(No Control - 51. Where Do Broken Hearts Go?)

I stare after her for a moment, frozen to the spot in shock.

She just walked away from me. I can't believe it.

It takes me a second to react. With trembling hands I pull my phone out of my pocket. It takes me three attempts to unlock it.

I scroll to Jess's name and slide my finger across the screen to call her.

Please answer. Please answer.

After two rings she diverts the call, and I pull it away from my ear and redial. She diverts it again. On my third attempt it doesn't even ring, and my stomach drops to the floor as I fear she's switched her phone off completely.

Dale is touching my arm and muttering something to me but I don't hear him. Blood is pounding in my ears and my heart is thumping.

I try again, and this time it rings twice and diverts to voicemail. Fuck.

I take a deep breath and look up as Dale says, "Harry, we need to get out of here."

"No."

I type out a message to her, hitting the wrong keys repeatedly and having to backspace about ten times.

Please please answer your phone xxx

I run my hand through my hair, let out a shaky breath and try her twice more. Both times it does ten rings (not that I'm counting) before going to voicemail.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Why won't she fucking talk to me? I'm really starting to panic now.

I text her again.

I don't blame you for being upset but hear me out. It really isn't what you think, I promise xxx

"Harry," Dale urges. "You're going to attract a crowd if you don't get a move on. Come on."

"I said no," I reply, not rudely but firmly. "I need her to come back out here and talk to me. I'm going nowhere until she does."

I call her again and it rings another ten times before the voicemail message starts. I listen to it as the automated voice reads out her number, and wait for the beep.

"Hey baby, it's me, it's Harry..," I begin. "I'm so sorry.. please will you come back and just speak to me, that's all I ask, just let me tell you the full story."

I know my voice sounds small and pathetic but I don't care.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this sooner but I swear on my life I haven't seen her since I've known you. I should have told you last night when you asked me but I didn't want to ruin it, not after we'd..."

I hesitate.

"...we'd got so close... I know I seem to keep fucking up but I've never lied to you..."

OK, that's a lie as well. Be fucking honest, for fuck's sake.

"Well... apart from last night, but that was the only time I swear. I'm sorry. Please just call me. Even if it's just to yell at me. I just want to say sorry. I feel like shit, Jess. So, um, just call me back OK? Please. Bye."

I end the call and stare at the door to Departures, waiting for her face to appear.

It doesn't.

What the fuck is it going to take to get her to talk to me? Do I have to buy a ticket somewhere random just to get through to the Departure Lounge?

Wait, that's not a bad idea. In fact, that's a fucking brilliant idea.

If I have to buy a ticket to get through the gate I will, I text her, and stride over to the Virgin desk.

"What are you doing?" Dale hisses.

"I'm getting a ticket to get me through that gate," I hiss back.

"You don't have your passport," he reminds me.

FUCK.

I stop dead in my tracks and stare at him in horror.

"But... but..," I stammer, and he gives me a sympathetic look.

"Come on. Let's get back to the car before anyone else notices you. Security got rid of the paps but they're all outside waiting. People are bound to figure out someone famous is here."

"Hold on," I say desperately, and stare miserably down at my phone, trying to think of a way out of this mess.

Reluctantly (and feeling like a complete dick) I text Jess again.

Ok I don't have my passport. Don't make me shout the word BOMB

I have no intentions of shouting "bomb" but the thought makes me smirk, in spite of this horrible situation, and I have a feeling it will make Jess laugh too. Just thinking about her laugh gives me a stab of misery in the pit of my stomach.

"I don't need a passport for an internal flight!" I exclaim, suddenly excited. "I just need ID!"

"You're not going through that door without me, and I have no proper ID on me," Dale says firmly, and I remember with frustration that I didn't bring my wallet with me anyway, I just grabbed some cash before we left. So I have no ID either. For fuck's sake.

