(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 71 - Bringing My Demons Out)

It's a strange feeling the next morning, waking up technically unemployed. Last night was an emotional milestone but I'm feeling bright and excited about the future, particularly the next couple of months. Mum and Robin stayed at my house last night, and once Jess has left (she has plans with the Wicked Witch of the West) I cook us brunch before we all head into Covent Garden to do some last minute Christmas shopping. Although I have bought Jess a new car, I want her to have some other presents to open on Christmas Day and I also need a couple of things for her family. I know Mum wants to get her a couple of things too so we spend a leisurely afternoon browsing the quaint little shops and return home in the dark, laden with bags and parcels. I have taken the liberty of digging out a spare set of keys to my house and have now purchased a small gift box for them to go in, should I ever get the courage to broach the subject about moving in together. After Mum and Robin have left I pour myself a glass of wine, order a pizza and begin wrapping all my presents, including the gift box containing the set of house keys for Jess.

Once I'm done with wrapping, eating and drinking, I plug in my laptop and fire up my emails. I'd forgotten all about my brief conversation with Alex, the photographer, last night, so I'm confused for a moment when I see an email in my inbox titled 'Sheffield photos'. There is a brief message from him, thanking me for taking the time to talk to him last night and hoping I like the pictures he took. I open the attachments and begin scrolling through. There are about twenty; some of me singing and some of Mum, Robin, Gemma, Jess, and other members of my family. They're really good - clearly this guy has a flair - and I'm about three quarters of the way through when one of them takes my breath away. It's a photoshopped image of me and Jess named 'Starry Eyed': both are closeups and we're facing towards each other; me with my microphone, singing and looking down towards her, a coy smile on my face, and Jess looking up towards me, the most radiant smile on her face and her eyes sparkling. It's absolutely incredible. I have a quick scan through the rest but this one is definitely the best one. I have to have a copy of this. Jess will love it.

I email him straight back and ask if I can buy it, then spend ten minutes staring at the image, taking in every fraction of it from the reflection in Jess's eye to the tiny baby hairs on her cheek, the creases at the corner of her eye thanks to her smile to the curve of her jawline, smooth and soft. I stare at her blonde hair shining under the stadium lights and can almost hear the lyrics of Perfect, the words that were written about her... so many words were written about her.

And then I am struck with inspiration, and I open my Sent Items and hastily reply to my own message to Alex, asking if he can edit this image specifically for me, as I have the most amazing idea that I know Jess would love, and would make the most perfect gift for her birthday in January. I just hope he can do what I want. I'm elated the following day when he emails me back asking me to send him the lyrics I want to include in the picture, and assuring me he will make it his priority and will have something to me by early next week. 

Jess's office finishes for the Christmas break on Friday, and when I speak to her on Saturday lunchtime she is miserable thanks to a stinking hangover and insists she doesn't want me to see her in such a sorry state. Although I'm tempted to race round to her flat with a care package, I also remember her previous comments about me respecting her own space and listening to her, and force myself to refrain, instead heading to the gym for a workout to keep my fitness up.

I'm desperate to see her by Sunday morning though, and ring her just after eleven a.m. to tell her I'll be picking her up in an hour and taking her for Sunday lunch at the pub next door to my house. She gladly accepts and, feeling giddy, I slip the little gift box containing the house keys into my pocket just in case the conversation goes in that direction.

"I can't believe I've never been in here before," she muses as we are seated at a table in the corner, tucked away from the rest of the busy restaurant. "It's so quaint and homely. I love it."

The waitress brings over a bottle of my favourite red and while Jess peruses the menu I surreptitiously finger the little box stowed in my back pocket, checking it hasn't fallen out between us leaving my front door, walking a few feet and sitting down here. A twinge of nerves prickles in the pit of my stomach. 

"Have you already decided?" she asks, looking up at me and nodding own to my own menu lying unopened on the table in front of me.

"Um, yeah, I'll have the roast dinner," I reply.

"Is it good? Have you had it before?" 

What if she notices the box in my pocket and asks what it is? What will I say?

"Yeah, all the food's good here," I nod. "What are you having?"

No, don't be stupid, how would she see something that is literally under my arse cheek right now? For fuck's sake.

"Well, since you recommend it I think I'll go with the roast too," she decides, and closes her menu with a snap. She hesitates for a second, picks up her wine glass and takes a tentative sniff before attempting a sniff. I can't help grinning.

"Still delicate?" I enquire, referring to yesterday's hangover.

"No," she insists, smiling indulgently.

"Should think not, you lightweight," I tease. "It was almost forty eight hours ago."

