(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 24 - Nothing's Making Sense) 

I'm thankful for air conditioning as I'm sitting in traffic on a gridlocked M4. The journey to Cardiff takes over four hours due to roadworks at the Swindon turn off, and I make a quick dash into some services near Bristol to grab a sandwich and have a wee. It is twenty to five when I pull into the car park next to a modern office block on an industrial estate just outside the city centre, kill the engine and check my reflection in the mirror. I look nervous. I need to relax.

I have a missed call from Paul, my security, and I decide not to call him back. I send him a quick text - Took a slight detour to Cardiff. Don't be cross! - and then unplug my phone from the car charger and sit and wait, staring at the clock as the minutes tick by until five to five.

I get out of the car and make my way nervously towards the main entrance. I don't really want to be seen by anyone except Jess so I hover behind a couple of tall hydrangea bushes, watching the door, my hands shoved in my pockets. My back is sweating again, and I discreetly sniff my shirt - thankfully I don't smell. That wouldn't be a good start.

At exactly five o'clock a large number of people leave the building and I keep my head down, watching discreetly through my sunglasses, looking for the face that always stands out in the crowd; the face that makes my stomach flutter and my heart race. It feels like forever, waiting for her to appear. 

I'm just starting to fear I have either missed her or I totally misjudged this and she isn't in Cardiff at all, when suddenly the automatic doors open and three girls step outside, Jess among them. My breath catches in my throat and my heart almost stops at the sight of her. She looks stunning - her hair is shining in the sunlight and her cheeks are glowing. She radiates confidence, happiness and beauty. She is breathtaking. 

I peer through the leaves like a stalker, unable to tear my eyes from her, and her conversation with her friends is just audible from where I am positioned.

"Louis, from One Direction," a girl with auburn hair is saying, and my stomach twists nervously. "He's hosting a charity ball on Wednesday at a secret location in London. I wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse of the boys but I don't know where it's being held."

"I thought you might know, with your connections," the dark haired one adds. They both stare at Jess expectantly.

I watch her to see how she responds, my pounding heart sending an uncomfortable heat prickling over every inch of my skin.

"I don't really have connections," she replies, her eyes darting away. "I don't know anything about it, sorry."

"Oh, OK. Thanks anyway." Her friend looks disappointed. "Hey - is Harry as lovely in real life as he seems on TV?"

Oh my God. 

Is this a set up? Do they know I'm listening in? I feel like any minute now one of them is going to call me out for earwigging.

I stare at Jess again, my heart now hammering.

"Lovelier," she sighs, with a wistful smile, and I feel a lump forming in my throat.

"Really?" her friends ask breathlessly, in unison, and her lips twitch as she replies, "Yes."

"Why is he always so mysterious?" is the next question.

If I were sitting down I'd literally be on the edge of my seat.

"He's not, he's just private," Jess tells them. "He doesn't have to share his life with the world. Why should he? He gets enough intrusion."

Is she defending me?

"Did he sleep with that model in New York?" 

FUCK. No no no no no no NO!

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers," Jess responds, with the smallest eye-roll. "Most of it is bullshit, twisted and embellished to create a story."

"So he didn't?" 

She shrugs, noncommittally. "You'd have to ask Harry."

She didn't rat me out... she had her chance to slate me, but she didn't. I can't even begin to process this.

"If he wasn't going out with you, how come he never denied the rumours?" the dark haired girl is asking.

"Why should he?" Jess asks again, almost defensively, although I can tell she is concentrating hard on acting casual. I recognise the furrow in her brow - she did the same thing when Karen gave her the quick-fire round at the Modest office. "He shouldn't have to answer every speculation about his private life," she continues. "It nobody else's business."

"He must get sick of it," the redhead remarks.

"He's grateful to the fans for sticking up for him," she replies, like a true pro. "And he knows he wouldn't have had the success he's had without their support."

The two girls nod slowly at her words, staring at her in awe. 

I don't blame them. I'm staring at her in awe too. She handled that whole conversation brilliantly. She gave nothing away, while answering their questions in a way that painted me in a good light. 

The lump is back in my throat again. I swallow hard.

"Anyway, I've got to go. I need to catch the bus."

This snaps me out of my trance. I need to attract her attention and get her alone! I have a feeling her friends will freak if they see me - they're obviously fans, and they know their stuff.

