(No Control - 53. Over Again, second part)

When I get home I make myself a chicken salad wrap for dinner, and Jeff and Glenne call round for a bit. They ask after Jess, and I explain the whole saga again, and they seem to be of the same opinion as the boys: that Jess really did leave her phone in the bar, and that she hasn't slept with anyone else.

After they leave I go on Facebook to stalk her, and see her friend Sarah has tagged her in a picture only a few minutes ago. I glance at my watch. It's just after 8am in the UK. They must be at work.

I stare at the picture. It's a selfie of two of her friends, Sarah and Gary, but in the background Jess is hunched over in her chair, staring down at her phone, and looks sad. My heart aches.

How did it come to this? I'm sitting here, thinking about her, feeling like shit. She's sitting at work, looking miserable. 

Did she really leave her phone in a bar on Saturday? I want to believe her. This is such a mess.

I'm just about to call her, when I notice something that makes my stomach lurch, and not in a good way.

Her desk used to be practically a shrine to One Direction, but now I can see everything has been taken down. The picture of me has gone from her laptop screen, and I can't see her mug, mousemat or pens. Why has she deleted me from her life?

Where's all your One Direction stuff gone from your desk? I text her.

I'm still hurting, so I don't put any kisses, but my anger has faded somewhat, since Jeff and Glenne tried to make me "see sense", and now I just miss her.

I wait anxiously for her to reply.

I took it all down. I didn't need the constant reminder of you when I was trying to get my head around you and Taylor Swift.

What the fuck? Seriously, I don't know how many more times I can tell her there is no me and Taylor Swift. Why does she keep throwing it in my face?

There is no me and Taylor Swift, I reply, resisting the urge to add about twenty exclamation marks and an angry emoji to the end of the text.

I know x, is her response, and this just confuses me more. Why is she bringing it up if she knows it wasn't what she thought?

I'm starting to think this is all more hassle than it's worth, so I choose not to reply to the message, and head up to bed to lie on my back and stare at the ceiling for the next couple of hours, before finally falling asleep, only to dream of Jess.

....

On Sunday we're due to film a sketch with James Corden for The Late Late Show, and as I arrive at the studio Louis greets me excitedly by telling me our fans have started the "No Control Project," and are campaigning for No Control to be released as a single. We all know it won't happen, because we're not due to release anything until mid-summer, and it will be something from our new album, but Louis is beside himself with excitement at this gesture of overwhelming support for him. It's exactly what he needs after the war of the words with that dickhead Naughty Boy, as it seems the fans are doing this to show their appreciation for Louis' vocal talent.

"I just can't believe it," he's saying, for the fifth time, as we wait in hair and makeup. "It's so sick when they do stuff like this, just decide to take over Twitter and make their own stuff happen. I need to go out and celebrate."

"In other words, get pissed and hook up?" I tease him.

"Yeah, pretty much," he says casually, nodding. "You up for it? Think I might give Briana a call, see if she fancies it."

"That's twice I've heard her name mentioned," I grin. "You into her?"

"She's hot, and wild," he replies. "What's not to like?"

He wiggles his eyebrows and I chuckle appreciatively.

"So.... dare I ask about Jess?" he asks, hesitatingly.

"No," I reply, flatly, looking away.

I can't think about her. I don't know what to do. I feel like I've backed myself into a corner and I don't know how to get out.

"You know she tweeted me and Payno...," he says, uncomfortably.

"Did she?" I ask quickly, looking up at Liam who looks like he wishes he wasn't here.

Why haven't I seen her tweet?

"Yeah, only to support the No Control project," Louis assures me, hastily. "I thought it was nice that she bothered. Shows she's still capable of being a fan even if you two aren't..." he trails off.

"Mmmhh," I mumble.

"Sort it out," he sighs. "You're a dickhead if you let her go just because you're too proud to make the first move."

I sit on the sofa, watching Louis get his hair done, but my mind keeps wandering back to Jess.

Should I call her? I don't even know if I want to. It's been three weeks since I last saw her; I feel like it's too late. 

My phone beeps, and I reach for it. It's her.

Hey you. How are things? x

I hesitate for a millisecond before replying.

Good thanks. You? x

Trying to keep it lighthearted. Can't pretend my heart isn't pounding.

Alright, she replies. Been to my parents' for the weekend. Maddie is going crazy over Project No Control. What have you been up to? x

Filming a sketch with James Corden for The Late Late Show. We're on it next Thursday x, I tell her.

"Afternoon lads, afternoon!" James's voice echoes around the room as he appears in the doorway, already dressed in the most ridiculous white vest and red shorts, ready for our dodgeball game. We all laugh.

"I don't know what you're laughing at, Mr Styles," he grins at me. "Your shorts leave nothing to the imagination. I can't wait to see you in them! Jess will be thanking me! How is she by the way?"

