Phoenix

K grabbed my wrist and dragged me down the corridor; past a parade of superheroes, cartoon characters, rave kids, rock stars and showgirls.
'What is it?' I ask. Maybe she can't hear me over the music, maybe she's just ignoring me- either way she doesn't answer. She yanks me up the spiral staircase; the parade of costumed teens swirl below me,as if in a kaleidoscope. I suddenly snap back to attention as K pokes my rib.
'Look!'
We appear to be in a hallway full of couples making out. I scan the room for something noticeable; a showgirl grinding against a vampire; two rave kids heading for a bedroom; a schoolgirl removing a boy's shirt.
Oh.
A boy I had seen stroking K's hair less than an hour ago.
'Shit...'
Before I can say anything else, K is dragging me back downstairs, past a group of topless dancers, past the towers of cans in the kitchen and straight outside. She lets go of me suddenly, running into the night, arms flailing behind her like tan streamers. 'Fuck!' I her hear curse as she comes to a stop still. She sits on the wall at the top of the drive, drunkenly swaying.
'I thought... he was...' half-formed words spill for her mouth, the ends of sentences shrouded in alcohol. 'She's probably fucking him right now'
I hug her. It's all I can do. We sit in silence, mascara-streaked tears silently falling down her face. I can't tell what is drunkenness and what is heartache.
K is a complex creature- depressed, drunk, slightly anorexic- if there's a disorder she;s probably had it. But, like a phoenix in the flames, she always seems to rise above her internal dramas, turning up to a party looking more fabulous than any of us thought humanly possible. The one thing she really can't rise above is boys- she is essentially a hopeless romantic. Once she sets on them, that's it- she's theirs, irrevocably, even if they don't want her. Heartache in such instant attachments is almost inevitable, but can usually be drowned by masses of vodka and a new target.
K notices I'm shivering- I am, after all, only wearing a badly-thought out Ann Summers ensemble.
'Go fetch my bag.'
'Why?'
'I'm going home.'
I sigh, agreeing to her demands. Back inside, the heat and smell are suddenly overbearing. I crawl all over the house- how hard can an orange vinyl bag be to find?- but no sign. I ask around, but mainly just get blank looks or casual gropes for my trouble.
There's only one room left- the room which the boy just disappeared into.
No choice, I guess.
I throw open the door unabashedly, still worrying what i might discover.
No need for such worries, it seems- the room is full of people, the schoolgirl he was embracing nowhere to be seen.
'Is K alright?' someone asks.
'I saw her disappearing into the bathroom earlier- she's not bulimic again, is she?'
'Umm... no, no i don't think so. She's just... she's leaving.'
'What? Why?' The boy looks up, curious. Everyone waits for an answer.
'Not now,' I usher, 'Have you seen her bag?'