(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 39 - The Colours That I Can't Change)

The next thing I am aware of is daylight filtering through the lounge curtains, and the sound of a kettle boiling and cups being moved around. I open one eye to glance at my watch, and realise it is seven o'clock in the morning, which means Jess is getting ready for work. 

Why am I on the sofa? And why do I ache all over? 

I close my eye again and think hard. Oh yes - I came straight here after I landed at Heathrow. Jess cooked me dinner and then she let me cuddle up to her while we watched a film. Oh no... does this mean I fell asleep on her? I don't even remember the film starting. I don't even remember what film we were going to watch. 

Fuck, this is so embarrassing. I hope I didn't snore. Or dribble. Oh God, what if I dribbled on her? This could not get any worse.

I hear footsteps coming towards me, so I keep my eyes shut and a moment later I hear the sound of a mug being set down on the coffee table. I hold my breath, fighting the urge to grin.

"Harry."

Keep a straight face. Do not move. 

"Harry." Louder this time, followed by Jess clearing her throat. I feel a bubble of laughter rising, and it takes everything I have to push it away.

"Harry!"

I feel a gentle nudge to my shoulder, but I don't react. She's either going to suss me or throw a fit.

"Harry!" she squeals, sounding panicked. "Harry! Oh my God."

She screams this last part, and I feel my mouth twitching helplessly as she scuffles next to me, and then I hear a sharp intake of breath, and silence descends. She's staring at me, I know it. 

Don't laugh. DO NOT LAUGH.

My nostrils flare.

"You fucking arsehole!"

A cackle of laughter escapes as she punches my arm, a little harder than necessary. 

"I thought you were dead."

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to control my laughter at her fury, and can't bring myself to look at her for fear her expression will make me worse.

"Why would I be dead?!" I wheeze, when I am finally able to speak.

"You tell me!" she hisses. "You were the one pretending! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"And I'm like, OW! Never thought it'd hurt so bad, getting over you-ou!" 

This is pathetic. I've never sung my own song out loud at someone before. But it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Not funny, under the circumstances," she points out, and this sobers me for a moment, until I realise how panicked she was at the thought of me being dead.

"Were you really that worried?" I ask. I can't help grinning.

I sit up on the sofa, and pick up one of the cups of tea sitting on the table.

"Yeah, more fool me," she mutters.

"You sounded like you were about to cry," I suggest casually.

"I was!" she snaps. "I told you, I thought you were dead or something."

"And that would make you cry?" My heartbeat has accelerated.

"Of course it would!" she says, giving me a strange look. "I-" she hesitates, and clears her throat. "You're my friend."

This is the best news I've had all year. "Am I? Well that's progress, at least."

There is a minute of silence as she perches on the sofa next to me, and we sip our drinks.

"Sorry for falling asleep last night," I apologise, feeling less embarrassed but still a little awkward. "I was pretty tired." Frankly, I can't believe I dropped off so easily. I've been quite the insomniac of late.

"It's fine," she shrugs. "I didn't have the heart to wake you. You went out like a light. I wasn't sure if you had anywhere to be, or anything."

"Nah, not until later. I have to pick up my suit for this party tonight."

"What are you wearing?" 

I grin, feeling mischievous. "A suit."

She gives me an exasperated look. "Don't be awkward."

I look down at my tea again, trying not to break into laughter.

"It's like a brown geometric print," I elaborate, once the feeling of hysteria has passed. "It's a bit different."

She nods slowly, and seriously. "Knowing you, you'll pull it off."

Pull it off. Pull me off. Now there's a fantastic idea. My dirty mind has gone into overdrive.

I have to look away or else I will burst into ridiculous laughter again.

"What's funny now?" she demands. She has no idea how hilarious she is when she's cross with me.

"Nothing," I lie. "I was just thinking highly inappropriate comments in my head." 

I don't know what has brought on this uncontrollable giddiness, but I'm on cloud nine.

"Ugh, I don't want to know," she huffs, and I grin at the wall, knowing I am infuriating her, and loving every minute of it.

"Are any of the other boys going?" she asks.

"No, although they're all in London," I answer. "Liam's spending as much time with Sophia as he can. Things haven't been going too well."

"What do you mean?" she asks, and I hesitate for a moment, not wishing to betray Liam's confidence, but at the same time this is Jess; I can trust her with anything.