I try her phone again, but it rings out and I hang up in frustration. I can't believe this is happening. I'm so fucking upset. I just want her to hear me out, properly. I'll tell her everything about me and Taylor; anything she wants to know. But I can't do that all the time she's ignoring my calls.

Please pick up, I text her. I'm so sorry I've hurt you. Please don't get on the plane, just come back out and talk to me and if you still want to leave after you've heard me out I'll get you on the next flight home. Please xxxxxxxx

Yes I know I put like a bazillion kisses on that text. I've lost all fucking chill.

I wait a moment, and then call her again. It rings out. Fuck.

Jess please xxxxxxxx, I type, and just as I've sent it I notice my messages change from delivered to read.

Quick as lightning, I call her again. She's reading my texts! That's a good sign, right? That's better than being ignored! My heart is pounding as it starts to ring, and then sinks miserably as the call diverts to voicemail straight away. She buttoned me. She fucking buttoned me. Again.

I hear the beep and plunge in with both feet.

"Hey, it's me again, I know you're diverting my calls but I have to keep trying, I can't leave it like this," I plead. "Please just call me. I'm still here waiting for you, I'm not leaving until you either call me or I know you're not coming out. So, yeah, just call me ok? Bye."

I hate leaving voicemails.

"Harry, if you won't go home then at least let's get the airport to give us a private room. Somewhere we can wait out of sight," Dale pesters.

"No," I say, as calmly as I can. "I need to stay here, where she can see me if she changes her mind and comes back."

"I don't think she's coming back," he says awkwardly, and I try not to glare.

"She might. She will. She has to."

I stare at my phone again, but no texts come through from her.

I know you've read my texts, I type. I'm still waiting out here. Please come and talk to me or just call me xxxxx

I hesitate, and then send another one.

I'm staying here until your flight has gone in case you change your mind xxx

I want her to know I'm not going anywhere until I know for sure she isn't coming back.

Oh God, she has to come back.

I stare at the message thread that is now a flood of messages from me, and none from her. Weirdly, the last one hasn't even been delivered.

Oh fuck, please don't let her have switched her phone off.

With a churning stomach I swipe her name again, and I get her voicemail immediately, without it ringing.

I can't believe she's switched it off.

Please switch your phone back on baby xxx, I text miserably, and then realise of course she won't see this because her phone is off.

I rub my hands over my face in desperation. I don't know what else I can do. Her flight is being called.

I try ringing her a couple more times, but her phone is still switched off, so I leave another pathetic voicemail.

"It's me again, why have you switched your phone off?" I ask.

For fuck's sake. I'm earning stacks of stupid points today.

"Well... OK, I know why you've switched it off but your flight hasn't left yet so if you get this before you board the plane please, please just call me. Bye."

I keep trying you but your phone's off xx, I send. It's pointless really, but I can't just stand here like a muppet. I need to be doing something.

I could go home and get my passport and get a ticket on her flight, and go with her! She wouldn't be able to escape me on a twelve hour flight!

But do I really want to force her into being with me? The thought makes me sick. There's a fine line between a romantic gesture and controlling behaviour. And besides, I wouldn't make it back in time before the flight leaves. It's due to depart in half an hour. She'll be boarding now.

Dale is muttering into his phone, and a minute later Kevin appears with a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap. "Put these on," he orders, and I ram the cap on my head and feel grateful I can hide behind the sunglasses.

I call her repeatedly until my phone battery is bleeping at me, and I look at the departure screens and realise her flight is now showing FINAL CALL. This is it. She's really going.

"Harry, she's not coming back out, pal," Dale says awkwardly. "Please, just come back to the car. You can try her again when she's back home."

"I'm not leaving this airport until I know she's actually gone," I pout, folding my arms like a petulant child, and Dale sighs and exchanges looks with Kevin.

I pace up and down, avoiding eye contact with passing travellers and feeling grateful that no one seems to have noticed me properly. Maybe because I'm not with my usual entourage, and I'm mooching around looking miserable. If it wasn't so fucking emotionally painful, I would try this more often.

