(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 14 - What You're Missing)

My head hurts before I have even opened my eyes; before I am even fully awake. It is the first sensation I am aware of, and I hear myself groan miserably.

I'm lying on my front with my head to the side, one foot hanging off the bed. I keep completely still as I ease into consciousness, letting the memory of last night slowly come back to me.

Libertine. Shots. Niall. Louis. Jess.

I jump up onto all fours suddenly as my heart lurches, and I whip my head around to stare at the other side of the bed. It's empty.

Somehow I knew it would be, even before I looked. It doesn't make it any easier to take.

"Jess?" I call out tentatively into the silent room, swallowing hard.

The sound sends a sharp pain searing across my forehead and I wince, before flopping back onto the bed again on my stomach. I lay still for a moment, contemplating the fact that she has gone. She has walked away from me; walked away without so much as a backward glance.

I feel desperately alone in this unhomely hotel room, cast aside without reason or warning. I suppose this is how she must have felt when she found out about Sara. This thought makes me feel even worse.

She was gone last night before she had even left, that much was obvious.

Why, though? What happened to cause the sudden change of heart? The things she was saying to me last night, about how I am amazing and funny and sexy... were they just the ramblings of a drunk? They didn't seem to be. Her kisses were as passionate and enthusiastic as they have always been. Her touch was as gentle. Why did she leave?

I roll over in bed, squinting at the throbbing inside my head, and reach for my phone. I have a missed call from Karen, and a message:

Call me the minute you wake up.

I delete it. No doubt she only wants to go over what happened last night, and discuss how she can use it to my advantage to salvage my reputation. I'm not interested in that.

I stagger to the bathroom and down a pint of water, before stepping into the shower and passing half an hour staring at my own feet, replaying the events of last night. I wonder what happened to Jess's friends after we left Libertine, and whether Barry was pissed off going home alone. I bet he was counting on scoring with her. The thought of this makes me want to punch his smug face.

I remember intercepting them as he was about to make his move, and convincing Jess to come and talk to me, much to his disgust.

It's then that I recall with a jolt the reason I wanted to talk to her so badly: I was going to tell her everything.

"Fucķ!"

I swear out loud as the realisation hits me that we never had the full conversation. I'd got as far as telling her the band is taking a break next year, but I didn't even get as far as my argument with Louis backstage in Cardiff. The revelation of the impending hiatus had distracted us, and started the chain of events that had led to me burying myself inside her, driving my demons away, while she dug her nails into my back and called out my name.

I shut the water off and grab a towel, feeling suddenly motivated. I will get dressed and ring her. I will ask her to see me, so I can finish explaining everything. I owe her that at least.

As I rub myself with the towel, I have a little wobble. What if she won't see me? What if she won't take my calls? What if she tells me last night was a mistake or worse, she didn't enjoy it and she wants nothing more to do with me?

My heart starts thumping at this new fear, and I finish drying myself and walk back to the bed to pull on last night's clothes. I need to get home and pick up my stuff for Helsinki tonight.

I open the door to the suite and Dale is standing outside.

"Morning H," he greets me.

"Morning," I reply. "Did, uh, did you see Jess leave this morning?"

I cringe at myself for asking this. I don't know why I put myself through it.

"It was last night," he replies, avoiding my gaze. "She darted out pretty quick and disappeared into the lift. Louis went with her, gave Preston the slip. But we tracked them down in the lobby."

My heart is pounding sickeningly.

"What do you mean, Louis went with her?" I ask, my voice wavering slightly. "Went where?"

"They were in the lift for a while, just travelling between floors," Dale answers, uncomfortably. "We found them in the lobby, just as Jess was leaving."

"Found them?" I repeat. "Doing what?!"

"Nothing," he frowns in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I open my mouth to answer when I see my phone light up. It's Karen.

Hmm. If I answer this now, I can use being in a hurry to get home as a reason not to talk to her for long. I swipe the screen.

"Hi Karen."

"Harry?" She sounds off. "Have you got a minute?"

"Not really," I begin. "I'm just leaving the hotel-"

"Have you seen Louis?" she interrupts.

"No, why?"

There is a pause. "You'd better sit down."

My stomach drops. I am silent for a moment, my heart thumping. I don't know why, but I have a horrible feeling about this. Something horrendous is about to happen, I can sense it.

I pray silently that Briana and the baby are OK.

"What is it?" I ask nervously, walking back into the room and perching on the edge of the bed.

"I take it you haven't been on social media this morning," she begins, and the trepidation in her tone causes my stomach to turn over.

"No," I answer slowly.

"OK," she sighs. "I need you just to stay calm and not jump to conclusions. Remember how it feels to have stories written about you that are conjured out of thin air."

"What's he done now?" I mutter. I'm not in the mood for Louis' latest drama.