"Fine," I mutter, looking at the ground, as Liam slices his hand across his neck and says quietly, "Sore subject."

James sighs and pretends to be exasperated. "What did you do, Harry? I told you sending nude photos never ends well."

I grin in spite of myself as everyone laughs at his joke.

"I just wanted to spice things up," I play along, and this causes more laughter, until my phone beeps again and makes my heart miss a beat.

Really? That's awesome. How is he? x, Jess has replied.

I hesitate, before typing, He's good. He asked after you x

I miss you x, comes the reply, and my stomach starts fluttering again.

I miss her. I miss her so much. But does she mean it, or is she just playing games? She didn't seem like the playing games type, but some of the stuff she said to me really hurt.

She's not Nadine. She may be hot-headed sometimes, but she's not Nadine. I need to remember that.

I miss you too x, I type back, eventually, and less than a minute later my phone lights up with her call. I jump up and leave the room quickly, swiping to accept the call.

"Hi," I greet her, hesitantly.

"Hi," she replies. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," I say, and it comes out all husky because I'm talking in a low voice so as not to be overheard.

"Last Saturday night... it wasn't what you think," she starts to explain, but I interrupt with a sigh.

"I know."

"Do you, though?" she asks softly. "Do you believe me?"

"Yeah I do," I mutter, looking down at my feet and scuffing the sole of my boot on the floor. "Sorry for being an arse," I apologise.

"It's fine," she says meekly. "I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time over Taylor Swift."

My whole body stiffens at the mention of Taylor's name, as I brace myself for another row.

"It's ok," I say, as graciously as I can. I'm still not over her lack of trust, but I want to try and put it behind us.

There's an awkward pause.

"Have you listened to any One Direction yet?" I ask, and then wish I hadn't, because that was a really idiotic thing to say.

"No, I haven't really felt like it to be honest," she says awkwardly.

"Oh ok," I nod, and there's another silence.

"When are you next home?" she asks.

"You mean back in the UK?" I clarify, and she murmurs a yes. "Not until June. The European leg of the tour starts on the fifth in Cardiff."

"Yeah I know, that's the one I've got tickets for," she reminds me.

As if I'd forgotten about that.

"Oh yeah," I say.

Fuck, this whole conversation is so awkward. It never used to be like this. I scramble for something to say.

"We're writing some good stuff for the new album," is the best I can come up with, and then I feel a nervous jolt at the thought of the songs I have been writing about her. I don't want her to know about those yet.

"That's great," she says, but it comes out insincere and fake-sounding. "How are Louis and Liam? And Niall?" she asks.

She just had to fucking ask about Louis, didn't she?

"They're all fine," I say shortly. "You'd know. Didn't Louis follow you on Twitter?"

I'm aware I'm sounding petty but I'm suddenly feeling irritable and cranky.

"Yeah, he did," she replies. "He messaged me to say thanks for the support over the Zayn thing."

Yes, I fucking know he did.

"He got into trouble over that," I say, snappily. "He shouldn't have got so wound up."

You shouldn't have wound him up, is what I want to say.

"I don't blame him," she replies, sounding a bit defensive. "That slimeball Naughty Boy got personal. All Louis did was take the piss out of his Mac filters. I'd have done the same, it was a stupid picture. And Zayn shouldn't have said what he said either."

Why is she sticking up for Louis? She doesn't know the first thing about the dynamics of this band.

"You don't know anything about it," I can't help snapping.

"I know it was out of order, what they both said to Louis. I didn't see you jumping in to defend him," she accuses. "You were too busy blaming me for the entire fandom winding him up."

She's right, but I'm not going to admit that. I'm getting more pissed off by the second.

"You were making him worse!" I say, loudly. "He was practically skipping around the room when he saw your tweet! You could have done so much damage!"

"To what? Your ego?!" she shouts, and I have to turn the volume down in my earpiece. "Are you jealous or something because I tweeted your mate and not you?!"

My stomach jolts as she hits the fucking nail on the head. How does she always know?

"Don't be ridiculous," I snap, my face turning pink.

"Millions of fans tweeted Louis," she continues. "I didn't even think he'd see it! I only did it to make myself feel better because Zayn and Naughty Boy had really pissed me off."

She hasn't got a fucking clue. She has no idea of the impact of one tweet. This is why we shouldn't date fans.

"Yes and millions of fans saw your tweet!" I yell at her. "You know everyone thinks you're my girlfriend, so by association people think you're expressing opinions of the band! You could have caused chaos! You could have damaged our reputation!"

"Is that all you care about?!" she bellows, and I turn the volume down further as I pace up and down, my fury rising with every word she says. "Your precious reputation?! You need a fucking reality check, Harry! Sorry if people thinking I'm your girlfriend is causing you problems! I'll set them straight, shall I? Or maybe send a tweet disclaimer? Opinions expressed here are solely my own and do not reflect the views or opinions of One Direction or any of its affiliates!"