I tell her about Liam and Sophia growing apart a bit, and the conversation gradually moves on to our new album release, and how it will be received on Twitter.

"Speaking of Twitter," I add, sideglancing her, "when are you going to follow me again?"

"Never," she says immediately, without even a hint of hesitation, and I feel myself blink in surprise.

"Never?"

"I've had my fingers burnt with that," she says, meaningfully. "I've learnt my lesson. I get too much attention. And anyway, I can't imagine I'd be allowed to do that without consulting Karen first."

"She'd be all for it," I huff. "Anything to dispel the rumours about..." I trail off, as the subject approaches Sara. "You know," I mumble awkwardly.

"I should get in the shower," she says suddenly. "I have to get ready for work."

I feel like the atmosphere has shifted slightly, into uncomfortable territory.

"I'll get a car to come and pick me up," I offer. "We can drop you off on the way if you like?"

"It's OK, I'll get the tube," she replies. "Thanks, though."

I'm about to insist I drop her off, but then remember what she has said in the past about me ignoring her wishes and taking charge of her life. "OK."

She smiles briefly at me, and then walks off to the bathroom where I hear the lock slide firmly into place. I grin to myself at the difference between our desires right now, yet the similarities in our thought processes. She has deliberately locked the door for privacy; I deliberately unlocked it hoping she would join me.

I stand up from the sofa and wander into the kitchen to make us a fresh cup of tea. While I'm there I decide on impulse to make her breakfast, and hurry around the kitchen shoving bread in the toaster and pulling plates out of the cupboard. I think back to the time I made her breakfast in LA, when I considered for about half a second putting a rose between my teeth. The thought makes me smirk again, and I wonder if there will ever be a right time to do that. Then I remember we're not even together, and to hope for something like that is just unnecessary self-torture.

I am putting toast on a plate when I hear her coming out of her bedroom, and I quickly put it on the table next to the cups of tea I have just made. I look up to see her entering the kitchen wearing tailored black trousers and a white shirt. She looks professional and businesslike, and I could fuck her right here on this table if she wasn't so mad at me for messing up both our lives.

"I made you some breakfast." Stating the obvious. Great. "I hope you don't mind. It's not much. But it's just my way of saying thanks for letting me stay last night." 

I'm rambling nervously. I hope she can't tell.

She meets my eye for a second, and my stomach does a funny little flutter.

"Thanks," she says, with a soft smile. "You didn't have to, but that was really sweet."

Hell yeah!

"I'm a sweet guy."

"Modest too," she quips.

She's so damn beautiful.

"Have I got time for a shower?" I wonder. "It's fine if not. I can wait until I get home."

"No, you've got plenty of time. I don't have to leave for about twenty minutes."

It occurs to me as I am stepping into the shower again that the more time I spend in here, the less time I have with her. I am in and out in less than ten minutes, although I could have been quicker if I hadn't wasted a few of those dreaming about her pulling the curtain back, a shy, nervous expression on her face, and stepping into the shower beside me, pressing her small body and her soft lips against mine.

"That was quick," she remarks, as I scuttle back into the kitchen.

"Yeah well I wanted to make the most of the time I have with you," I explain, truthfully. "I don't know when I might get to see you again. I've got a lot of shows coming up..."

I let the sentence hang, waiting for her to suggest doing this again sometime, my heart speeding up as I meet her gaze again. She licks her lips nervously.

"Um... when - when are you free?"

"Wednesday and Sunday," I answer immediately, praying silently that she doesn't have any plans. She looks down at the table.

"I'm working Wednesday, but I'm not doing anything on Sunday."

My stomach lurches. "Do you maybe want to hang out on Sunday then?" I offer, casually. "You could come to my house? Or we could go for a walk if the weather's good?"

"Yeah, sounds good," she agrees, and my heart soars.

"It's a date then!" I announce, happily. 

FUCK.

Rewind, rewind! No pressure, you fucking idiot, why did you say that?!

"I don't mean, like, a date date," I add quickly, desperately trying to backtrack. "I mean it's a date for the diary. An arrangement." 

Wait, unless she wants it to be a date?

"Unless you want it to be a date date?" I clarify, as any semblance of chill slowly drains away.

"An arrangement is fine," she says, completely unaware of my inner panic, and it's all I can do not to sigh in disappointment.