I check the departure screens until Jess's flight disappears, and I shuffle sadly over to the door to the departures, but she's nowhere to be seen.

She left. She fucking left without hearing me out. Un-fucking-believable. Why is she so convinced I'm sleeping with Taylor behind her back?

I feel like shit.

Your flight just left. I guess you're on it. I'm so sorry we parted on bad terms but please call me or text me when you land xxxxxx, I text her.

I follow Dale out to the car, ignoring the paps and their fucking cameras, and slide into the backseat while he jumps into the car behind. We pull away from the kerb and I slide my phone out of my pocket and call Jess. I know this is pointless but I don't care. I feel slightly better thinking she might listen to these messages, and if I leave enough she may be convinced of my sincerity.

"Hey, baby..," I say softly, once I've waited for the beep. "I don't know why I'm leaving you a voicemail, or even calling you because I know you've left but I just can't... "

I hesitate, not knowing how to articulate my feelings. I can feel a lump in my throat.

"Jess this is crazy, I don't know how to convince you that nothing happened while I've known you. I don't want to explain to your voicemail, I want to tell you properly, but it isn't what you think. Call me when you land, please. Um, ok, bye."

I hang up as I feel a burning behind my eyes, and stare out of the darkened car window, my lip wobbling.

My mum. I need to talk to my mum.

I swipe her name and lift my phone to my ear, not even considering what time it might be back home.

"Harry?" she murmurs, after a few rings. "Are you alright, love?"

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady.

"No," I wobble.

"Oh - sweetheart - what's happened?" she asks softly, and I'm embarrassed as a fucking tear slides down my cheek.

"Jess. She dumped me," I mumble, covering my eyes with the crook of my arm as my misery overwhelms me.

"Oh, love," she sighs, and I hear rustling and realise she's in bed and I've more than likely woken her.

"It's no biggie," I choke.

"What happened?"

"A pap let slip something about an ex girlfriend at the airport. Jess got the wrong end of the stick and thought I was cheating on her, and left without letting me explain."

My voice is wavering. I sound like a idiot.

"Were you cheating on her?" Mum asks.

"No of course not!" I protest, wiping my face with the inside of my arm.

"OK, good. Why didn't she let you explain?"

"She told me last night that... that she finds it hard to believe I want her and no one else," I sniff. "She's insecure because of my fame, and she's scared I'm going to cheat. Then just now, in the airport, she said... she said I was only ever a bit of fun and -"

My voice breaks.

"- and she got to meet One Direction so she had a great time," I finish miserably.

"Oh, Harry," Mum says, and the sadness in her voice breaks me.

I sit on the backseat of the car and fucking cry.

"I really like her, Mum," I say in a muffled tone.

"If she was only interested in you because you're famous, she's not the one for you, sweetheart," Mum assures me.

"That's just it," I sob. "We've had an amazing week, just the two of us. She finally let her guard down last night and told me her fears, and it all kind of made sense. And now this..."

I trail off and give another sob.

"I don't know if she said it because she's hurt, or if she meant it. She was crying when she thought I'd cheated on her. I made her cry," I sob again.

"It sounds like you need to talk to each other properly," Mum reasons. "Discuss it like adults when you've both calmed down."

"She won't talk to me. She won't answer her phone and she's ignoring my texts," I pout.

"Give her time. By the time her plane lands she'll have had time to think and evaluate everything. Things will seem a lot clearer once the dust settles."

"OK," I choke.

"Oh love, I wish I was there for you," Mum sighs, and I fucking break down again, and she waits on the other end of the phone, making sympathetic noises until I've got myself under control.

"Sorry," I mutter, wiping my eyes.

"Don't apologise. I'm glad you called me. You know I'm only a phonecall away," she says. "Why don't you try and come home for a bit? We all miss you terribly."

"I can't yet, I've got work commitments," I mutter.