I can't be fucking arsed with this. She's just being ridiculous now.

"Stop being dramatic," I spit.

"Don't tell me how to behave!" she screams. "I'm not some pathetic doe-eyed sap who jumps when you click your fingers! You should know that by now!"

"Oh yes, I forgot, you're far more interested in hanging out with the rest of One Direction, aren't you," I throw at her.

As if on cue, Louis and Niall appear in the doorway, their eyes wide, and watch me as I stride up and down furiously.

"No, actually," she retorts. "You were the one I was interested in hanging out with. But now I can see you're just a childish, moody, arrogant arsehole."

I'm moody?! ME?? Is she fucking kidding?

"I told you from the start I don't do clingy," she's ranting. "I'm not the sort of girl who's going to hang on your every word, and sit around waiting for you to call, and you don't know how to deal with that do you? You're used to getting what you want, when you want. Well sorry to disappoint you Harry. You're not calling the shots anymore. I'm sick of feeling like shit because of you and your string of conquests. 'I promise I'll never hurt you,' you said. 'Trust me,' you said. Well, balls to that. I stuck up for your friend the other day, along with millions of others, when two idiots were publicly laying into him, and all you can do is moan about fucking collateral damage. You need to sort out your priorities."

I feel heat rising in my face again as these shots hit home. A little part of me, deep down, knows there is a lot of truth in what she has just said, but my stubborn side ignores it and blunders on, smashing up what's left of our relationship like the proverbial bull in a china shop.

"First of all, when have I ever called the shots in this relationship?" I choke. "You've had me wrapped around your little finger from day one."

Fuck, shouldn't have admitted that.

"Second of all," I continue hastily, "my string of conquests as you so eloquently put it are nothing to do with this argument. This is about you and your complete naivety about the consequences of posting shit on social media. And lastly, Louis is just fine, thanks. He didn't need you sticking up for him. He's a big boy and he can take care of himself!"

I catch Louis' eye at the end of this last sentence and he pulls his stupid photo-face ridiculous smile and points to himself, before giving a thumbs up. I want to smack him.

"Well that's not what he said to me!" Jess shouts. "He said 'Thanks for the support, love. Means a lot.' Means a lot," she emphasises, as if to hammer the point home.

Did he really fucking say that?

"I think you just didn't like it because you've got some weird complex about me being a fan and liking Louis," she continues. "Well just for the record, I'm crazy about you, Harry, and no one else has ever come close. So next time you want to use me as a scapegoat for your own insecurities just you remember that."

Fucking hell, she's bang on, again. How does she know me so fucking well?

Wait, she's crazy about me?

"That... that is just ridiculous," I stutter, thrown by the 'crazy' comment. "I haven't got a complex about anything."

"And as for being wrapped around my little finger, that's a load of bull," she storms on. "It's the other way round! I've accepted your explanations for all these womanising rumours, despite all the evidence backing them up. I told you I was scared of getting hurt and it just keeps happening! No doubt there will be another one next week that will have a 'perfectly innocent explanation' and I'll be expected to just have faith in what you tell me."

Who the fuck does she think she is? Who the fuck is she to accuse me of sleeping around when I have never, and would never, be unfaithful?

"Funny how you never publicly put your side of the story out there, isn't it!" she snipes, sarcastically. "No, because it's far easier for you just to ignore it and leave everyone else, i.e. me, to deal with it. Why acknowledge the rumours when it might affect the band's reputation?!"

I've fucking had enough of this.

"Have you finished?!" I roar, and to my satisfaction she shuts up immediately. "Why are you bringing those rumours up again?! I thought we'd moved past all that and you believed me? You can't just throw it in my face every time you're feeling hormonal and want to pick a fight!"

Shit, I just called her hormonal.

"We're not getting anywhere," she says, her voice suddenly flat and deflated. "We're just going round in circles."

"Finally, something we agree on," I snap.

Neither of us says anything for a moment. I don't know what there is left to say. She doesn't trust me, and I can't be bothered with her shit anymore.

"I think I should go," I say in a monotone. "The others are in the next room. We need finish filming this sketch."

"You're in the middle of filming?"

"We've barely started," I reply. We haven't started. But it won't do her any harm to think I'm too busy for this hassle.

"Fine. Say hi from me," she mutters, and I give a sarcastic laugh.

"Yeah. Will do."

And we hang up.

"Harry," Louis begins, approaching me from the doorway, his phone in his hand.

"Save it," I cut him off, lifting my hand to silence him. "I don't want to hear it. Let's just get this over with."

And somehow I manage to get through a game of dodgeball, in a pair of fucking tiny red shorts, before I can retreat to the safety of my own home and contemplate how fucking shit my life has suddenly become.

Little did I know it was about to get a whole lot worse before it got better.