"At least I'm a cheap date," she shrugs. "A couple of glasses and I'm anyone's. Well, not quite anyone's," she corrects herself as I raise one eyebrow in an exaggerated fashion.

"I hope not," I declare, reaching across the table and brushing my finger against the back of her hand. "I'm not sharing you."

She doesn't even hesitate and links her hand with mine. If she's worried about anyone noticing us, she's not showing it outwardly. (We immediately break hands as the waitress approaches our table: while we've relaxed a little, there's no need to blatant.)

"So are you looking forward to your holiday?" she asks once our order has been taken and the waitress has walked away.

"Yeah," I answer truthfully, although hesitantly. "I'm a bit nervous to be honest. I'll be glad when the talks with Irving and Jeff are done and dusted. I'm hoping we can get those sorted as soon as possible so I can relax. And Kendall's been giving me non stop abuse since she confirmed she was coming too. Her boyfriend can't join us, so no doubt she'll spend all her time taking the piss out of me."

"I didn't know she had a boyfriend?"

"That's because she's kept it under wraps and out of the public eye. He's a basketball player - Jordan Clarkson?" I look at her, waiting for a nod of acknowledgement but Jess shakes her head, none the wiser. She isn't really into American sports I suppose. "But as soon as the media gets wind of it, it will be front page news, and they're trying to take things slowly," I continue. "They haven't been together long and so far no one has a clue about their relationship. She's a bit disappointed you're not coming, actually. I think she was hoping for a girl to hang around with, as Glenne will probably be with Jeff the whole time."

I don't know if I should tell Jess that Jordan has been moaning about me and Kendall going on the same holiday. He's not exactly happy about it according to Kendall, given that she and I used to date a few years ago, but as far as I am concerned (and I think Kendall shares this opinion) that's his problem. We've never given him any reason to be jealous, and I don't want Jess to think there's anything to worry about, either. 

"Are you looking forward to your holiday?" I ask her.

"Yes and no," she sighs. "I know it will be great fun but I also know I'm going to miss you like crazy the whole time I'm away."

A warm glow spreads outwards slowly from the pit of my stomach.

"We can facetime," I smile, taking her hand again across the table. "And ring, and text. I'm going to miss you too. Which is why I want to spend as much time with you as I can this week, before I go. Do you have any plans?"

"Nothing concrete," she replies. "I was sort of waiting to see what you were doing, and I can fit in with whatever."

"Ok, well...," I pull my phone out of my pocket. "I'm guessing you're planning on seeing your parents at some point? Will you be going to their house, or to your brother's or something?"

"To my parents," she confirms. "Calvin is spending a few days there too, so it'll be nice for all of us to be together. What date are you planning on heading up to your mum's?"

"Maybe the day before Christmas Eve?" I suggest. "I'd like to hang out with some of my friends from home, like a boys' night maybe. But I know that won't exactly be much fun for you," I add.

"Don't worry about that," she says dismissively. "It's important you spend time with them while you can."

"It makes sense to visit your parents on the way up to mine," I put forward. "To save making two journeys? If you want to, obviously."

I don't want to call all the shots here. Jess spending time with her family is just as important as me spending time with mine.

"I completely agree," she nods. 

"We can sync our calendars, if you want," I offer, once Jess has rung her mum and arranged for us to go up and see them tomorrow. "I know that's a really geeky thing to do but considering our busy schedules -"

"Your busy schedule," she interrupts, grinning.

" - it makes sense to know where we're both going to be."

She agrees to this too and with a few taps our calendars are synced and I feel another warm glow that has nothing to do with the red wine and everything to do with this next step we have just taken in our relationship. It might not sound like much, but syncing calendars is a pretty big deal for me, especially in the privacy stakes.

Not as big a deal as moving in together however, and my stomach gives another twinge as our plates arrive and we pick up our cutlery and begin to eat.

"So, are you staying at mine tonight?" I ask.

"Sounds good," she nods, casually.

"Did you bring a toothbrush and a change of clothes?" I ask, half being practical and half teasing her, to see if she is on the same page as me with this.

"I didn't want to presume that I would be invited to stay," she grinned.

"You don't need an invitation," I smile. "I just sort of assumed you would. There doesn't seem any point in you going home, really." Ever. "Except to get your clothes and stuff."

Here it is. Here's the opportunity. 

The box of house keys presses hard into my arse as I shift position in my chair, already feeling the heat rising in my cheeks and my heart begin to pound.

"Yeah, I'll need to pick up all my Christmas presents," she is saying. 

Say it.

Say it now.

I open my mouth.