"There are a couple of pictures online. They've been taken with a long range camera, so they're grainy and low quality, and they're not particularly incriminating, which is why I need you to keep a clear head."

"Pictures? Of what?"

She hesitates again, and my stomach flips over as I stupidly imagine the worst case scenario. But I know I'm being paranoid. Louis wouldn't betray me. Neither would Jess. Even though they both have every reason to do so.

"It looks like Louis and Jess, at the back of Libertine, looking... well, close."

I can barely hear Karen's voice, for the blood thrumming through my veins and whooshing through my ears.

"Louis and Jess?" I choke.

"No - Harry, not like that. Not like how you're imagining..."

I cut the call off with trembling hands and type 'Louis Tomlinson' into Google. The first news article that pops up has the headline 'MORE THAN ONE DIRECTION.' I click on it, and a call from Karen pops up on my screen. I swipe it away furiously and attempt to read the article, but the words swim in front of my eyes, jumbled and senseless. One line jumps out at me that makes my blood run cold, and I have to read it several times to take it in: kissing at the back of London nightspot Libertine in the early hours of this morning, with Harry only feet away inside the club.

For a moment I think I may actually be sick, and I lean one hand against the wall and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself and rationalise this. I focus on Karen's words. Remember how it feels to have stories written about you that are conjured out of thin air.

I try really hard to bear this in mind as I scroll to the pictures that accompany the article, but when the image of Louis and Jess comes into view I have to stop myself throwing my phone at the wall. The two of them are in a street-lit area, alone, Jess's face pressed up to Louis'. She is kissing him.

My ex-girlfriend, the love of my life, is kissing my best friend.

I get up off the bed and walk blindly to the door, yanking it open and making Dale jump.

"You ready to go?" he asks, but I stride away from him down the corridor. "Harry?" he calls, uncertainly.

"Which room is Louis in?" I hear myself ask.

"End door," he replies. "Everything OK?"

No. Everything is not OK. Everything is far from OK. Everything is just about as far from OK as it could possibly get.

I bang on Louis' door with my fist and wait, my heart racing and my armpits sweating. Dale arrives next to me and gives me a confused look.

"What are you doing? You'll wake the whole hotel."

I bang on the door even harder, just to be contrary. "Louis," I growl. "Open the door."

No answer. I pull my phone out and call the bastard, but Call Waiting kicks in - he is on the other line.

I bang on the door again, and am rewarded by the sound of footsteps approaching. My stomach twists and my fists clench. I've never hit anyone in my life before, not properly.

The door opens and Louis' face comes into view, his phone pressed to his ear. His eyes dart to mine and I see a flash of... guilt? Unease? Apprehension? Every muscle in my body tenses.

"I gotta go, Harry's here," he mutters into the phone, and he stands aside to let me into the room. "I presume you're here about the pictures?" he says, before I can speak, and I'm momentarily thrown.

"Yes, you fuckıng knobhead, that's exactly why I'm here," I hiss. "All that fuckıng shit you gave me for being jealous of you, and the first opportunity you get you're straight in there!"

"Alright, keep your hair on!" he snaps as he shuts the door behind me, shaking his head slightly at Dale to indicate he should wait outside. "It isn't how it looks. You of all people must know that."

"Don't fuckıng insult my intelligence!" I thunder. "You were kissing her! While I was there! This is low, even for you."

He rolls his eyes. "Try looking again. I'm not kissing her. She's leaning towards me. It's a trick of the light."

"A trick of the light?" I laugh derisively. "Are you taking the piss?!"

"Love potion," he reminds me, mockingly. "Are you taking the piss? And I can't believe you still haven't told her about that."

"Don't change the subject," I rage. "That's none of your business! I want to know why you were pressed up against my ex-girlfriend, in a fucking public place!"

He looks at me, devoid of emotion. "Can't you see how ridiculous this is?" he says. "If I was ever going to pull a stunt like that, do you really think I'd do it where the world and his wife could see? Don't believe everything you read."

"You told me she was fair game!" I yell.

"Yes, you stupid țwat, to get you there. You were so determined to fuck your life up, and it's the rest of us that have to put up with you moping around constantly. So I staged an intervention."

"You're a knob," I tell him.

"Yep," he agrees. "And you're blind. That girl is stupidly in love with you, and you can't even see it. She was sobbing her heart out last night because of you. Admittedly, most women seem to do the same whenever they see you, but she's got it bad, mate. I told her about Briana and the baby, and I told her you weren't in a good place when you left for New York."

"Why?" I demand. "Why were you spinning her some sob story about your runaway dicķ? To make her feel sorry for you, is that it?"

"Oh, Harry, change the fųcking record," he groans.

I pull my phone out and open up the pictures of them. I thrust them in his face and he pulls an expression of mild irritation.

"Look at them!" I shout. "Look at them and tell me they're innocent!"

