(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 34 - Giving It To Someone Else)

I can't lie here all evening staring at the wall. I'll go insane.

I drag myself off the bed and into the bathroom to stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Jess was right: I look terrible. I have bags under my eyes, my skin is sallow and waxy, and my mouth is turned down in a miserable grimace. I switch the shower on, pull my clothes off and step into the cubicle. Too late I remember I left my phone on the bed and contemplate getting out of the shower to retrieve it, before mentally shaking myself. She's switched her phone off. She isn't going to ring me. The sooner I accept that, the better.

I stare at the tiled wall, searching my own mind for a distraction. I can't think about her with him any longer.

The lyrics to Walking In The Wind come to me, and I sing them out loud, the shower cubicle providing great reverb.

"The fact that we can sit right here and say goodbye means we've already won... The necessity for apologies between you and me, baby, there is none. You will find me..."

I sigh in frustration. There needs to be a bridge between the verse and chorus. It just doesn't flow as it is right now, but no one seems to be able to work it. It's too good a song to let go. I've not really contributed to it much, yet it means a lot to me, and I want to be the one to crack it. I'm just suffering from writer's block.

I'm no further forward by the time I step out of the shower, and I have no guitar with me to help me. I haven't even brought a change of clothes. Thinking about it rationally, this wasn't really the best idea, zooming across the country after my ex girlfriend who told me she didn't want to see me, dumping the truth on her about the end of our relationship after months of lies, without so much as a Plan B in case it didn't work out how I'd hoped. I'm a mess. 

I pull on a hotel dressing gown, walk through to the bedroom and lie on the bed to watch tv. I'm just going to have to get through tonight, and then first thing tomorrow I'll drive home, grab a bag and go straight to Mum's. I need to be around my family.

I ring Mum and let her know my plans, and fill her in on the last few hours. She asks if I'm alright; I tell her I'm fine. We both know I'm lying. I manage to survive the phone call without getting emotional, and then turn my attention to the TV. 

My mind wanders back to Jess for most of the next couple of hours, and instead of imagining her making love with someone else I try and work out what I can do next. I can't give up on her, on us, but I also can't force my way back into her life. I understand I have been too controlling about this, and I need to listen to what she wants if I am to have any chance of salvaging anything from the wreckage of our relationship.

I am just musing over the release of Perfect, and whether or not she will even hear it, never mind realise it is about her, when my phone lights up with a call. My stomach lurches so hard I feel almost winded when I see Jess's name on the screen.

I scramble to answer it, breathlessly. Please be OK. I don't think I can handle it if he has hurt her in some way.

"Jess? Are you alright?" 

"No," she replies, her voice shaking, and my heart plummets to my toes. "I am not alright. Everything is ruined because of you."

"Oh my god," I whisper. "What's happened? Has he - has he hurt you?"

My stomach churns sickeningly at the thought.

"Who, Adam?" she slurs. "No, he wouldn't hurt me. That's your department. Shagging models behind my back, breaking up with me, treating me like shit..."

"You're drunk," I say, almost to myself, as relief floods through my body. Drunk, and lashing out at me, is far better than any of the scenarios I have been dreading tonight.

"So what if I am?!" she demands clumsily. "Who are you to judge?"

"Jess, I'm not judging, I'm just worried," I explain gently, my mind racing ahead, thinking of ways to keep her on the phone. I don't care if she's screaming at me, at least we're communicating.

"Well don't be!" she snaps. "I am fine now that you're out of my life. I am so sick of crying over you! I'm sick of it. Sick of it!" 

She hiccups in between her sobs, and my heart breaks further at her despair that I have inflicted.

"Please don't cry," I beg, but she doesn't respond, and instead weeps softly for a couple of minutes. I say nothing, but let her release her emotions, and only when she begins to get them under control do I speak.

"What happened?"

"He's gone."

I have to ask. I have to know. 

"Did you sleep with him?" 

"No."

My body physically relaxes as I let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God."

She sniffs a couple of times. She seems to be calming down.

"Why do you always do this?" she asks tearfully. "Just when I think I'm getting over you, you turn everything upside down again. I can't keep doing this. I'm a wreck because of you."

Yeah, well, join the club.

"Baby I'm so sorry," I say miserably.

"Don't call me that!" she shouts, making me jump. "I'm not your baby! That belongs in a different time and place. That was when you loved me."

"I never stopped, Jess," I insist. "I'm sorry I made you think I did. If I could go back and change everything I would, I swear."

I roll over onto my side, holding the phone to my ear. This is progress. She is listening to me. Finally, she is listening.

"You can't just expect to click your fingers and make everything OK with just one conversation!" she cries. "You've had weeks - months - to get your head around this! I've had about three hours!"