"So are you going to tell me which show you're coming to?" I ask her, eager to get away from this awkward conversation.

"I've got tickets for Friday."

I look up sharply.

"This Friday?"

She rolls her eyes. "Well, yeah, obviously. Unless you're playing any other Fridays at the O2 that I don't know about?"

"Alright, sassy pants," I fire back, wrinkling my nose at her. "I was just checking. Are you coming, then?"

"I don't know," she mumbles.

What?! What has she got against our concerts now?!

"Why wouldn't you?" I ask.

"Well, for the same reasons I already told you. I don't want the press getting wind of me being there, especially with things... the way they are..." she trails off, and my stomach churns again.

I want to probe, but I should probably leave things alone.

"And - and how would that be?" I ask, not meeting her eye. For fuck's sake, it's like I have no control over my own mouth or something.

"The same as last time you asked," she says bluntly, but gently.

"Jess -"

"Don't, Harry," she interrupts, before I can even begin to articulate my thoughts about us. "Casual and fun, remember? No heavy stuff."

"K." 

But I mean, how much longer can we avoid this subject? It's like the elephant in the room. It's all I can think about when I'm with her. How is she feeling, what is she thinking, does she have any sort of feelings towards me anymore, and is there any chance we will ever be able to sort things out?

"I'm not saying we'll never talk about it," she adds, as though she has heard me. "Just not now."

I open my mouth to ask when, but she beats me to it.

"And I don't know when, before you ask."

See, this is why we should be back together. She knows me inside out. Or at least, she used to, before I fucked everything up.

"Will you let me know, either way, whether you're coming on Friday?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, but she doesn't sound sure. "But I don't want any special treatment. I just want to blend into the background, unnoticed."

"I just want you there," I admit, feeling stupid and vulnerable but understanding the importance of being honest with her. It will break my heart if she doesn't come.

My phone rings, breaking the atmosphere. It's Paul - he's outside in the car park.

"Thanks for a great night," I say awkwardly, standing up and picking up my bag.

"You slept through most of it," she reminds me, smiling cheekily at me in a way that makes my heart swell.

"OK, well, thanks for dinner and the best sleep I've had in a while," I concede. "I'll see you at the concert on Friday? Where are you sitting, by the way?"

I throw this in, not really believing she will tell me, but trying anyway.

"Um, I can't remember," she says, looking away, and I hold in a sigh of resignation. I just wish she would let me in. But then, the last time she did that I broke her heart, so I can't really blame her. This is so frustrating.

"OK, well, thanks again," I smile. "It's been great."

"Yeah, it was nice," she says sincerely, as we walk down the hall to her front door.

She's suddenly standing really close to me. Oh my god - does she want me to kiss her? Should I try? 

I am reminded of our second date, when I walked her to her door and kissed her, and she pulled me inside when we heard footsteps approaching. 

My heart is thudding now from that memory. Is she remembering it too? You could literally cut the tension with a knife.

"Bye then," I mumble, and my voice sounds weird and husky.

"Bye," she says, leaning towards me.

I can't help myself. I lean towards her involuntarily as she opens the door, my heart banging in my chest so hard it almost hurts, and close my eyes. My lips brush her skin, sending a rush of warmth through my body, until I realise a split second later that I've somehow aimed wrong and she isn't kissing me back. I flinch away, my eyes opening in alarm, to see that it was her cheek that I kissed, not her lips, and she is staring awkwardly at the floor with her face turned away.

My blood runs cold as I realise I have read this whole situation completely wrong. I want to die of embarrassment.

"Sorry," she stammers. "I just..."

"It's fine." I need to get the fuck out of here, and fast. "Bye."

"Harry," she calls softly, and I swear I hear pity in her voice.

I keep my eyes trained on the floor as I practically run out of her flat towards the stairs, humiliation burning my cheeks like fire.

"I gotta go, Paul's waiting," I call back, as cheerfully as I can while my insides shrivel into a miserable ball of shame.

I let the door bang shut noisily behind me, and before I even have time to blink a camera is thrust in my face, blinding me with a flash and clicking loudly.

"Morning Harry - how are you? How's Jess? Are you back together?"

No no no no no what the fuck?! This cannot be happening. Not today, not when things are so shaky between us, not when she's just told me she doesn't want the attention. Please not today.