But to my relief they say their goodbyes and the other two wander off up the road, leaving Jess standing staring into space. This is my chance - it's now or never. 

I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the fact they are trembling, and walk nervously around the bush towards Jess. She hasn't seen me yet - her body is facing away from me and she seems lost in thought.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," I call, all too aware of my embarrassing awkwardness that seems radiate from me in waves.

She whips round to face me, and I can tell she has recognised my voice because shock has already registered on her face before her gaze meets mine. Her mouth is open and her eyes are wide. She stares at me as if she can't believe what she is seeing.

"Hi," I greet her, stupidly. My tongue is suddenly too big for my mouth as she looks into my eyes and the whole world stops for a moment.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, after what feels like an eternity.

Her eyes are so beautiful. I could lose myself in them.

"I wanted to see you," I reply.

"Sarah said she didn't tell you where I was!" she says accusingly, and I realise that Sarah probably tipped her off that I had been to her office in London. Well, this is awkward.

"She didn't. I had to Google your company," I explain. "She said you were working in another branch, and according to the website there's only London and Cardiff. So I got the postcode and... here I am." 

Please don't call the police.

She stares at my face for a moment, frowning.

"You look terrible."

I can't help smiling self-consciously at her honesty.

"You look amazing," I reply softly, before I can stop myself. She glances over her shoulder towards her friends who are now too far away to recognise me, and inwardly I breathe a sigh of relief. We're less likely to be interrupted now. "Have you got five minutes?" I ask.

"Um, OK," she says, and my stomach flips as I detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. She begins to walk slowly, inviting me to follow her, and we take a seat on a small wooden bench under a large oak tree.

I'm terrified. I know what I want to say, but where do I start? What's my opening line? How do I begin to explain everything that happened? It will take more than five minutes. 

"How are you?" I begin.

"Fine. You?"

A mess.

"OK," I say with a shrug. "How come you're working here now?"

Keeping things casual.

"I got a promotion, sort of," she says. "It's only temporary, but I can apply for it permanently if I want. I'm just covering at the moment."

The thought of her relocating to Cardiff permanently makes me feel sick.

"Are you going to?" I ask. "Apply for it, I mean?"

"I don't know yet," she says, breaking eye contact to look at the brick building in front of us. "It's a nice change, but I miss London."

"Do you go home at weekends?" I wonder.

"Usually," she confirms. "I stayed here last weekend though."

I have a bad feeling about this.

"Why?"

"We had a staff night out," she replies, a little impatiently. "Why are you here, Harry? You didn't come all this way just to ask me why I didn't go home last weekend."

My stomach clenches nervously.

"No," I acknowledge, looking down at my feet. "I told you, I just wanted to see you."

"And I told you I didn't want to see you," she retorts.

Her bluntness hurts.

"I didn't want to leave things on bad terms," I begin.

"Why?" she interrupts. "It's not like we have to be around each other! I didn't think I was ever going to see you again. Why would you care?"

Why would I care? Why would I care?! How could I NOT care?!

"I don't want you to hate me," I mutter, my eyes fixed on a scuff on my right toe.

She throws her arms up in the air in disbelief and I inwardly cringe at her scorn.

"Again, why would you care?" she snaps. "Why can't you just get on with your life?"

Like it's that easy. Like I can just walk away, forget everything I feel and move on.

Yes, I know that's exactly what I tried to do, so she has every right to be confused. I promised myself I wouldn't tell her I loved her unless she asked, but right now it's all I can think of to say. I stare into the distance, trying to organise my thoughts and put into words even one tenth of what I feel inside.

Before I can say anything she jumps up and lifts her hand to her throat.

"Oh my God!" she wails. "Is this a set up? Have you got paparazzi watching us?"

"What?!" I gape, staring at her while she glares back at me. "What the hell - no of course not!"

Where did that come from? Why on earth would I invite the paps to watch us?

"Don't act all offended," she hurls. "It wouldn't be the first time you've set me up!"

What?

"What do you mean?" I ask, frowning in confusion, and she mocks my expression with her own exaggerated version.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" she asks furiously. "You set me up last time! You set up the paps to get pictures of us, to restore your public image!"

Has she lost her marbles? What the fuck is she talking about?

"Why are you looking at me like that?!" she demands, outraged. "You admitted it! You told me that whole night was a set up! Right before you flew to Helsinki!"

Is she talking about the night we spent together after we split up? The night she kissed Louis?

