(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 23 - Coming To Find Me

August 2015

I will not get my hopes up over this. I will not expect anything from her. I am going to see her because I owe her the truth, and because I need to look at her one last time, even if it just so she can tell me to piss off out of her life for good. I miss her so much there is a physical ache in every bone of my body, and yet somehow knowing I will be seeing her in a week has given me a focus, and I am feeling better than I have done since all this went wrong.

I'm not going to ask her to take me back. I'm not going to ask for forgiveness. I don't have the right to demand anything from her, after what I did. I can only hope she will hear me out, and I promise myself it is all I will ask of her. 

I feel like a junkie who has gone cold turkey - from being surrounded and enveloped by her love, to barely afforded the time of day, or a few characters in a text. I have never craved contact with someone like this before. Maybe because I have never truly been in love before. 

Should I tell her I love her?

No - only if she asks. I don't want to manipulate her by burdening her with my own feelings. The purpose of this is to explain what happened so she understands why I betrayed her in the way I did and that she is in no way to blame. I accept full responsibility.

"Harry?"

I am startled out of my reverie to see Megan standing next to my seat smiling down at me. It's Sunday afternoon and I'm flying back to London on one of the private jets, as we now have a week-long break between Baltimore and Columbus. 

"You were miles away," she says softly. "Everything OK?"

"Um, yeah, good thanks," I reply. "Sorry if I ignored you."

"It's OK," she says quickly. "I was going to suggest you take the cabin. The bed is made up. Why don't you go have a lie down?"

I hesitate. If I have a nap on this flight I'll be jet lagged and unable to sleep when I get back to London. On the other hand, my eyelids are drooping already. I know I won't stay awake another seven hours. 

"Yeah, I will actually. Thanks," I reply. 

"Let me just check it's ready for you," she offers, and while I stand up and fumble for my earphones she hurries off to the back of the plane. After a minute I follow her and find her standing by the cabin door. She opens it for me and I step inside and walk a couple of steps over to the small bed tucked away against the wall. It's not the most comfy bed in the world, but it'll be comfier than trying to doze in a reclined seat.

"Can I get anything else for you? An extra blanket?" she offers. "I can adjust the temperature if you'd like?" She steps through the door behind me.

"No, I'm OK thanks, I'm just gonna crash for a couple of hours," I reply.

"OK, well, if you change your mind just call," she says softly, looking up at me through her eyelashes, and I smile down at her.

"Thanks, Megan, I will."

And then suddenly she is standing on her tiptoes, her face close to mine, her eyes closing, her breath soft on my cheek. Fuck!

"Um, that's not going to happen," I say gently but firmly, reading the situation just in time to pull back before her lips land on mine.

Her face is still close as her eyes open slowly, and she drops her gaze to my lips for a moment. "I thought it was what you wanted," she breathes, moistening her own lips with her tongue and then looking up to meet my gaze again.

Where on earth did she get that idea?

"I think it's better if we're just friends," I say diplomatically. 

"I thought you liked me?" she says, pulling back, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and I sense the beginnings of humiliation creeping into her voice.

"You're a lovely girl," I assure her, as kindly as I can. "But I'm kind of spoken for, in a way. It's complicated."

"Oh," she mutters, in a small voice.

"I hope I didn't do anything to make you think otherwise," I add, even though I know I have done nothing to lead her on. "I hope we can be friends."

"Yeah yeah, of course," she says quickly, and she turns away but not before I notice that her face is burning bright red. She looks like a tomato. It reminds me of all the times I made Jess blush, and sends a pang of loneliness to the pit of my stomach. "I'll leave you to it," she says, before she practically runs out of the door (as much as anyone can ever run in a small, cramped aeroplane.)

I lock the door, sit down on the bed and exhale noisily, before reaching for my phone and sending a quick text to Niall:

Megan just made a fucking pass at me!

Told you! comes the reply immediately, and I chuckle to myself before lying down on the bed and shutting my eyes. As if my life wasn't eventful enough.

....

By the time we have landed at Heathrow, found our cars and in my case been driven across London to my house in Hampstead, it is the early hours of the morning and despite my nap on the plane I am exhausted. I set my alarm for nine o'clock but I hit the snooze button several times and it is almost ten before I crawl out of bed and into the bathroom.