"I've seen them already," he shrugs, walking past me and picking up his cigarettes and lighter. His hands seem to tremble slightly, or maybe it's my imagination. "I told you, she was leaning towards me. They must have been taken from a few hundred feet away, judging by the quality of them. Can you see any part of our faces touching? I mean, really? Or can you step down from the moral high ground long enough to see that maybe, just maybe, it's a trick of the light?"

I say nothing but breathe deeply, my heart still hammering.

"Remember the last time you flew off the handle about a picture of Jess?" he says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye as he puts a cigarette between his lips and flicks his lighter. "You went and fucķed that blonde bird, Annabelle or something, in the Philippines, and it turned out to be a picture of Jess and her brother?"

I stare at him, and he inhales deeply and then blows a cloud of smoke into the air.

"You were convinced they were holding hands in that picture. But it was just clever photography. This is no different." He pauses, letting his words sink in. "I take it you haven't spoken to her?" he asks, after a moment.

"Not yet," I admit, and he nods, reaching over to open the window slightly to let the smoke out of the room before it sets the fire alarm off and activates the sprinklers. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened, thanks to Louis.

"Right, so calm yourself down, go home and call her," he says. "Fuckıng hell."

I watch him take another drag on his cigarette, cool as a cucumber, while I am shaking from head to toe as my life gradually falls apart, brick by brick, in front of my eyes.

"When did you go outside with her?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Before you even got there," he says flatly. "I was texting you while I was talking to her, trying to get you to come down there. Do you really think I would have done that if I was trying to get into her?"

"What were you doing in the lift?" I challenge, and he gives me a confused look. "Dale said you were in the lift with her for ages," I elaborate.

He pulls another face. "Hardly ages. I was trying to stop her leaving. She said she'd left you asleep, so I knew you'd fucķed her. I couldn't believe you still hadn't told her about Nadine."

"Did you tell her?" I demand.

"No," he says, coldly. "I kept your secret, don't worry. But for the record, you're making a big mistake. She's completely confused by the way you're acting with her. And I can't blame her, either. You're denying you're in love with her one minute, then turning up on a night out to take her back to your hotel the next. Sort yourself out, for God's sake."

"I would do if you'd stop interfering," I spit, furiously.

"Fuck off, Harry," he says, in a bored tone. "I didn't kiss her, and I'm fed up of being on the receiving end of your jealousy."

He walks to the door and opens it, waiting for me to leave. I throw him a furious look and stride out into the corridor, past a surprised Dale, and over the lift. I hear his door slam behind me and I take a couple of deep breaths.

"Can you take me home, please?" I ask Dale, as calmly as I can, and he nods, and calls a car to take me back to my house.

Once I am safely in the back seat, I retrieve my phone from my pocket and read every article I can find about Louis and Jess. I stare at the same few pictures, at his face and her face, at the angle of their bodies, the position of their hands. I think back to all the times Jess has kissed me, and the way she moves her body towards me. I recognise her stance, as grainy and unclear as it is. They are kissing. I know it. I feel it.

I stare out of the window of the car and press my lips together. I can't believe she would do this to me. I can't believe he would do this to me. It's sick. It's betrayal at its worst, and now I know exactly how she felt when I did the same to her.

Was it payback? Hitting me where it hurts the most, in an attempt at revenge? And Louis, too - had he never forgiven me for what I said to him in Cardiff? At least I had been right about parts of that: the parts involving Jess. But he was so adamant I was paranoid, almost to the point of smug. What a snake.

I feel rage building again, and when the car drops me off at my house I hurry inside, drop my keys on the kitchen worktop and ring Jess. My heart is pounding as I wait for her to answer, but unsurprisingly she doesn't. This only inflames my fury.

I stamp around the house, throwing things into a holdall for Helsinki in between attempting to call her. I lose count of the number of times I try, and by the time the car arrives to take me to the airport to meet the others, I am ready to explode. I have missed calls from Karen, Mum and Gemma but I ignore them all. I can't speak to anyone else until I have had this out with Jess. I need to unleash this fury. I need her to understand what she has done to me; the one person I trusted above anyone else other than my own family. She's no better than the rest of them.

I arrive at the airport and pass through security into the private lounge. Niall and Louis are already there, and I throw a look of disgust at Louis before walking to the other end of the room and calling Jess again. I stare out at the tarmac, watching people boarding planes and the luggage arriving on the little trucks, waiting to be loaded into the hold.

My anger is building again as she repeatedly refuses to answer. The least she could do is face up to what she has done. I recall diverting call after call from her, whilst sitting in the private lounge in New York. The irony isn't lost on me. It's becoming even clearer that all of this has been engineered and calculated in a simple revenge plot, to give me a taste of my own medicine. Well, it's working.

I swipe her number again and lift my phone to my ear, willing her to pick up so I can scream at her.

"Hello?"

She has answered. And she sounds terrified.