I don?t know where I am.

It?s a club. The lights and the people tell me that. The music is blaring, a consistent thump that drums through my skin and into my bones. It?s louder than the pounding in my head -- it?s saving me from greeting the migraine.

Everyone is dancing. It?s a sea of half-naked people willingly drowning in a tide of sound. They sway, twist, fold, grind against each other without looking at faces. They?re all drunk. Drunk on booze, sex, and so many drugs.

I can?t tell which one I?m on.

There?s a half-empty bottle in my hand. Whiskey. I can taste it and cigarette smoke on my lips. There?s a patch of dried blood at the right corner. I can?t stop touching it with my tongue.

I move through the crowd like water between rocks, a snake slithering among animals too blind to the threat. Fingers touch me, bodies caress me. I ignore them all.

I near the edge of the chaos. I can see where the madness ends and faux sanity begins. Somewhere, at the end of a crowded bar, there?s a man. He?s staring. At me.

I should know him, but I don?t.

Something tells me to go. I listen, move back through the mass of writhing flesh. I don?t look to see, but he follows. I know he follows. No one stops me, but I know I can?t get away.

Hands touch me. Hands that I know but can?t remember. They travel my arms, touch my sides, slide across my stomach. The music intoxicates -- there?s something else in my blood, in my head, that tints everything a particular shade of black. I feel him behind me, pressing in close. I can?t help it -- my eyes close, head tilts back. I feel his shoulder. He?s taller than me.

I can?t tell how long this goes on for. It feels like forever. It feels like never. We?re moving together like we have been all along. He?s reading my mind, or I?m reading his. It?s the only way that we could be moving like this.

People press in around us. They want what we have. They can smell the perfection. We continue to sway in this timeless dance. I feel breath on my shoulder. I feel fingers at my throat.

My back is against a wall. There?s something warm in front of me. A body. His body. I can feel him pressing against my hips. We haven?t kissed but he is tasting the whiskey on my breath. The music is still blending everything to black.

And then I remember. I shouldn?t be here. I shouldn?t be here with him like this. I should hate him. Hate this man without a name. The way his hands are touching me -- I should break them both. His tongue is rolling over mine. I try to gag but only moan. Sickness rides with pleasure in my stomach, twisting the light until it blinds.

Steel bites my palm. The blast of cold freezes everything in place. An empty alleyway, a sky without a moon. There?s snow in the air. I want to smile, but find no time.

The noise the door made repeats itself. He?s there. I don?t want him there. As I turn to face him, the world blurs.

Yelling. I don?t know what words I?m spitting but they?re harsh, full of poison. His cut just as deep but I don?t feel them. I don?t feel anything. Everything is numb. He pushes me. I push him back. He pushes me again. My fist meets his jaw.

I can?t see.

I?m high up, standing on a flat roof. This one is higher than the others. The wind is angry. It stings. My skin is frozen -- I?m not wearing my jacket anymore. There?s blood on my knuckles, between my fingers. It?s just starting to dry.

I look down at my phone. It?s warm in my hand. There?s a list of names, alphabetical. Block letters, white against black. I scroll through them, leave a smear of red -- the light from the screen screams at my eyes. I don?t know what name to pick. I don?t know who to call. I don?t know who to ask for help.

I don?t know who any of these people are.