(No Control - 72. Last First Kiss, fourth part)

My head hurts. My chest hurts. Everything fucking hurts.

I haven't even opened my eyes yet, but I can tell this will hurt too. My entire body aches. Why?

I open one eye. I'm in an unfamiliar room. Nothing new there. A hotel? Must be. I hear breathing next to me. Jess.

I turn over and see the sleeping figure beside me and start to speak.

"J-"

The words die on my lips as I see the mane of dark hair on the pillow. What the fuck? Who the fuck is in my bed? How did they get in? Where's my security?

Dale. Where the fuck is Dale?

A memory of him nodding at me and slipping out of the room last night flashes before me.

Sara.

I sit up and stare at the girl beside me, horror creeping over me as the events of last night come flooding back, hitting me so hard I feel winded. Oh my God. What the fuck have I done?

I had sex. I had sex with someone else.

No no no no no no NO. This can not be happening. This can not be fucking happening to me. It can't be real, it can't.

It is real.

Which means I've ruined the best thing in my life. Me and Jess.... it's over. We're over.

I stagger out of bed as I feel bile rising in my throat and only just make it to the bathroom in time before I projectile-vomit into the toilet. It's mostly liquid, and there isn't much. I dry heave for what feels like an eternity until my body stops shaking and retching.

I've lost her. I know she won't forgive this.

I lie on the tiled floor, pressing my cheek against the marble. I can't process it. I can't take it in.

I've cheated on Jess. I've been unfaithful to the love of my life. How the fuck did this happen? I wouldn't do that do her.

But I did.

How? Why?

I drag myself up and switch the shower on, and then stand under the jets staring at my feet, letting the water run across my face and drip down my nose.

My chest aches. My heart aches. Not because of my hangover, but for what I have lost. I have lost everything. I have nothing.

Jess doesn't even know.

I want to ring her, to ask her what I should do next, but I can't because she is the one I have to hurt; the one I have already hurt.

I can't do this. I can't deal with this. I can't be the one to break it to her. I can't be the one to deliver this bombshell.

But I have to be.

This is what I deserve. I don't deserve Jess. I never did. I am everything she was afraid of: a liar and cheat. Underhand. Selfish.

I reach for the shower gel and scrub every inch of my body, trying to wash away the disgust I feel, but I can't. I still feel dirty after ten minutes of scrubbing, so I give up. I switch the water off and wrap a towel around my waist. I avoid my reflection in the mirror. I can't bear to look at myself right now.

As I step back into the room my eyes are drawn to the bed. Sara is sitting up, the sheet pulled up around her body, but clearly wearing nothing. She smiles shyly at me. I look away.

"Morning," she says, softly.

I clear my throat. "Morning."

My voice sounds strangely normal. I say strangely, because everything has changed and anything that resembles normality feels weird.

"Did you sleep OK?" she asks.

"Yeah, did you?"

"Yeah, fine, thanks."

There is an awkward silence. I feel like a bastard. I'm not doing anything to put her at ease, and that's despicable. I don't want her to feel cheap. Even though that's exactly how I feel.

I approach the bed and bend down to grab some clothes out of my holdall, and she reaches out to me, touching my back. I flinch away; I can't help it. She isn't Jess.

"Come back to bed?" she suggests, tentatively, and I practically recoil from her.

"What - no, er, I have to get dressed," I stammer.

"You can't spare ten minutes?" she says, pouting at me and looking up at me through her eyelashes. She reaches forward to me again, letting the sheet slip slightly and I quickly turn away. I hear the rustle of the covers behind me, and I suspect she has covered up again. I wait a moment before turning back around to face her.

She's looking at me with mild confusion and a trace of hurt.

"Sara," I begin, cringing at what I am about to do; what I am about to say. This isn't me. I don't lead girls on in an attempt to seduce them. "Oh God - this is going to sound awful - I've... I've got a girlfriend."

For about another hour, until she finds out what I've done. I feel another wave of nausea.

Sara looks guilty and ashamed.

"Um, I know," she admits. "Nadine told me that part. I wasn't sure how serious it was."

"You knew?!" I repeat incredulously, and then snap my mouth shut. I am no position to judge right now. I am the fucking scum of the earth. "It's serious," I sigh. "And I've just fucked it up, big time."

"Nadine's going to kill me," she says, a tremor in her voice. "She only went to the same bar as you last night to try and tempt you back. She's determined, ruthless. She'll stop at nothing. She's going to fucking kill me."

