I head back into the main bar, which is now back to being organised and polished with the departure of girls done and dusted and try to shake it all away with a head toss. My legs are weak, my hands are trembling, and a massive lump in my throat might be my heart trying to vomit itself out of my body. I feel nauseous and antsy, and I’m twisting the bracelet on my wrist, trying to remember that he can be someone else. It’s proof of that, proof he can be sweet and caring and not a psycho. ...