I stare at the pavement as I walk past the two paparazzi, wishing I'd thought to put my sunglasses on, but in the haste of my exit after Jess's rejection, it was the last thing on my mind. Paul gets out of the car, a look of shock on his face as he sees the paps. He opens the back door of the car and I scurry towards him, the cameras following me.

"Harry! Can we just get a picture please?" one of them shouts.

"You already have," I snap bitterly as I throw my bag into the back of the car, jump in and close the door behind me.

Paul jumps in the front seat, and quickly reverses out of the parking space. "You alright, H?"

"Fucking paps," I hiss, pulling my phone out to ring Jess, but she doesn't answer.

I can't let her face this unexpected intrusion without warning. I can't let them ruin this, when I know it could destroy us for good. 

I call again, but to my dismay she still doesn't pick up, so I send her a hurried text, praying she reads it before she leaves her flat.

There are paps outside your flat, ring me xxx

I don't know what to do. I'm considering asking Paul to turn the car around so I can go back and warn her, but then my phone lights up with a call.

"Jess?" I answer, breathlessly.

"Fucking paps," she rants.

"I'm so sorry," I say, my voice pleading. "I tried to warn you. They got me as soon as I stepped out of the door. They must have followed me from the airport last night."

Please don't let this influence you against me. Please don't let them win.

"Why can't they leave us alone?" she breathes furiously. "They caught me completely off-guard. I wasn't ready for them."

"I'm so sorry," I say desperately, feeling like I want to cry. "Please - please don't let this affect how you feel - towards me."

"They're always going to be there," she mutters, as though to herself. "They're never going to back off."

"No, they're not," I accept with a sigh. "But that shouldn't come as a shock to you. You know the price you pay for being linked to me."

"It's not fair!" she shouts.

"No, it's not," I say softly, needing her to calm down before she lets these bastards inside her head. "But that's the way it is. This is why we need to have that talk."

"No. I don't want to talk about it."

The shutters have come down. She's pushing me away again. I need her to let me in.

"I'm sorry I was short with you when I left," I mumble, my words tumbling out in a rush. "I felt stupid that I'd tried to kiss you and you didn't let me. My pride was hurt. I'm sorry."

There are a couple of moments of silence before she speaks again, her tone laced with sadness.

"I'm fed up of this being complicated. I don't want it to be. I want it to be simple. But it never can be."

She sounds like she is preparing a break-up speech. I can't let her cut me out of her life for good - I will drown without her.

"Please don't let this ruin last night," I beg.

"I have to go," she mutters. "I'll be late for work."

How do I get her to open up to me, to let me comfort her? I can't be there for her unless she talks to me. We need to discuss New York, and everything that went wrong between us, before we can fix this. Why can't she see that?

"Jess - "

"Harry, remember what I said about not putting pressure on me," she warns.

"I'm not!" (I'm trying not to yell.) "I'm just saying we had great time. Don't let this overshadow it."

"I hear you," she sighs. "I'll speak to you in the week."

I know when I have to give up. I can't force her to talk if she doesn't want to. 

...

I'm not in the mood for this party tonight, but I can't pull out at this late stage. My suit fits well, and it's different (being brown geometric print) so of course it hits the headlines the following day. I'm glad I remembered to tell Jess that Cara would be there, because that is also made into a feature on the Daily Mail, even though we only went on a few dates a while back that never really amounted to much and she is now in a relationship with a woman. 

I am hoping to hear something from Jess over the next couple of days, but the lines of communication are silent. I resist texting her until our first night at the O2 arena, where we have technical difficulties and end up having to fill the gap of silence with an improvisation of one of the songs from our new album, called Infinity, that was written by Jamie, Julian and John. It's a good song and the crowd love it, so I text Jess once I'm home to tell her what happened.

Had some sound problems at the show tonight. Improvised with Infinity for the first time! How are things? xx

I am rewarded with a text back a few minutes later.

Yikes, sounds scary! I'll have a look on Twitter, no doubt it'll be on there. Good luck for the other shows, hope it doesn't happen again xx

Her reply sounds final and doesn't invite further conversation, so I take the hint and leave it at that.

Friday rolls round, with no word from Jess that she isn't coming, and I don't want to push her by asking. I have told the other boys that she has tickets for the show, and Liam brings it up as we're waiting backstage to go on.