There's nowhere I'd rather be right now than on the sofa at my mum's house with a cup of tea.

"Well see if you can rearrange something," she says firmly. "You're supposed to be on a break, for goodness' sake. You've had enough upheaval lately. You need some family time."

"I'll see what I can do," I reply, but I know I won't be able to get home for at least a few weeks. "I'd better go," I add.

"Already?" she asks.

"Yeah, I'm nearly home," I explain as we turn up into the hills.

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up and spend the rest of the car ride in silence.

When I arrive back home I go upstairs and change into a pair of loose joggers and my old Rolling Stones tshirt and then flop on the sofa in front of the TV. The house is empty and silent. I wish more than anything Jess were here now. I fucking miss her.

I know you're in the air right now but I just got back home and I miss you xxxxx, I type, and send it before I can change my mind.

I flick the TV on, and stare blankly at the screen. Twitter doesn't occupy me, and Instagram has nothing exciting. I'm just deflated. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't want this to be the end of me and Jess.

I eat some tasteless microwave noodles for lunch, and make a mental note to pack in the junk food and start eating healthily again. This is probably partly why I'm feeling so low.

I clock watch all day and all evening, dozing on the sofa in between. I keep checking my phone to see if my texts have been read, or at least delivered, so I know she's landed, but there's nothing. About 1am I go online and check her flight status, and see it landed at Heathrow on time. I try and call her, but her phone diverts straight to voicemail again, so I'm guessing she hasn't switched it back on yet. She's still avoiding me.

So much for having time to think on the flight.

Gemma texts me, saying she's heard from Mum that things ended badly with Jess, and she's here if I want to talk, but I don't, so I just send her a kiss in response and she doesn't text me again.

It's 2.30am when I check my phone and see my messages have finally been delivered, but remain unread. Jess is home.

I'm guessing you landed cos your phone's on. I look like a stalker but I don't care, I need to talk to you, I send her.

She doesn't reply, and this message too remains unopened.

I call her. It goes to voicemail.

I'm getting pissed off now. It's the fucking middle of the night and I'm heartbroken and sleep depriived, and I'm being treated unfairly.

If I leave her a message, I'll fucking cry. A text will have to do.

Jess please answer your phone, this isn't fair on me, I've done nothing wrong, I just didn't tell you the full story at the start

Another few minutes pass, and I get nothing back.

I decide to give it one last shot before I go to bed.

I swipe her name and wait while it rings.

"What the fuck do you want?" snaps a male voice in my ear, and my stomach lurches when I realise that a: someone has answered, and b: it's her psycho brother.

"I - I just - is Jess there?" I stammer.

"She doesn't want to talk to you, you prick," he hisses. "Can you blame her? What the fuck are you playing at?"

"Nothing - I swear," I plead. "Has she spoken to you at all?"

"Yeah she's told me all about your little fuck buddy," he says, savagely. "I warned you not to hurt her. I knew you couldn't be trusted, you slimy little shit."

Woah, this guy really doesn't hold back.

"I've got a message for you from her," he says, and my heart jumps.

"What is it?" I ask, breathlessly.

"Fuck off," he says viciously.

"No - wait, please, she's got the wrong end of the stick about it all," I begin, desperate for him not to hang up.

"Yeah, yeah, course she has," he says sarcastically. "You're the innocent party, butter wouldn't melt, blah blah blah."

"No - please listen to me," I beg, as I realise this guy could be the key to getting through to Jess. "It isn't how it sounds. I was seeing Taylor casually, it was an on and off arrangement, but it was only ever in between other relationships. I haven't seen her since last year, and I have no intentions of seeing her again, regardless of my, uh, relationship status. I swear. I have not been doing anything behind your sister's back. I promise."

The fact that I've managed to get all this out without being interrupted tells me he is at least listening to me, but whether he believes me is another story.

