he stares into the spinning lights. I recognize the pose. The posing. It’s what the others get. The ones who aren’t his friends.

I have to leave, he says in measured words. But you stay and have a good time.

Outside, my feet crunch broken bottles. Car horns wail. A cat in heat yowls. James’s heels clack in front of me like a metronome.

I catch up to him and grab his jacket. Spin him.

What the hell is going on? I ask.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. The mask drips off his face. His shoulders slump.

I’m sorry, he says. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Gabriel seems nice. You should be happy.

Some last bit of alcohol reaches my brain, and I have to lean against the wall. I struggle to wrestle James’s words into sense.

But? I ask.

James fumbles in his jacket for another cigarette. Puts it in his mouth without lighting it. Takes it out again. Nothing, he says. Really, Michael. I’m down, that’s all.

I see in his eyes how he’s on the edge of falling into the kind of funk that envelopes him like a shroud from time to time. And I watch his eyes dart from the wall to the street, to the rust-stained car with the NO RADIO, ALREADY STOLEN sign. Everywhere but at me.

He says, It isn’t you. I’m just…

He waves his hands. Lost, he says. I don’t know where I’m going.

The light on the corner changes to red. It reflects off James’s pouty lips and stupidly, I’m drawn in. Desperate and helpless, I do what I’ve never had the guts to do sober, I kiss him. Quick. One kiss to stop the hemorrhaging.

James freezes. Pales. Takes a step back.

Oh, shit, I say. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. The whiskey threatens to come out with my words.

No, Michael, he says, eyes still wide. You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with you. I just can’t…

His words trail off and we stand there, soundless for an unmeasurable amount of time.

I think of the boys. The girls. All the beautiful talented people who want to circle in his orbit. I know I’m no match for them.

That was stupid of me, I say, hoping the alcohol will numb the pain of his answer.