Huge amounts of my energy went into pretending to him, to Brigit and most of all myself that my drug use was as harmless as a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. And sometimes it was that innocuous. Say the words ‘drug addict’ and everyone immediately envisions a needle-strewn alley. But there were times when Brigit and I stayed in to watch a movie and shared a joint instead of a bottle of wine.

When Luke saw I had a problem he tried to help but instead of seeing a kind man who really cared, all I saw was a killjoy. Just before I went to rehab, he broke up with me.

Fast forward a year and a half, when I returned to New York and quickly realized I was in love with Luke—and he was in love with me.

However, I knew I needed to wait before sleeping with him again. Just for a while. My previous life had been all about instant gratification and it had done me no good. Things were different now. I was serious about Luke; it was important to try to do better.

Not that it was easy—Luke was so hot. Not to mention keen.

But when the night eventually came, and I was spread, naked, across Luke Costello’s bed, shyness paralysed me. I’d spent the previous weeks in my single bed in an all-women’s hostel, fantasizing about his beautiful skin, the shock of dark hair at his groin, the heat of his mouth on me. But the reality of his body, the undeniable want in him, scared me sideways.

Which didn’t make sense—we’d already done this countless times. Except we hadn’t—the me that had had wild sex with Luke Costello had been a different person. Now I was stone-cold clean and sober and didn’t know how to be present in my body. ‘Can we…?’ I pulled him towards me. I wanted this to be over, to be on the far side of it, just to prove I could do it.

‘Already?’ He shot me a look, his dark eyes confused.

‘Yes.’

My eyes squeezed tight, I felt his body slide over mine, then the fullness as he moved inside me. He paused, and groaned my name, tangling his hands in my hair, then began to move. Okay, okay, I can do this. I tried to let my body take over, to reduce it all to a collection of sensations.

‘Rachel,’ he panted on top of me, ‘open your eyes. Look at me.’

But I couldn’t. I just wanted him to come and for it to be done.

‘Don’t stop,’ I begged, arching my hips upwards.

He slowed, then, to my horror, pulled out of me, and in the sudden shock of emptiness I began to cry. I’d failed him, I’d failed us both.