"Why would I bother leading Jess on if I wasn't keen?" I continue. "She's amazing... she's clever, she's funny, she's caring, and she's beautiful. She's so far out of my league, it should be me voicing insecurities, not her. I would never, ever be unfaithful to her. You have to believe me."

He gives a short laugh. "I don't have to do anything, pal."

"No - I know - I didn't mean... I just need to talk to Jess, just for five minutes so I can explain that this isn't what she thinks it is," I beg.

"Nah, not happening," he says abruptly.

"Please," I say desperately. "I swear to you, the Taylor thing was over months ago. Once I met Jess, there was no way I would ever have considered seeing Taylor again. I don't want anyone else. I'm not the type of guy to string girls along. I never have been, despite what you may have heard about me. Please don't judge me before you've got to know me. I just want to tell her the full story. Please."

There is a momentary silence.

"Nope, sorry," he says casually, and my heart sinks. "You're a cocky little shit who my sister is fucking crazy about, and you've encouraged her little crush and made a fool out of her since day one. You're not doing it anymore. Find some other girl to torment."

"I'm crazy about her too!" I blurt. "I'm not trying to torment her! I never meant to hurt her in any way! I swear to you, man to man, I have not been sleeping with anyone behind her back. I swear on my life."

"Fuck you," he says, and hangs up.

I throw my phone across the room in frustration, and then retrieve it quickly in case Jess calls me back.

She doesn't.

I eventually drag myself upstairs, leave my clothes in a pile on the floor and crawl onto her side of the bed. The fucking pillow smells of her shampoo, and if I close my eyes I can actually trick myself into thinking she's here.

Still a trace of innocence on the pillow case. For fuck's sake.

It's 3am and your brother has just given me a mouthful. I'm going to bed, I'll call you tomorrow, please answer xxx, I text her, before I fall asleep, my phone still in my hand, ever the optimist.

When I wake up the following morning the first thing I do is check my phone, but she hasn't been in touch.

I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to work out what to do. Should I call her straight away? Should I shower first, and plan what I need to say in case she does answer? Will she even answer? She'll have had all day to mull things over. Maybe she's calmed down a bit?

I roll over onto my side of the bed and hug my pillow, and my hand hits something hard and square tucked away by the headboard. I grab it and pull it out.

It's a little box, wrapped in green paper with a gold bow and a little tag on it. turning it over I see the words, I'll miss you. Love, Jess xxx

My heart pounds and I sit up, holding the box gingerly as if it might self destruct. I carefully rip open the wrapping paper and discard it on the bed, and then open the lid of the box.

My stomach does a cartwheel and my heart begins hammering. The lump is back in my throat again.

It's the necklace. It's the fucking necklace I was looking at that day in West Hollywood, in the vintage shop with the creepy lady who said we were in love.

I examine it closely, staring at the intricate pattern in the metal, tears filling my eyes again. J and H. I'm not imagining it.

Did Jess see it too? Is that why she bought it? How did she even know about it? Did she just see me looking at it?

Fucking hell.

A wave of emotion washes over me and I lay back on the bed and cry again, like a fucking loser.

I'm crying because of what I had, and because of what I fear I may have lost, and for everything this necklace signifies.

There's no way this was just a bit of fun for her. She wouldn't have bought me this necklace if it was.

"I'll miss you. Love, Jess xxx"

Fuck.

I need to talk to her. I need to hear her voice. I need to explain this fucking mess, and tell her I'm sorry for every tear she's shed for me, and every bad thought she's ever had about me.

I reach for my phone and call her.

I'm actually surprised when she doesn't answer.

I don't trust myself not to cry if I leave her a voicemail, so instead I send her a text.

I've just found the necklace, I absolutely love it. Thank you so much. Please please call me. I don't want to lose you xxxxxxxxxx

Whatever it takes, I am going to make this right. If I have to call her every single day for the next year until she listens to me; if I have to fly home and turn up on her doorstep, I will do it if it means I can make it up to her.

I will not let this girl slip through my fingers.