I'm barely listening; I'm fighting the urge to be sick. Even just mentioning Jess in front of Sara makes me feel like I'm being unfaithful all over again. I have this strong desire to protect Jess from anyone or anything that might hurt her. That includes me now. I feel even more sick. The more I think about this, the worse I feel.

"I'm sorry you regret this," Sara is saying. "For what it's worth, I don't. If things were different I would really have liked to see you again."

"I... I don't think that's a good idea," I say quickly. I'm not being very tactful but I can't let her get the wrong idea about this. I mean, I don't want her to feel used, but honestly, I don't want to set eyes on her ever again. It's not her fault, but I can't help how I feel. "I'm so sorry," I mutter, lamely. "I've been a fucking dick. This isn't your fault."

"I get it. It's fine," she says, her tone flat. "I should go."

"You can have a shower, if you want," I offer halfheartedly, but she shakes her head.

"Thanks, but I have to get going. I have a lunch meeting in just over an hour. I need to get back to my hotel."

I politely turn my back while she slides out of bed and gets dressed. She calls a car, and then we say an awkward goodbye and she leaves.

I need to get the fuck out of this room. I can't bear to stay a minute longer. I call Dale, then pull on last night's jeans, a white tshirt, and a white jacket, and throw my stuff haphazardly into my bag. He rings me to say they are downstairs and I hurry out of the room, down in the lift and into the lobby. Jeff is there, to my surprise. He looks half dead.

"H," he croaks, but I can't face him. I can't face anyone. I just want to be alone. I scurry past him and hear him call my name again, but I don't look up and make a beeline for the door. As soon as I step outside camera flashes start, and I get into the car as quickly as I can. Jeff is behind me on the pavement, but I give him a curt shake of my head and the car pulls away, leaving him standing staring after us.

Paps. Fuck.

They saw me, and they will have seen Sara too. They will have been around last night too, I'm sure of it. It won't take them long to note that Sara left my hotel a few minutes before me wearing last night's clothes, with no luggage.

My life is slowing unravelling and I haven't got a clue how to stop it. I need to speak to someone who has a chance of salvaging this.

Karen.

My hands are shaking as I scroll to her number.

"Hi, Harry," she answers, and I know from the tone of her voice that she knows nothing about last night.

"I've done something stupid," I blurt, skipping the pleasantries.

She sighs. "Did you use a condom?"

"Yes," I reply, my voice shaking, and there is silence on the other end.

"Pardon?" she says eventually.

"I said yes," I repeat, feeling a burn behind my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. "Yes, I used a condom."

There is further silence.

"I'm not quite sure I follow, Harry," she says, and she sounds thrown.

"I did something stupid," I say again, my voice just a whisper.

"Oh my Lord," she breathes. "Please tell me you did not have a one night stand with a stranger in New York."

"Not a stranger," I tell her, miserably. "I know her. Sara Sampaio. She's a model."

"What - how - what the bloody hell are you playing at?!" she explodes, finally finding her stride.

"Don't... I feel bad enough... don't yell at me," I beg, dropping my head forward onto my hand.

"Don't yell at you?!" she shouts. "I can't even begin... what were you thinking Harry?! I thought you were happy with Jess? After all that fuss you made about going public with her, and that stupid stunt you pulled on stage in Cardiff... and then you go and do something like this?! What the hell is going on?!"

"There's more," I whisper.

"What do you mean, there's more?!"

"I got off my face. I took a line of Speed, I was fu- I was ruined. I don't think anyone saw me, but there were paps outside the hotel just now so they will have seen Sara leaving in last night's clothes."

"Speed?" she echoes. "You stupid, stupid boy!"

She launches into a full-scale, furious lecture, demanding to know why I took drugs in a public bar, and how I ended up in bed with someone who isn't my girlfriend. All I keep saying is, "I don't know. I don't know," because I don't know.

I don't know why I did it because I have never done anything like this before, ever. I love Jess. I'm stupidly, madly, crazily in love with her. I don't want anyone else. So why did I want Sara last night? The memory brings bile rising in my throat again and I grit my teeth and push the thought away.

"You are at risk of ruining the band's entire reputation!" Karen is almost screaming. "You know the shit we went through last year over Zayn and Louis' drugs scandal! And the drama with Zayn and Perrie after the girl in Thailand - I don't need to remind you the extent of the fallout from that little episode! This band can't take another blow, especially after Louis' latest fuck-up! Do any of you actually think before you act?!"