"I know," I murmur. "It took me a long time to come to terms with it all. I was so angry for such a long time."

Fuck, I still am.

"I still am, when I think about it for too long," I add.

"Why?" she whispers sadly. "Why did she do it? Why couldn't she leave you alone?"

We're talking about Nadine now. Who knows what goes on in that girl's sick mind?

"I think she was probably hoping we would end up together that night," I suggest. "But it backfired. Sara had no idea what the plan was, other than that Nadine wanted me to get off my face so she had a chance with me again. They don't talk now - Sara and Nadine."

"I don't blame them. And I hate both of them," she spits. Then, "Oh God, I feel sick."

"Jess?" I ask, my stomach lurching again. "Are you alright?"

"The room's spinning," she mumbles. 

"Jess?" I ask again, but I hear a brief rustle and then silence. "Jess? Jess!"

Oh God, has she passed out? Is she being sick? What if she's drunk so much she's genuinely ill? 

"Jess!" I shout down the phone, desperate for her to respond. Why isn't she answering me?!

I mute the TV and press my phone to my ear, straining to hear anything on the other end. I can hear vague sounds, but nothing I can distinguish. Just possibly someone moving around in the distance. Does this mean she's alright?

The sound gets louder, followed by a thump and a rustle, and then I hear her voice.

"Hello?" 

"Jess?" I demand again. "Thank God - are you alright?" 

"I've just been sick," she says, sounding embarrassed. "I've had a lot to drink."

"I'm coming over there."

I am out of bed and standing up before I hear her furious reply.

"No! Don't you fucking dare! I told you to stay away!"

I am momentarily stumped. I just want to make sure she's OK.

"I'm worried about you," I protest, my feelings hurt.

"If you come here now I swear to God I will never speak to you again!" she hisses. "For once in your life just listen to me, and stop thinking you know best!"

"OK," I agree quickly, remembering her words from earlier. "OK. I hear you. I'm sorry."

"Good!" she says, forcefully.

"I'm trying, Jess," I plead, after a moment. "You said you didn't want any contact with me and I respected that. I walked away, like you wanted me to."

"Yeah and then you texted me an hour later," she says, curtly.

"I had to let you know we'd been seen," I explain. "It was either that or let someone from Modest get in touch with you. I didn't think you'd want that, either. But I didn't think it was fair to you not to give you some sort of warning that the paps might be waiting for you."

I can't win.

"Whatever," she mutters.

"I am listening to you," I whisper. "I'm trying to play by your rules. I don't want you to hate me."

"I don't," she mumbles, and my heart lifts for the first time in weeks.

"Don't you?" 

"I hate Sara. And Nadine. And the paps."

She sounds drunk and sleepy, and adorable. I want nothing more than to be cuddled up in bed with her right now.

"And Karen?" I add, in an attempt to steer the conversation in a lighthearted direction.

"She's just got your best interests at heart," she concedes, with a yawn. "Even if she is a ruthless bitch. I don't hate her, though."

Well. That's a surprise, if nothing else.

"Well that's progress, I suppose," I smile, and she murmurs her assent. "Are you going to sleep?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"OK," I reply, softly. "Call me if you need me. I can be there in a few minutes."

"What?" she demands. "Where are you?"

Great. Now I'm going to sound like a creepy stalker.

"I'm still in Cardiff," I admit, feeling stupid. "I couldn't face driving back to London after our talk. I felt like shit. So I booked in to the same hotel we stayed in after we played the gig here. I'm... I'm in the same room," I finish, closing my eyes in embarrassment.

There is a momentary pause.

"Oh Harry," she says softly, with a sigh. 

Now she's feeling sorry for me. Fantastic.

"I'm driving home in the morning," I add, quickly. I don't want her pity.

"Where? London or Holmes Chapel?"

"London first, to get my stuff," I tell her. "Then I'm going home to my mum's to hide out for a bit."

"Oh."

"Will you be OK getting to work tomorrow?" I wonder. She's going to feel like shit in the morning, if she's this drunk now.

"I booked the day off," she mumbles.

She's off tomorrow? Would she see me, talk things through? Should I ask?

That's exactly what she doesn't want, but I can't help feeling that she has softened slightly towards me, since the admission that I am in the hotel room that holds so much significance for us both.

"Can I call you in the morning, just to check you're OK?" I begin, cautiously.

Baby steps.

"Yeah," she says, as if she has been waiting for me to ask.

"Will you answer?" I tease, bolstered by this cooperation.

"Yeah, I'll answer," she replies, and I can't help the grin that is spreading across my face.

"OK," I beam. "I guess I'll speak to you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah," she says thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess you will."

That night, for the first time in a very long time, I fall into a restful sleep.