The water pummelling my skin wakes me up nicely, and I spend fifteen minutes under the shower head trying to come up with a plan for today. It involves seeing Jess in some capacity, but although I have had a week to think about it, I still don't know how to approach it. It doesn't help that every time I think about it I get sickening butterflies in my stomach, my heart starts beating fast and my palms sweat. I need to get a grip.

If I go to her flat after she has finished work, she could refuse to see me. Or she might not even be there. Or worse, she might be there with someone else... I recall Grimmy's tip off about that guy Adam kissing her in the bar. What if she has a new boyfriend by now? I push this thought away as my stomach twists painfully.

Wait - she gets a lunch hour doesn't she?! Usually around twelve o'clock. I could wait outside her office for her and see if she wants to go for lunch and talk! I feel like she's less likely to brush me off if she knows she has an escape at the end of an hour. I know that's not a brilliant positive right now, but I'm looking for the silver lining here. And if that's what it takes to get her to see me, it's all good.

Shit, I need to get my skates on if I'm going to get across London in time to meet her for twelve.

My heart begins to pound again as I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I examine my reflection in the mirror and am horrified to discover a massive spot on my forehead. Today of all days, I mean what the fucķ? Come on.

I resist the urge to squeeze it, and instead dab on some of my special Kiehl's spot zapper. By the time I have dried my hair it looks a little less red and angry, but still visible. Fucķing typical.

I contemplate leaving my hair loose, but I know Jess has a particular weakness for the 'mun' as she calls it, and desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm pulling out all the stops today to look as good as I can for her, because although I keep reminding myself that today is not about winning her back, deep down I want her to remember why she fell for me in the first place, so that maybe our talk might lead somewhere positive in the future. I'm not getting my hopes up, though. I am keeping myself firmly grounded. Today is about THE TRUTH. 

I let Paul know I'll be driving to Jess's office, and immediately a discussion ensues about my security. I insist I will be fine driving myself but he wants to follow me in the car behind - it's like being an eight year old child that can't go anywhere unsupervised. Eventually he agrees I will be safe as I'm only going there and back and nowhere high profile where paps or fans could be lurking en masse.

It's ten to twelve when I park up in a side street by Jess's office, shove a load of coins in the parking meter (I put two hours on, ever the optimist) and hurry along the road to loiter outside her building until she appears.

It's fucking roasting. Sweat is dripping down my back within two minutes, and although I'm glad I tied my hair up out of the way, I'm also really aware that sooner or later someone is going to recognise me and I will be unable to make a getaway. I really didn't think this through. After five years in this industry it appears I have learnt nothing.

At twelve o'clock on the dot people start coming out of the entrance of Jess's office. I lean against the wall, one leg bent at the knee with my foot flat behind me, my hands in my pockets to stop them from fidgeting.

I stare at the door. I wait.

Jess doesn't appear.

What if she's eating lunch inside? I hadn't even thought of this. I'm such an idiot. I'm going to have to ring her, and declare my hand. This is so not going to plan.

It goes even less to plan when she doesn't answer her phone. She either knows I'm here and she's avoiding me, or she's not on lunch until one o'clock. I glance up at her office windows to see if she is looking out watching me, before I decide I am behaving like a stalker and I need to pull myself together. I can't wait out here for an hour on the offchance she might come out. I'm going to have to go in and ask for her. 

Feeling like a complete loser, I walk resolutely up the steps and into the foyer where a dark haired girl is tapping away at a computer. I push my sunglasses onto the top of my head, walk up to her desk and take a deep breath, fighting to control the gutwrenching nausea bubbling up in my stomach right now.

"Um, excuse me?"

She looks up.

"Hi," I smile. "Would it be possible to see Jessica Bradshaw please?"

Even her name gives me butterflies. I have officially lost the plot.

The receptionist looks at me, recognition dawning on her face. Oh fuck. Here we go.

She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. I smile encouragingly. 

Please don't be one of the ones that cries. I'm too nervous to deal with a weeping fan right now.

"Jess Bradshaw?" I say again. "She's an insurance underwriter here."

The girl closes her mouth and swallows hard. "Um, she doesn't work here anymore," she stammers breathlessly.

What?

Oh my God.

I feel myself rock back on my heels, reeling from the shock. This was the last thing I was expecting. How can she not work here anymore? Where is she? Oh my God is she OK?