Oh fuck what if she says no and it makes the rest of the meal awkward? What if it ruins Christmas?

I close my mouth again, my heart now thumping painfully.

"What were you going to say?" she asks.

FUCK.

"Nothing."

"You were. You opened your mouth but then changed your mind."

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

"Just wondering what you'd got for your family for Christmas," I lie. I can even hear my voice tripping as the words come out.

She scrutinises me for a second. Heat floods my cheeks once more.

"What?" I ask, trying to be casual.

"That wasn't what you were going to say," she states, pointing her fork at me, a knowing smile on her face.

"It was." 

Act normal. Take a bite of food. Here is a potato on my fork, like the most normal thing in the world.

"Fibber."

"More wine?"

My fork clatters onto my plate as I reach for the bottle, emptying it into our glasses and swallowing quickly.

"I know what you're doing," she smirks. "Diversionary tactics. I wasn't born yesterday."

I can tell she doesn't want to push it, and she's finding this amusing. I can't help chuckling at this whole pathetic situation. "Stop nagging," I reply softly. "Shall we get another bottle of this wine to bring back to mine for the evening? I fancy getting snuggled up on the sofa to watch a Christmas film."

Her knee nudges against mine and she gazes at me across the table, an affectionate look in here eyes and I beam back at her, loving her even more for not being one of those girls who is suspicious and demands to know everything, for being the girl who lets this go and understands that maybe I was going to say something else, but it wasn't something that was bad, or would hurt her. I love her for trusting me, after everything we have been through.

"That," she declares, ten minutes later when her plate is clear and she has set her knife and fork down together, "was the best restaurant-roast-dinner I have ever had."

"Told you this place was good," I remind her, scraping the last mushy bit from my own plate before setting my own cutlery in the same position.

"And right on your doorstep," she enthuses. "Incredible."

"Did you leave any room for dessert?" I ask, and she gives a soft moan. 

"Are you joking? I don't know how I'm going to make it back to yours after this. I think I've gained half a stone."

"Behave," I scoff, casting my eyes down to her flat stomach with a huff of dismissal.

"I'll have to nip to the bathroom though," she sighs, and I point her in the right direction. She's gone for longer than I anticipated - there must be a queue - and when she reappears the waitress is right behind her, coming to clear our plates.

"How was your meal?" the waitress asks.

"Amazing," I reply. "When you have a minute, please could you bring the bill over?"

"Already taken care of," the waitress replies, with a brief nod towards Jess, who I notice is sliding her debit card into her purse and not looking at me.

I wait until the waitress has left the table before catching Jess's eye. "Hey - that was naughty. I invited you for lunch, you shouldn't have paid the bill."

"You did invite me, but I so rarely get the chance to pay for stuff like this because you're always one step ahead of me," she answers defiantly, her face a little flushed. "So I have to grab the opportunities when they come along."

I open my mouth to argue further, but then stop myself. I don't want to seem ungrateful, because it couldn't be further from the truth. I don't need her to pay for anything, ever. But just the fact that she wants to, and she goes to these sorts of lengths to, means everything to me.

"Well... thank you," I smile, getting to my feet as she stands to put her jacket on. "It was lovely, and very much appreciated." Love you, I mouth to her, and she mouths it back to me before turning to leave, picking up an unopened bottle of wine that is sitting on the table. 

"I got us some more wine, like you suggested," she adds, and I resist the urge to whip her backside with the back of my hand as we weave our way through the others tables to the exit.

Once back at my house I put Love Actually on and we curl up together under a cosy blanket on the sofa, the bottle of wine open on the coffee table. I can already feel my eyelids getting heavy from the excessively large meal and all the red wine, and barely move when Jess's phone sounds with a text message.

"Who's that?" I murmur.

"Adam," she answers, and immediately my eyes are wide open.

"Adam? As in your ex-boyfriend?"

"Well, we never really got off the ground properly," she replies. "But yes, him."

"Why is he texting you?"

Did that sound jealous and possessive? Oh God, I know it did. 

"He's just saying hi," she says, putting her phone back on the coffee table and settling back on the sofa again. She hasn't even replied to the text. "I guess he doesn't want things to be weird next week."

"What do you mean, next week?"

"Um, well, he's coming skiing with us, as part of the group," she begins softly, and a monster rears inside me, jealous and furious and uncontrollable.

"Why is he going?!" I snap. My eyebrows are knitted together and a frown is pulling at my mouth. I can't seem to relax my face.

"He's part of our extended friend group," she answers, in the same tentative tone, and the comment is out of my mouth before I have time to think.

"And you were going to tell me this when?"

