~~ Interlude ~~

You step from the car and you are already drunk.

You pull the money clip from your breast pocket and throw notes at the limo driver, laughing as you insult his family, calling him ugly, a dog. His profuse thanks follow you and your friends as you pile out, though you are indifferent to his words. The money you leave behind is far more than he charged.

One of the girls stumbles on the gutter, almost breaking a stiletto. There are shrieks of laughter as she is pulled to her feet. The bouncer sees everything and ushers you inside regardless, your money clip a staff parting all seas. You ascend the staircase.

Noise. Darkness. Pulsating light. You take the highest view with the widest spaces, a king surveying the mass of strobe-lit bodies writhing two stories below. The DJ’s stage, streaks of colour. You fall into a lounge and let the others argue over who gets to sit next to you. The hostess brings you drinks in crystal bottles. You shout, laugh, decry, proclaim, smash a glass against the wall. Everybody loves it. Hao telekinetically spins the pieces together over the table, Xue leans in close with her tongue between her teeth and fingertips of bright blue flame, sculpting something melting, formless, pure. You watch her work, mesmerised, as Sky drapes one long, smooth leg over yours and whispers enticements in your ear, her satin dress gliding in the violet light.

More drinks. The sculpture is done. You push up, stumble, spill champagne over the railing. There is an argument, pushing. The sculpture is destroyed. The quarrel fades, quick as it came. The hostess returns, the hostess sits. You squeeze a hand around her thigh. More drinks, more laughter, then conspiratorial whispers and grinning nods. You peer deliberately away as Sky takes a shard of glass and slices the flesh beneath her left breast tissue while others stand keeping watch, blocking line of sight of any bouncers. You turn to see her wiping blood from the plastic packet, the incision still exposed but already sealing. She winks at you while everyone’s backs are turned, in that brief window while the wound closes. She thinks it stirs something in you, that you like pain, you like watching. You don’t. Unbidden, thoughts stir in your head of men restrained in bright rooms with open mouths and empty eyes.

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A white powder arranged in lines on the table. You lean in, lean out, feel a frothing sting like baking soda bubble up your nose and burn your nasal passages, a bitter slick on the roof of your mouth. More drinks, more shrieks, more envy. Then you descend from your kingdom through a thudding, light‑flecked maelstrom into the heaving mass below.

You are dancing; no, swaying; no, jumping. Your head has lolled back, you cannot move. Words are swallowed by the pulsating sky, each boat detached in this sea of people. Some no-one jostles you and your friends turn on them for you. Your eyes barely see, drift indifferent towards the stage as your reputation almost descends to punches.

Then you see her. Her.

Long blonde hair, a waterfall of platinum; immaculate. Tall, chest heaving in the bass, skin like cream and honey. Her dress is white, same colour as your jacket. You lock eyes. She smiles at you. And somehow you know. Somehow you just know.

Melody. She says her name is Melody.

~~ End Interlude ~~