(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 4. Is It So Wrong?)

It is noon when I wake up, and my head is pounding. I stumble to the kitchen and down a pint of water, unable to remember the last time I drank anything. I lean against the counter and stare unseeingly across the room, lost in thought.

I have a meeting with Karen today. I really can't be arsed with that. I just want to slob around here on my own, ignoring everyone. It seems like all my friends have an opinion on what happened in New York, most of them negative. I'm sick of being told they 'don't understand' and they 'thought Jess was a serious girlfriend.'

My eyes shift focus and I become aware I am staring at the fridge. The memory of Jess wearing my shirt the morning after we met, and me fuckıng her against the fridge while her legs were wrapped around my waist and soft whimpers fell from her lips, comes to me vividly. If I wasn't feeling so miserable I'd probably crack one off over it, but I can't even muster up the enthusiasm to do that. I feel dead inside.

I fill my glass to the brim again and head to the bathroom to take a long hot shower, in an attempt to drive all thoughts of her out of my head.

I love her.

I don't love her.

I love her.

I don't love her.

The endless cycle is draining, and if it's possible I feel even more tired when I eventually step out. I leave my hair to dry naturally and pull on a pair of joggers and a clean tshirt.

I call Mum, and chat to her about mundane things, trying to take my mind off the pain in my chest. She isn't fooled, and after about five minutes she asks softly, "Have you spoken to Jess?"

"No," I answer. "I'm not going to."

"Harry, love, I hate seeing you like this," she says gently.

"You're not seeing me," I remind her, childishly. "We're talking on the phone."

"I'm worried about you, sweetheart." (She ignores my mild petulance.)

"I'm fine," I lie.

"You're not," she argues. "I've never known you so down before. Let me come to London tonight and spend the day with you tomorrow."

"No," I protest weakly.

"I want to see you. I want to look after you."

I want nothing more than to be looked after by my mum, but I know it won't make me feel any better about any of this. However, she takes my hesitation as agreement.

"I'll leave after lunch," she says, with finality.

"I've got a meeting. With Modest. At five," I mumble.

"I'll let myself in if you're not back, and start dinner," she states.

"'K," I mutter. "Thanks, Mum. Love you."

"I love you too," she replies. "See you later."

I love my mum for dropping everything in her life to rush down to London to nurse my broken heart.

I spend a couple of hours watching TV, and then I swap my joggers for a pair of skinnies, pick up my keys and saunter out to my car. It's a warm summer's day and I've wasted most of it moping around in the house. I decide to live on the wild side and drive across London with the windows of my Range Rover down instead of blasting the air conditioning. It takes just over an hour at this time of the afternoon, and I arrive at the Modest office ten minutes late.

I jump out of the car and lock it, before jogging across to the entrance, typing in the code and walking into reception. I shout apologies to everyone as I hurry through reception, and get several waves and a thumbs up in response, and take the stairs two at a time to Karen's floor. I stride down the corridor and see the door to her office is ajar, and she is on the phone. She looks up as I poke my head in, and waves me in, pointing to the chairs in front of her desk. I take the furthest one, and remember with a jolt that the last time I was here I sat in the same place, with Jess beside me, discussing confidentiality agreements and the like. I recall Karen asking Jess if she was in love with me, and Jess refusing to answer, and feel a miserable pang of longing.

I wonder if she was in love with me then, or whether she swerved the question because she wasn't there yet? I don't know why I am even bothering to wonder. I don't know why I even care.

Karen ends her call and gives me an apologetic smile.

"Thanks for your patience," she says, laying her mobile on the desk and darting a glance towards the door which I left slightly open when I entered the office. "How are you? You look awful."

"Thanks," I reply, flatly. Leave it to Karen to be straight to the point. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Oh, you know," she smiles. "Gaining more grey hairs by the day, thanks to you four."

There's still not a grey hair to be seen on her head.

I smile indulgently. Let's just get this over with.

"So, Jess hasn't sold her story yet," she continues, and my stomach jumps at the sound of her name.

"She won't," I say, abruptly.

"You don't know that for sure," she dismisses. "We need something to detract from the Sampaio story, to get the media questioning their facts, or lack thereof."