"I'm telling you now," she says reasonably. "It didn't even occur to me to mention it before. It didn't register as important. Sorry, Squidge."

Didn't register as important. Some guy who fancies her, whom she was dating when she was at her most vulnerable (thanks to my fuck up) is going to be at some romantic ski lodge with her for a week. 

She touches my neck with her fingertips but I pull away, hating him and hating myself for acting like this.

"Harry?" she asks. "Are you cross with me?" 

"No."

Yes.

No. 

Not with her. With him. With myself. With this stupid situation. Why can't she just come on the yacht and then we wouldn't even need to have this conversation?

I need to stop thinking like this. It isn't healthy. 

"I didn't deliberately keep it from you," she is saying. "I just forgot he was coming. It wasn't important to me. I should have realised it would be important to you. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine."

I want it to be fine, but it isn't fine. Why didn't she just tell me about this when it was first arranged? Why did he have to text her? What even is his agenda anyway? Why would things be awkward? Does he know she's with me?

I hate admitting I'm jealous. I hate feeling  jealous. I know it's childish and pathetic and unattractive and I wish I could rationalise it but right now I can't. I want to yell at her, but really I want to yell at him. 

"So what's the score with this Adam, then?"

I can't even look at her, because I don't want her to see how pathetic I am.

"How do you mean?" 

"I mean, what's his deal? Why would things be weird between you?"

"Well, they're not as far as I'm concerned. We parted on good terms. We just haven't seen each other since." She's being calm, collected, rational. Everything I am not.

"Since what?"

"Since I broke things off."

"When was that?"

Instantly I regret this question. I know full well when she broke it off with him. I'm just being petty and awkward. I open my mouth to apologise.

"In Cardiff," she snaps, before I can speak. "After you turned up. I haven't seen him for months. You've got nothing worry about. He's a real gentleman."

Whoa, excuse me? A gentleman?

"A gentleman?" I sit up on the sofa, pushing her legs off mine and looking her straight in the eye, my heart thumping with adrenaline. "What do you mean by that?"

"I just mean I made an idiot out of myself that night you came to Cardiff," she says abruptly. "I got really drunk and embarrassed myself, and I was really upset. He didn't take advantage, but he could have done, quite easily. But he knew I was still hung up on you."

So he does know about me, then. That's something. Although some guys wouldn't hesitate to pursue a girl who they know is in a relationship.

"You have nothing to worry about," she says softly, her fingers touching my cheek, smoothing my ego with her gentle reassurance. I know I have nothing to worry about. I know she loves me. I'm being a plank.

"Sorry," I mutter, embarrassment rising in me at the way I have just behaved. "I didn't mean to be quite so..." 

Needy. Clingy. 

"It's fine," she says, cupping my face in her hands as I close my eyes at her touch. "I love you. No one else has ever come close. And Adam is a decent guy. He knew it wasn't what I really wanted, and he stopped me. He's no threat to us."

My eyes fly open again.

"Stopped you?" I repeat. "Stopped you from what?"

Her eyes meet mine and I see a flash of uncertainty, discomfort. She's hiding something from me, and I can tell instantly that it's something I'm not going to like. I feel sick.

"Well, I was drunk," she begins, her voice higher than usual, "and I decided - rather stupidly - that I needed to take my mind off you, and I thought that being with him was the way to do that..."

I recoil in horror, scrambling to my feet and backing away from the sofa, staring at her in disbelief. How could she have lied to me like this?

"Jess - you said... you said you didn't sleep with anyone else while we were apart!"

"I didn't sleep with him!" she argues indignantly, standing up to face me, her arms open beseechingly. "I promise you! He stopped me, to his credit. He knew I wasn't thinking straight and he didn't take advantage."

I feel bile rising in my throat at her words and take another step back from her. She threw herself at him? She wanted him, just hours after I had bared my soul to her and she had sobbed uncontrollably over the death of our relationship?

"You mean - you tried to? You wanted to? With him? How far did you go?!"

Instantly I regret this question, too. If she admits to having slept with him, I don't know what I will do. 

"No, I... Harry this is getting blown way out of proportion..." She is wringing her hands, her eyes shiny with tears.

"Tell me the truth," I demand, brusquely. "Did you have sex with him?"

"No!" she wails. "I told you I didn't, and I was telling the truth!"

I want to believe her, because the alternative is unthinkable.

"So what happened?"

She closes her eyes for a moment before answering. "I wanted to get over you. I wanted to forget you. I was a mess." 

You and me both.

