"[Jack] presses a single finger to his lips, admonishing, and then raises his glass in the universal symbol. Around the room, there's a rippling of movement, expensive watches and diamond bracelets shining on wrists that reach, uncertainly, for their own glasses, even as Jack attracts contemptuous looks. Best not to deny a toast when it's about to be offered. That'd be rude. "You make me sick," Jack says clearly, and throws his glass to the ground." for the meme if you like :)
I built up the visuals of this scene to be theatrical and luxurious, showing the shining facade of the world that Jack despised on one level even when he expected to inherit it. Earlier in the scene he thinks of it as: these polished people and their polished talk, their showy charity, their good intentions and their pride and their hypocrisy and their fucking pretense at lives that mean anything.
This is a small piece of violence which acts as a turning point, because it’s what leads to Jack being summoned to David’s rooms, which is what makes the entire rest of the plot possible. Up until this point in the story I have been grinding mercilessly away at the reader with Jack’s feelings of resentment and boredom and loss and smallness and self-hatred, and if I’ve been doing my job, you should be just as desperate as Jack is for something to snap. To crack.
That glass hitting the ground should feel good.