(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 33 - Trying To Escape It)

One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right.

There is a noise in my ears that will not cease. There is a desperation in my heart that will not fade. I focus on my steps to distract myself from thinking about how I was pinning my hopes on this meeting without even realising it; how I had set myself up to beg for her forgiveness, I had just been too naive to see it.

I reach the lift and press the button, and then take the stairs instead anyway. I keep my head bowed, praying no one will recognise me. The last thing I want to do is pose for pictures with fans. That's the downside of being public property - it's never about what you want or how you're feeling. It's all about their moment. Which is fine, most of the time. Just not when you're on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

I manage to avoid eye contact with anyone and scuttle through the lobby and out to my car without interruption. I get in the driver's seat, close the door behind me and press the central locking button immediately. A deafening silence ensues. 

Now what?

I raced all the way here on a whim, and didn't give a thought to what I might do next. I've just driven four hours in the car from London, and the thought of facing another four hours back, having to concentrate on the road, and other drivers, and the route, makes me want to scream. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and give in to my emotions. I don't know what to do.

I call Mum but she doesn't answer, and I know Gemma is working today. I feel lost.

I call my PA, and tell her where I am, and ask her to book me into a hotel nearby just for the night under an alias. My body feels like a dead weight all of a sudden, and I need to lie down and close my eyes and forget everything. I feel inexplicably exhausted.

She calls back in less than five minutes and tells me the name and address of a hotel. I don't know if I even thank her - I punch the postcode into the sat nav and reverse out of the parking space, drive around the small car park and turn onto the road. The traffic has eased a bit, and it doesn't take me long to reach my destination. As I turn into an underground car park my surroundings look vaguely familiar, but it isn't until I approach the check-in desk that I realise it is the same hotel we stayed in when we performed here a few months ago.

The night I sang to Jess in front of the entire stadium.

The night I told her I loved her.

Fuck.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"Um, yeah, Mick Greenberg," I reply, clearing my throat. The receptionist taps on her computer while I silently pray for a different room to last time. Or the same room. I don't know if it's what I need, or if it would break me.

She hands me my key card and directs me to the lift, which brings me out on the top floor. I walk all the way to the end of the corridor, my heart pounding, and slip my card into the door.

It's the same room.

Of course it is.

I let the door shut behind me, throw my keys onto the table and sink down onto the bed. I close my eyes and try to shut out the memories of the last couple of hours, but they keep coming back to me. 

Why are you here, Harry? I told you I didn't want to see you.

My boyfriend is coming up tonight from London.

I loved you, Harry.

It doesn't exactly come as a shock to me that you've taken drugs.

I don't want to listen to how you had the hots for some size zero bitch and fucked her in your hotel room because I wasn't pretty enough to keep you satisfied.

My chest heaves with a sob.

Just go, Harry.  

What did you expect me to do, throw my arms around you and take you back? Nothing's changed, except you snorted a couple of lines of white powder into the bargain.  

It hurts. My whole body hurts.

I was wrong to trust you.  

You just do what you want and everyone else has to fall in with it. I'm sick of being your little puppet that you think you can control. 

You ruined me, Harry! You ruined me with your lies and your runaway dick! You did this. You broke my trust, and you can't fix it.  

My heart feels like it is splitting in two. Is this why it's called heartbreak? 

My phone rings, loud and shrill, penetrating the heavy silence. 

It's Karen. 

She is the last person I feel like talking to, but something tells me I shouldn't ignore this.

"Hi Karen," I sigh.

"What are you doing in Cardiff? And more importantly, did you know you had been pictured in your car with Jess?"

My heart stops for a moment. "What?" I yelp in dismay.

"I'll take that as a no," she responds dryly.

"Who took the pictures?"

"A fan. They're not very clear, but there's no mistaking the two of you. The Twitter update accounts have sent it viral. Are you back together?"

"No," I reply, bluntly. "No, we're not."

There is a pause.

"Oh. Sorry," Karen apologises. "Well, you should probably let Jess know you've been spotted, so she can be prepared for any paparazzi that might harrass her."

"She told me not to contact her again," I blurt. My voice sounds strangely thick, like my tongue has swollen or something.

"Right," Karen says, after another awkward pause. "OK. Not a problem. One of us can call her-"

"No!" I interrupt. "No. I'll do it."

"You just said -"

"I know what I said. I'll call her."

"Alright. You know best."

I should ask for that in writing.

"Thanks for letting me know," I add graciously.

After we hang up I ponder this for a while. It is almost half past eight. Jess will be on her date.

If they even made it to dinner. If he isn't already plunging into her, balls deep, making her scream his name...

I rake my fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp, trying to create a distraction from this new torment. I can not let myself go down this route. It's an easy path to self destruction.

Instead I pick up my phone and open our message conversation. I can't believe I'm breaking my promise to her that I made only a couple of hours ago already. But I couldn't let someone from Modest call her, like she is nothing more than a name on the books; a faceless client, an inconvenience. She is worth more than that.

I'm sorry, I know you said you wanted a clean break but someone has tweeted a picture of us in my car earlier and it's gone viral. The update accounts are all over it. Just wanted to warn you. Sorry for upsetting you today xx  

It's the quickest message I've ever typed. I don't overthink it, I just press send, and watch it move to the bottom of the thread. I watch the screen for a few minutes, waiting for her to read it. 