My whole body is shaking now, as the truth behind her words sinks in.

"I'm sorry," I choke. "I don't know what I was thinking..."

"That much is evident!" she screeches. "You'd better cross your fingers the paparazzi didn't see Sara leave your hotel, and didn't get any pictures of you snorting that crap up your nose last night. I can not believe you've compromised everything for a cheap high and a quick shag."

My breaths are coming in short gasps now, and Dale is turning round to look at me with concern.

Karen rings off and I sit in the back of the car holding my phone in my hand feeling more alone than I ever have in my life.

"Harry - you OK mate?" Dale asks.

I can't answer. My mouth won't work and my body won't stop shaking.

"Pull the car over," Dale instructs the driver.

"No," I manage to say. "Keep going."

"H, you're in a bad way."

"I said keep going."

My face feels wet, but I don't know why. My vision is blurred. What the fuck is happening to me?

It takes me a moment to realise I am crying. Not just silent tears, but loud sobs. I cover my face with my hands and dig my nails into my scalp, and then pull hard on the roots of my hair. The pain is nothing to how I feel inside. I scream into my palms, wishing more than anything that I could be somebody else right now. I can't deal with these emotions. I feel like something is clawing at my insides, ripping me to shreds from within.

I can't make sense of it. I can't deal with my own actions when I don't understand them. I scream louder, trying to manifest the pain, but nothing I do can distract from the feeling of loss, despair and hopelessness. I need someone to help me, but I don't know who. I want Jess, but as soon as I make that call, I've lost her forever.

I can't even begin to contemplate that.

"Harry? We're here. We're at the airport," Dale says from the front seat.

I lift my head and look out of the window. We're driving into the terminal and I know I have to pull myself together while I am in the public view.

"You OK?" he asks uncomfortably.

No, I'm fucking not OK. I'm falling apart. Can't you see?

"I'm fine."

The show must go on.

I wipe my eyes on the bottom of my tshirt and slip a pair of sunglasses on. They hide a multitude of sins. When the car comes to a stop I grab my bag in my hand, thank the driver and slide out of the back seat. We walk quickly through the terminal building to the check in desk, where I am allowed to check in early and make use of a private lounge. The one perk of being me.

I sit in an armchair and stare at the wall. I have literally hours to wait for my flight. Dale is making calls to see if the jet can be rescheduled for an earlier time, but from what I can hear he's hitting a brick wall.

My phone rings, and it's Karen. The Daily Mail are publishing the story about me and Sara, with pictures of us hugging goodbye last night (which I don't remember being taken but apparently they are legit) and the shots of us leaving the Ludlow this morning within minutes of each other. She can't do anything because they're only printing facts. My life crumbles a little further.

I need to call Jess. I don't want her to see the article. I don't want her to find out this way, but I stall for time, trying to work out what I am going to say to her. How do I explain this? I know as soon as I tell her what's happened we are officially over, and the selfish part of me wants to prolong it for as long as I can. All the time she doesn't know I can cling to the edge of the precipice.

I want to ring my mum. I need some advice, some words of comfort, but I know she will be disappointed in me and I can't bear to hear it in her voice. I could call Gemma, but I know she will be just as shocked, and I can't face either of them.

Louis.

"H. How was your big night?" he greets me when he answers.

"Not good," I begin, and my voice is already shaking again.

There is a momentary pause. "You OK man?"

"No, not really," I say, my face crumpling in misery as another sob rises in my chest.

"Fuck - what's happened?"

"I fucking cheated on Jess," I manage to say as my nose starts streaming.

There is about five seconds of silence.

"Come again?" he says, and I hear the shock and disbelief in his voice.

"You heard me right," I sob. "I snorted a line of Speed and somehow she ended up in my bed."

"Who did?"

"Fucking Sara Sampaio."

Louis gives a slow exhale. "Fucking hell. You absolute fucking dickhead."

"I know. Don't, alright? I fucking know."

"You stupid twat. Why'd you do that? Did you have a row with Jess?"

"No - well, yeah I did, but we sorted it. I don't know, it just happened, I can't believe it. I was out of it... I'm not making excuses but I don't fucking know what I was thinking. I've ruined everything."

"And you had the cheek to have a go at me for thinking with my dick."

"I know, I'm sorry," I sob.

"No, fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drag up the past. Fuck, mate. You stupid wanker. Did you get caught?"