"Didn't you say your Jess is coming tonight?" he asks.

"Um, I dunno," I mutter, flipping my phone over in my hands. "She hasn't got back to me."

"She'll be here," Louis says confidently, and I snap my head up to look at him.

"Have you heard from her?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "Chill, Harold. No I haven't. I'm just saying she won't miss one of our concerts. She's too much of a fan."

"Yeah well, things are complicated," I huff.

"Yeah - because you make them complicated."

"How do I make them complicated?!" I demand. "I'm trying really hard to make them simple!"

He grins, and I realise he is winding me up. "Fuck off," I tell him, and he chuckles.

"You'll sort it out," he says, placatingly. "You're meant for each other. No one else would put up with your shit."

I lean back and close my eyes, sticking my finger up at him wordlessly, and the others laugh along. Fuckers.

When it's time to go onstage, my stomach is fluttering at the thought of playing this show in front of Jess. The screen tilts back as No Control begins (we've rejigged the setlist) and I launch myself onto the stage with gusto, excited and hyped from the nervous energy flooding my veins. I try not to search for her face in the crowd, but I can't help myself. I want to see her, and I can't help hoping she is screaming her head off, cheering me on, fangirling at her hardest. I feel like if I can just make eye contact with her, it will put me at ease. I throw all my energy into the performance, hoping to remind her of the person she used to crush on, and eventually fell in love with, before I broke her heart. As I'm singing the words I am struck by how much they seem to sum up the passion in our relationship, the addiction I feel towards her, and the irresistible pull between us that literally renders me powerless. 

...

OK, she isn't in the front section. I've checked every face at least twice, and I'm confident she isn't in the first six or seven rows of the side blocks either. 

"You seen her yet?" Louis mouths to me during Stockholm Syndrome, and I shake my head, unable to hide my disappointment.

As we're walking towards the small stage in the middle of the arena I catch sight of a familiar face to the left of the stage as I am waving at some fans. I do a double take, searching the crowd for Jess, but I can't see her, and just as I am beginning to think I have imagined her face I recognise another blonde girl instead. Sarah. 

I crane my neck to check, following the others along the walkway. It's definitely Sarah, because I recognise Maddie next to her. So where's Jess? In the toilet?

I can't do anything about it now, as we're playing the next few songs on the other stage, but as soon as I get chance to get over to that side of the main stage, I'm there, searching the crowd again. Sarah is easier to spot now I know who I am looking for, and I scan the people either side of her, but Jess is definitely nowhere to be seen. My heart sinks as I realise what this means.

She isn't here. She isn't here, and she didn't bother to tell me she wouldn't be here. I feel sick with disappointment. I look miserably up at Sarah and Maddie in the stands.

"Where's Jess?" I mouth to Sarah, but she doesn't respond at first. "Where's Jess?" I shout this time, pointing towards her and opening my arms in confusion. The crowd in front of me is going crazy, but my eyes are fixed on Sarah as she looks at me with what can only be described as pity, and shrugs her shoulders, shaking her head.

I let my arms fall to my sides and turn away from that section of the crowd, feeling more defeated than I have ever been in my life, and slink over to the buckets of water bottles towards the back of the stage. My hands are trembling as I unscrew the lid and take a sip, pulling my phone out of my jeans surreptitiously to check if she has texted me and it just hasn't come through.

No new messages.

I shove it back in my pocket and toss the water bottle into the crowd, standing up with resigned determination and returning to my mic stand to sing my next harmony. I'm beyond gutted. I'm finally realising that maybe she isn't as bothered about me as I had hoped she was, and that maybe I am keeping myself alive with false hope, which isn't going to do me any good in the long run. 

When the show finishes we are ushered through the empty corridors of the arena to the back door, where of course the paps are waiting to photograph us as we jump into our cars before the fans' screams have even begun to fade. I pull my phone out again and can't help myself sending a bitter text to Jess.

Thanks for telling me you weren't coming.

---***---

Sorry for the lack of updates on this book. I haven't forgotten about it, and I will be finishing it, I promise. It takes a lot of planning and concentration to write it, because I can't let the story flow naturally as I have to make it fit with the events of No Control, so it requires a lot of concentration (no excuse, I know). Thanks so much for sticking with me, you're all fabulous xxx