I hadn’t stopped moving all evening. Faces and voices blurred into each other and I could barely hear over the sound of my heart pounding, pumping too much caffeine through my veins. Sawyer’s was full and everyone was drinking and I did what I was best at. Two cappuccinos, latte, skim flat white. Pinot gris, three glasses. Vodka soda, gin and tonic, sparkling mineral water. Sav blanc, two glasses. Long mac, short mac, two flat whites. Two IPAs and three pilsners. Gin and tonic. Gin and tonic. Glass of shiraz, espresso martini, cosmopolitan, mojito. Weak flat white, strong latte, soy cappuccino. Four peach ciders, one apple. Glass of sav blanc. Glass of sav blanc. Glass of sav blanc. Amaretto sour and a long island iced tea. Short black. Beam and Coke. Mindful. Distracted. Sane. My hands were shaking and the glasses kept skittering onto the bar in a way that made Nic glare at me every time he walked past but I didn’t spill a drop and I didn’t miss an order.

Two long blacks, skim flat white. Glenfiddich, on the rocks. Two ciders, two glasses of semillon. Gin and tonic with lemon. Gin and tonic with lime. Gin and tonic with strawberries. Mindfulness.

It was stupid busy and Nic was doing bar service so I didn’t have to talk to anyone for what felt like hours, didn’t have to look up.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Oh, fabulous. That’s my favourite.’

‘What can I get you?’

‘Excellent taste, sir.’

‘What can I get you?’

‘Yes, we are fully booked but I’ll grab our bar menu for you.’

I never wanted it to stop, because every time it slowed my head started pounding and my vision blurred and the Thoughts came back, so many of them, and I had to grab something to keep from falling over. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, thinking about what would happen if I didn’t sleep properly ever again. About walking in front of a bus or falling off a train platform or leaving the gas on or tripping through a plate-glass window, nicking an artery. About slipping in the shower or drowning in the bath or tumbling down the stairs.

About how long my body could keep going before it just stopped.

And then I thought about Lina, about everything I didn’t want to think about—the wedding and Bali and Jenny and my mum, pinching the top of her nose in frustration—and I felt so nauseous I could barely stand.

I needed to try harder.