"I got really drunk, and when we got back to the hotel I... I tried it on with him. I'm not proud of it - Harry don't look at me like that," she begs as I pull a face and turn away, rubbing my eyes with my hands as I picture her seducing him, and him smirking down at her, loving every second of being wanted, desired, by the most incredible woman on the planet. 

"You said you didn't sleep with him," I mumble, unable to turn around for fear of breaking down.

"I didn't!" she shouts, and I whip round to face her, unable to understand how she can be angry with me when I am so angry with her for wanting somebody else, albeit months ago.

"But you wanted to!" I shout back. "That's just as bad! And if he hadn't stopped you, you would have!"

"Yes," she agrees, tears streaking down her cheeks. "Yes, I would. And it would have been one of the biggest regrets of my life. And he knew that, and that's why he stopped me. He didn't want to be a rebound shag, and he respected me enough to stop me making a fool of myself, even though he wanted to do it. But he knew I didn't, not really. I'm sorry."

I feel physical pain, a stabbing sensation through my chest. The thought of her kissing, touching someone else actually hurts, deep inside my chest. And knowing that if he hadn't turned her down she would have had sex with him makes me want to rip off my own skin. It's worse that she kept it from me all this time, only for it to come out like this only days before she is going off on holiday with him. 

Silence stretches between us. She takes a step forward and slips her arms around my waist but I'm too hurt to respond. 

"I love you," she emphasises. "I never stopped, not even when I was so angry I thought I hated you. I still loved you. I wish I hadn't behaved like that with Adam, but I'm not perfect, Harry, and I never claimed to be. You and I weren't together, so I wasn't unfaithful behind your back."

Seriously, we're going there are we? We're resorting to bringing up Sara all these months down the line? I wrench her arms away from me and glare down at her. "Cheap shot."

She grumbles quietly under her breath and looks up at me with a hard expression. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. I've never brought that up since we sorted things out, and I don't intend to bring it up in the future. It's in the past and we've moved on from it. You're lashing out at me because you're hurt, I get it. But I didn't intentionally keep this from you. I didn't set out to deceive you. And you know me well enough to believe that."

Yes, I am hurt. Glad you fucking noticed.

"Can you also believe that if I'd thought it was this important to you, of course I would have told you?" she asks softly, and I make the mistake of looking into her eyes, into her soul. 

I fight the emotion rising inside me like the swell of a wave. "I just hate the thought of you with anyone else, or wanting anyone else," I admit. "It makes me feel sick, and insecure, and hypocritical because I know I made you feel like that when I cheated."

"Harry - "

"And I hate the thought of this guy hanging around you in some romantic ski lodge, knowing he turned you down when you wanted him, thinking he could have you if he wanted you, when I'm not there..."

"He couldn't have me," she insists. "And he's not like that. He's a decent guy."

I do NOT want to hear her defend this buffoon. I want her to hate him as much as I do.

"You've got nothing to worry about," she says again. "We're rock solid, Harry. OK, we argue about stuff sometimes, but you can't honestly think I would look twice at anyone else when I have you?"

Oh God. No of course I don't. Not really. Not now. And can I really be angry at her for something she did months ago, when we weren't together?

"No," I admit.

"Do you trust me?" 

After everything we've been through, there is no one I trust more in the world than her. The anger is slowly ebbing away, thankfully.

"Of course I do," I mutter, relenting and taking her in my arms again where she fits so perfectly and so comfortably. "I was just shocked, that's all. I didn't know about... you and Adam."

"There's nothing to know. I was stupid and drunk and wasn't thinking straight. And I'm so so glad it didn't happen."

"Sorry," I mumble, finding this so hard to admit but knowing I have to apologise because deep down I know I was out of order in reacting the way I did.

"No, I'm sorry," she says with a sigh. "I should have known you would be upset about it. I should have told you."

"No, I overreacted. I need to stop doing that."

I really need to stop doing that. 

"Yeah, well, I can be a brat sometimes. Neither of us are perfect. We both have flaws."

I'm so fucking lucky to have her. And I'm so fucking lucky that she understands me, and puts up with me and my stupid insecurities and childish tantrums.

"I love you," I breathe into her hair.

"I love you too," she whispers, lifting her head and pressing her lips to mine in the softest kiss. "Nothing and nobody can come between us."

Are we including me in that statement? Because the way I keep flying off the handle unnecessarily could cost me this relationship if I'm not careful, and if that happens there will be nobody to blame but myself.

---***---

It was six years on Thursday since I posted the first chapter of No Control on Wattpad. I never imagined I would still be writing Book 4, six years later! But here I am, and here you are, and I just want to say thank you for reading, especially if you have been around since the early stages and have stuck with the story all this time xxx