"I didn't set you up," I protest indignantly. "Karen did! I would never do that to you."

"You - you said you did!" Her tone has lost some of its fury; she sounds confused and... scared? My mind races to remember details of our conversation the following morning on the phone.

"No, I said the whole thing was a set up, which it was," I say, slowly. "I never said it had anything to do with me."

"I - you... You said I'd figured it out!"

She's almost hyperventilating now. Realisation dawns on me. I was so devastated at the time that she could think so little of me that in an attempt to lash out at her, I scornfully congratulated her on the conclusion to which she had jumped. I feel even worse now.

I sigh and look down at the ground again, and then up at her beautiful face. This is such a terrible, terrible mess.

"Why would I set you up?" I ask, softly.

"To stop the world from hating you for shagging the Chestnut Mare!" she snaps again.

"Did you really think I'd stoop so low?" I ask, miserably.

"You did. You slept with someone else. You couldn't really stoop any lower."

Her words slice through me and I look away, too ashamed to meet her eyes, and full of hatred at myself for what I did, for the way I behaved, for how I hurt her.

"I have to get going," she says, with finality, and I look up again in horror.

"Already? We - I - there are things I need to say," I stammer, and she rolls her eyes.

"You've had two months to say them. I gave up waiting a long time ago."

I'm messing this up. I should have thought it through properly, prepared for her fury.

"Jess," I beg, getting to my feet, and as I do she recoils from me as though afraid to come too close. Her reaction breaks my heart. "You really do hate me, don't you?" I realise in defeat.

"Can you blame me?" she shouts. "You cheated on me, refused to give me an explanation, rejected me, told me you never loved me in the first place, told me the whole thing was set up and now you want to be friends?"

What? I told her I never loved her?! When?!

"No I didn't!" I shout back. "How can you think that?!"

Why does she think all this bad stuff about me that isn't true? Where has it come from? What the hell has happened to us?

She growls in frustration and rubs her face with both hands. "I don't even know which part you're denying-"

"The part where you said I told you I didn't love you!" is what I open my mouth to say, but she cuts me off before I can begin.

"-and I don't want to know! I've moved on Harry. I suggest you do the same."

She's moved on.

I feel like I just got body slammed by a ton of bricks.

I look up to see she is walking away from me.

"Wait, Jess, please!" I call, following her down the path. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my hotel. I have to get ready," she answers without slowing down.

"Ready for what?" I ask, when I have caught up with her.

"I'm going out tonight," she mumbles, and I know, before I have grabbed her arm, before I have forced her to stop walking, before she has met my gaze... I know what she is going to say, and I am not prepared for it. I'll never be prepared for it.

"Who with?" 

She clears her throat and looks away from me. Her lip trembles slightly.

"My boyfriend is coming up tonight from London." 

"Boyfriend?" I hear myself say, as my blood pounds in my ears. "What boyfriend?"

"I'm... I'm seeing someone," she replies, licking her lips nervously and twisting her fingers together.

I fight to swallow the lump in my throat, and I release her arm to pull at my own hair.

"Who?" 

"No one you know." 

"I didn't know," I mutter, more to myself than to Jess, and my hands start to shake again so I jam them in my pockets while I try to take in this new piece of information.

Two months ago I knew this girl inside out. Now I know nothing. She has a new job, a new boyfriend, a new life... all without me. She has moved on, and I am stuck in the past, hankering after what we once had and what we have now lost. What I have now lost.

"Why would you?" she is asking. "It's not the sort of thing I would go out of my way to tell you."

Of course not. I don't even register in her thoughts anymore. I am long forgotten. 

"How long...?" I wonder out loud.

"Only a few weeks. We're just sort of, I dunno... dating I suppose."

Oh my God, has she had sex with him? I don't think I can take this thought. I feel like someone is ripping my chest open.

"But he's coming here to stay with you - in your hotel?" I ask, torturing myself further. "Or just to see you?"

"Well... yeah, to... to stay with me," she answers, her voice barely a whisper.

He's going to be staying her room... in her bed... Oh God I can't do this.

"Has he... have you...?" I can't get my words out. I'm tripping over them, crashing around and making everything worse, unable to ask what I need to know, even though I suspect the answer will break me.

She hesitates, looking around everywhere except at me.

"I don't feel comfortable talking about this with you," she replies, finally.