"She doesn't work here anymore?" I repeat stupidly, staring at the receptionist openmouthed. Her expression mirrors mine.

"Um, no, sorry."

"Are you sure?" I ask in disbelief.

"Quite sure," she squeaks. "She left a couple of weeks ago."

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

Wait a minute - what if she's just told them to say that, to get rid of me? Would she do that? Does she hate me that much?

"Is Sarah in?" I ask suddenly. 

"Which Sarah?"

This is going from bad to worse.

"Um, well, I don't know her last name. She works with Jess in the same department I think. Blonde hair."

"One minute," she replies, and she turns away from me and picks up the phone, leaving me to let out a tense rush of air. A trickle of sweat runs down my back, not due to the heat (the office is airconditioned) but thanks to my nerves. "Sarah, can you come to reception? Someone here to see you... No, just c'mere... quickly. It's urgent. 'K. 'K. Bye." She hangs up after this muffled conversation and gives me a nervous smile. "She's on her way."

"Thanks," I reply sincerely. Finally I'm getting somewhere.

A door to my left opens and a tall blonde girl that I instantly recognise as Sarah comes striding into view. Her gaze shifts and she claps eyes on me, and then stops dead, mid-stride. Her eyes widen in shock and her mouth falls open.

"Hi," I greet her, my voice croaky and trembling. I clear my throat. "Is Jess in today?"

Her eyes are locked on mine as she answers me, and her eyebrows have almost disappeared off her face. "No, she doesn't work here anymore."

"Where is she?" I ask, almost fearfully. 

There has to be about fifteen feet between us, as Sarah hasn't moved an inch since she stopped dead when she saw me.

"She transferred to another branch... she won't be back for ages."

I stare at her in the same way she is staring at me - in total disbelief. How can Jess not be here? Why has she left? What the hell is going on?

"I - I need to see her," I mumble. "It's important."

I stare at Sarah, as though she has the power to make Jess materialise in front of me. She stares back, as if unable to believe her own eyes.

"She's not here. I'm sorry," she says eventually. "She transferred a couple of weeks ago."

"Where to?"

She finally breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor. "I'm not allowed to divulge that. Security, and all that."

"Is she really not here?" I ask. My sadness is evident - even I can hear it in my voice.

She shakes her head, and meets my gaze again, this time with sympathy in her eyes. "I'm really sorry Harry."

I believe her. Fuck. 

I feel like I've been punched.

I retrieve my sunglasses from my head and slip them on, turn and walk to the door. Just as I reach it I turn back again to see the two girls staring literally openmouthed after me, in silence. I realise I have been really rude in just walking away without a word.

"Thanks Sarah. Sorry for barging in like this," I mutter, and nod my thanks at the receptionist.

Then I turn and hurry out of the office, down the steps and onto the street.

I can't believe she's not here. Where is she? Why has she transferred? Has she been promoted? Was she unhappy?

I feel sick that I didn't know about such an important thing in her life. It harshly reminds me that we're not together, she has no obligation to me, she's moving on. Moved on.

I pull out my phone and call her twice more, but she doesn't answer. I open a text. What should I say? I don't even know where to start. I've built myself up to this for a week, and now it's all crashed down I don't know what to do. I can't believe I was so stupid to assume she would just be here. I took her for granted.

I stand on the pavement for a minute, my mind racing. I didn't even know her company had other branches. Would she have transferred locally?

I type her company name into Google and it brings up their website. I click on the Contact Us section, and scroll down to the postal addresses. There are only two - North London and Cardiff.

Cardiff?! Is this a joke? That can't be right. I spend five minutes exploring the website, before I accept that it is right - and that is where she must be. Wow. Now what?

Will she be back home at the weekend? Or has she sold or rented out her flat? I don't know anything about her life anymore. I feel like shit.

You need to take back control!

Louis' words come back to me and I stare down at the Cardiff address on my screen. A stupid idea starts to form in my mind. How far away is Cardiff? A few hours' drive? If I left now I could make it before five o'clock and be waiting for her when she finishes. Is that really creepy? She might call the police, get a restraining order against me.

Fucķ it - I have nothing else to do, and I think I might go crazy if I don't see her after working myself up to it. I'm doing it.

I return to my car, slip behind the wheel, programme the sat nav with the Cardiff postcode, start the engine and pull out into the midday London traffic.

Cardiff, here I come.