This is ridiculous. I'm pathetic. 

I turn my phone face down and switch on the TV.

Maybe she isn't replying because she really is in bed with him.

Fuck this, why is that all I can think about? 

My mind scrambles back to that awkward conversation outside her office earlier. I may be wrong, but I got the impression they hadn't slept together yet. But she said he was coming to stay in her room with her, and there was definitely only a double bed. 

I can't bear the thought of him touching her, trying his best to please her, not knowing what she likes, but being so damn smug that he gets to be the one to do it...

My phone beeps and my heart lurches. I snatch it up with trembling hands.

Nothing surprises me anymore. Cocktails are the way to deal with it, I have discovered. They're a good distraction! Haha.

I am sweating as my fingers fly over the buttons on my screen.

Just be on the lookout for paps. It wouldn't surprise me if they were hanging around Cardiff now they know we're there. Sorry for dragging you into this again. Sorry for everything xx

Please don't hate me. Please be OK. 

Nobody can drag me down! NOBODY NOBODY. Haha.

Oh my God. Is she drunk? With him? She mentioned cocktails. 

Fuck, if he takes advantage of her while she is vulnerable I will drive my car over his fucking head.

I'm ringing her before I've fully realised what I'm doing, and it's too late to change my mind now. She doesn't answer of course, but sends my call straight to her voicemail.

I'm going out of my mind.

Are you drunk? I type. I'm worried about you. Are you alright? xx

Her answer is immediate: the bubbles appear before I have even exited the imessage app.

I'm SWELLLL!!! Yes I'm drunk it's great thanks for asking how are you?

Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no.

I can only draw on my own first-date experience with Jess when she got drunk. We had sex.

I don't mean this to sound judgemental, because that night was the start of something so amazing, but the fear that she will do the same thing tonight makes me want to rip my hair out.

She was in a bad way when I left her, and it was because of me. What if she's still upset? What if she's still hurting, and she thinks that seeking solace in this Adam is the way to make her feel better?

I feel physically sick. My insides are trembling.

Are you with your boyfriend? I text her, and then I send another one immediately after: Why are you getting drunk?

Yes. Trying to enjoy my date. Leave me alone, she texts back.

She has to be drunk to enjoy her date?

You have to be drunk to enjoy your date?

None of your business

Well I suppose I deserved that.

But her response also tells me I have hit the nail on the head: she does have to be drunk to enjoy it, because she isn't happy, for whatever reason. I don't want to be arrogant and assume she is unhappy because she is hankering after me, but I'm trying to be realistic. I turned up on her doorstep, out of the blue, uninvited, as she so hilariously put it, and delivered a pretty big bombshell. She was absolutely devastated, and I made her relive every moment of our heartbreak. It's no surprise that she might be unhappy.

But if that means she will fall into his arms at the end of the night... I have to stop it. I can't let it happen. Not only will it kill me, I know it will mess her up if she does it for the wrong reasons. She doesn't do one night stands, and she doesn't sleep with people she isn't in love with. And she's already admitted they are only just dating. 

I stare down at my phone, trying to think how to word this. All I want to do is beg her not to sleep with him tonight, but I fear her wrath if I dare say something like that. I don't have the right to ask this of her. I don't have the right even to bring up something so personal.

Please don't sleep with him tonight xx

For fuck's sake, why did I just send that? What the hell is wrong with me?

The message is read a few seconds later, and I wait for the bubbles, and the impending fury.

Nothing.

She read me off.

Jess

No answer.

Please

It's read. No bubbles. I'm becoming more frantic.

You'll regret it, please don't do it when you're drunk xx

Jess xxx (I send this immediately after the last message.)

A minute later they've both been seen. Still no bubbles.

I know you're reading these, please just let me know you're OK xxx

Oh God, what if she's passed out somewhere and he takes advantage of her? Not my beautiful, sweet, innocent girl... please no.

If I knew where they were having dinner, I would go down there and look for them to make sure she is OK, but I haven't a clue. I wouldn't even know where to start. I feel utterly helpless.

I stare at the wall, my mind racing with thoughts that make me nauseous, before my phone beeps, snapping me out of my trance.

I'm fine. Stop texting me. Leave me alone.

I let out a cry of relief, and feel stupid for overreacting and assuming he had hurt her in some way, but my happiness is shortlived as I am now plagued with images of her writhing on her bed with a tanned, built, blond-haired man (who looks suspiciously like Gary), eliciting soft moans of pleasure from her mouth, her body trembling from his touch...

For fuck's sake.

This is killing me xx, I type, but the message isn't even delivered, much less read. I wait in vain, and after five minutes I swipe my screen and call her.

"Welcome to the O2 Messaging Service."

I end the call furiously and throw my phone on the bed.

She's turned her mobile off. She's turned it off, and she's spending the night with him. She's with him right now, doing... whatever they're doing.

I want to charge down there to the hotel and bang on the door to stop them. I want to demand that she follows her heart and gives me another chance, because loving each other is enough, if only she would just let me prove it to her.

But I can't.

I promised her I would listen to what she says and accept her decisions, and not charge in taking over like I always do. I have to keep that promise, because if I do go charging in there, she will only hate me more. It's a no-win situation.

And there has never been more at stake.