If she had slept with him, I think she would tell me. I feel like she would throw it in my face, after her bluntness earlier. It's not much to go on, but I choose to believe this over the alternative that would be the end of us completely. I know that makes me a hypocrite, but I never claimed to be perfect.

"What's his name?" I ask.

"Why does that matter?" she responds with a sigh.

"Is it someone I know?"

Please God, not Gary.

"No."

"So why can't you tell me his name?"

"I don't see why it's so important."

"I don't know why you can't just tell me," I persist. 

She's hiding something. I know her too well.

"Fine," she says impatiently. "It's Adam."

"Adam?" I yelp. "The one from the bar?!"

That's almost worse than Gary.

Almost, but not quite.

"What do you mean?" she asks, pulling a face of confusion. "What bar?"

"The one you kissed in the bar!" I tell her impatiently, and then remember I am not supposed to know this, as it was Grimmy who saw them and tipped me off.

"What are you talking about?" she demands, and after I realising I can't think of a way to wriggle out of this, I come clean, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"He kissed you, in some bar. Your friend Callie was saying he was nothing like me."

And it broke my heart to hear that story, for the record. Not that you care, Jess, because you've moved on.

"What - how do you know about that?" she squeaks, and I blush and look away. I don't really want to drop Grimmy in the shit.

"Grimmy," she hisses. "He told you, didn't he? He was there that night."

I decide it is best to say nothing.

"What else has he told you?" 

"What else is there?!" I ask fearfully. Have there been other guys?

"Nothing," she says quickly.

"Really?" I ask sceptically, reaching out and grabbing hold of her arm. Our eyes lock and my stomach jolts. She yanks her arm away.

"This is none of your business, Harry," she says, coldly, and turns on her heel and begins to walk away.

Fuck! I'm being too pushy. I'm messing it up, again. What is wrong with me? Why do I do it, every single time?!

"I know, I'm sorry," I apologise softly, following her again. "Let me drive you back to your hotel, at least."

"No thanks," she mutters, with a touch of sass.

"Don't be so stubborn," I chastise her.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Please, Jess!" I call, stopping in my tracks and letting my frustration show in my voice. It gets her attention because she stops too and turns to look at me. I wish my heart would stop pounding every time she regards me like this. "Just let me drive you," I offer, a little more quietly. The tremor in my voice is audible. Damn. "Come on," I coax.

She considers this for a second.

"Fine," she mutters.

I stay where I am on the pavement and wait while she strides back towards me, a look of annoyance and defeat on her face. Even when she's cross, she beautiful.

I lead her over to my car, and she looks up at me questioningly. 

"Where's your security?"

"Back in London," I reply, and I can't fight the triumphant smirk pulling at the corners of my mouth. She catches me eye and she returns my smirk with a hint of mischief, causing another flutter of nerves in my stomach.

"Did you give them the slip or something?" 

"Not exactly. I just didn't tell them I was coming here. I sort of left in a rush."

As I look out of the back window to reverse out of the car park I become aware how close we are in such a confined space, and my heart starts pounding for the hundredth time today. I can't resist sneaking a look at her, and my stomach lurches when I catch her looking at me, too. 

"What's the postcode of your hotel?" I murmur as we pull out onto the road, and she punches it into my sat nav. The rush hour traffic is heavy, and we sit in a lane of cars, not moving and not speaking.

 My mind is racing again, tracing back over all the things I need to tell her, pulling myself back to the very beginning, to where this all went wrong, to all the things I never said but should have, to all the fears I should have shared but didn't. 

I've missed her so much. Being close to her again makes me feel safe. At home. 

"I've missed you," I blurt. 

She doesn't reply but the atmosphere in the car has shifted and I know she is listening to me.

"I've made a mess of everything," I continue, apologetically. "It all just snowballed. It got out of control and I didn't know how to stop it."

"What did?" she asks breathlessly, turning her head to look at me, her eyes wide.

"Everything. The whole situation," I reply, my heart pounding harder as finally we are getting closer to the truth. "I've done some stuff... stuff I'm not proud of," I explain, tentatively.

"Yeah, I know that," she scoffs.

She is referring to Sara, of course.

I am referring to taking drugs that influenced my sex drive, keeping secrets from the person I love and trust most in the world and singlehandedly almost destroying every close relationship I have.

She has no idea.

"No," I say sadly but firmly. "You don't. But you should."