"We got papped leaving the hotel separately this morning. They got pictures of us hugging last night. Nothing incriminating, but enough to run a fucking story. What am I gonna do? Jess is going to be devastated. She'll be heartbroken. She's gonna hate me when I tell her. She'll never want anything to do with me ever again."

"Hold on - Jess doesn't know?"

"I don't think so - the press haven't printed the story yet, and I haven't spoken to her."

"Two words: damage limitation."

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I'm a snivelling wreck.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Don't fucking tell her the truth," Louis scoffs. "If they haven't got anything on you, you can get out of it. There have been enough made up stories about you. Tell her this is another one of them."

"I can't lie to her," I protest, and it comes out suspiciously like a wail.

"Oh come on. Why put yourself through all this when you don't have to? Just don't fucking slip up again. She loves you, you love her. Just have your fucking happy ending."

"I can't do it," I say, my voice wobbling again. "I just can't. I have to tell her the truth."

I start crying again and hide my face in the crook of my arm, even though there is no one but Dale in the room with me.

"You're an even bigger prick if you throw it all away unnecessarily," he says, bluntly. "Stop being noble. It's only a white lie."

"It's a fucking whopper!" I exclaim. "I'm a hopeless liar. I couldn't live with the guilt."

He goes on at me for another ten minutes but I switch off and let the tears course silently down my cheeks. I'm a mess. My whole fucking life is one big car crash at the moment. I don't know how to rectify it, but the only thing I do know is that lies have brought me nothing but grief so far, and I have to face up to my mistakes. I have to call Jess.

I spend half an hour working up the courage to make the call, during which time I make a dash to the toilet to dry heave again. I don't know if it's the comedown from the Speed, but I suspect it has more to do with the situation I am in, and my own self-loathing. Knowing I am about to break the love of my life's heart is slowly killing me.

I check the Daily Mail and Twitter to see the article has been published and has gone viral, like I knew it would. Has Jess seen it? If she has, why hasn't she called me, demanding an explanation? How could she not have seen it?

Eventually, with trembling hands, I make the call. I feel physically sick again, but I grit my teeth as it rings, my heart pounding.

"Hi," she answers, and my heart lurches at the sound of her voice. My beautiful, sweet girl.

"Jess?" I begin nervously. "It's me."

"Yeah I know," she laughs. "How are you?"

"Um, OK." Oh God, this is torture. "Well... no actually, not really OK."

There is a pause on the other end of the phone.

"Why not?" she asks.

She has no idea what's coming. This is beyond cruel. I hate myself.

"Have... have you been on Twitter?" I ask. My voice sounds weird, like it belongs to someone else.

"Not personally," she says, guardedly. "But I saw the article on the Daily Mail."

Oh God. Oh God. I can't do this. I'm not ready for this to end.

"Jess..."

It's taking everything I have not to cry.

"It's fine," she breezes. "I trust you, Harry. I'm all good."

I trust you, Harry.

Jesus fucking Christ, what have I done to her, to us? I'm broken by her faith in me. Her faith that I don't deserve.

"Baby..." My voice breaks on this word. "I... I'm so sorry."

"Why?" she laughs. "It's a load of bullshit, isn't it? It's not the first and it won't be the last."

I press my lips together as tears begin to run down my face again. I can't speak. I never expected this. I expected her to scream at me for being unfaithful. I didn't think for one minute she would believe the best of me, despite the truth being thrown unceremoniously in her face by the world's media.

This is worse than bearing her wrath. This misplaced trust is far more painful.

"Harry?" she says, and I can hear the doubt creeping into her voice. "It's not true, is it?"

A sob escapes, and I draw a breath, trying to control my voice.

"I'm so sorry, baby," is all I can say.

"What do you mean... what are you trying to say?" she asks. Doubt has taken over now, I can tell.

"I..."

Why am I such a fucking coward that I can't bring myself to say the words to her?

I don't deserve her, and I never did. I'm a piece of shit. Another sob comes out.

"Oh my God," she whispers. "Harry, please tell me this isn't true."

I sit here and cry down the phone to her, letting my own misery dictate this conversation, proving once and for all that I am a selfish bastard. I am everything Nadine said I was, and more.

"Harry." She's pleading with me now; pleading for me to tell her it isn't true, that I haven't destroyed our relationship and broken her heart. "Please," she begs.

I sniff and wipe my face. I have to tell her the truth. I have to say the words.

"Did you have sex with that model?" she chokes, and there is no way out now. This is the end.

"Yes."