"I do know that for sure," I argue, ignoring her second statement. "She isn't going to the press. She wouldn't. I know her. I love her. She wouldn't do that to me."

Karen looks at me sharply. "So you do still love her?"

"What?"

"You just said you love her," she states, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"What? No I didn't. I don't. I..."

I trail off, suddenly drained of all energy.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" I sigh.

Karen clears her throat and runs a hand over her hair almost nervously.

"This," she says. "You, Jess, Sara, this whole fiasco."

"What?" I say in disbelief. "You dragged me all the way back here to go through all of this? It's nothing to do with you! It's private! It's between me and Jess."

"And Sara. And the world's media. And therefore, us," she reasons. "Nothing is private once the paparazzi have caught it on camera, Harry. You know that."

Well ain't that the truth.

"Your reputation is being dragged through the mud right now," she reminds me. "And it's my job to stop that from happening, any way I can. And I think I have found a way to at least dull the rumours, but it will rely on some co-operation from you, and... and from Jess."

"No way," I say, immediately. "Leave Jess out of it. She's been through enough."

"So have you, Harry," Karen says, in a gentler tone. "I know how hard Zayn's departure affected you. I know how you're struggling with the uncertainty of your future, either as part of the band or as a solo artist. I know you're upset about the way you handled Louis' news, and I know you are floundering without Jess by your side at the moment. I think you're unable to come to terms with your own actions, and that caused you to drive Jess away."

I gape at this insightful speech, feeling more than a little uncomfortable at her accurate description of everything I am going through.

"I know you, Harry," she explains, without me having to ask. "I've known you for five years. You've always taken negative press to heart, and that's one of the reasons why the media slam you when they get a juicy story. And it's the reason why I have done what I have done: because I think you have had enough to deal with lately. I think you deserve a break."

"Oh God," I groan. "What have you done?"

"I called Jess," she says, briskly. "I intervened because I will not let you self-destruct."

My heart gives a sickening leap, slams against my ribcage and begins to thud.

"What did you say to Jess?" I ask, barely above a whisper.

"I told her you were struggling with everything that was going on, and you needed the world to get off your case."

"Did you tell her about the drugs?" I ask, hoarsely.

"No," she says, frowning at me. "I wasn't about to hand her the weapons to destroy you completely. I told her I think there is more to everything than any of us know, and it was enough to get her to agree to meet me."

"Meet you? You've seen her?" I demand. "Is she OK? Does she still hate me?"

"I haven't met her yet," Karen says, glancing towards the door again. "I'm hoping she will agree to something that will help you out; get the media to back off."

"What?" I ask, my heart beating harder than ever.

"I want her to be pictured out in public with you again. Show the world you're on good terms."

"No," I snap.

"You never officially confirmed the relationship, but the public were convinced nonetheless. A sighting of you and Jess will cast enough doubt over the Sampaio story to make people think twice about what really happened."

"NO," I repeat, louder this time. She's not getting it. I will not agree to this.

"I need you to help me get Jess back on side," she presses on, ignoring my refusal.

"Sorry, but I'm not doing it," I say, with a shake of my head.

"Just talk to her, Harry. Make her see that you're dealing with the fallout just as much as she is."

I can't even dignify this with a response. I am speechless.

"I think it will do you good to see her, to talk to her. If she sees how upset you are she's more likely to agree to help. And who knows, she may even agree to talk things over with you."

"You know we've been there already," I say, accusingly. "Louis told you. You know she asked me to work it out and I told her no."

"All the more reason to give it a go now," Karen urges.

I shake my head. "I don't want to see her."

"Well, I'm afraid you don't really have a choice," she says awkwardly. "She'll be here any minute."

My heart drops to my toes. I didn't hear her right. I can't have heard her right.

"What?" I croak.

"Jess is on her way here. I've asked her be pictured with you, and she said no. She -" Karen hesitates, and I am hanging on her words, almost on the edge of my seat. "She gave me a right mouthful, if I'm honest."

I take a moment to imagine Jess slaying Karen. It makes my heart want to burst. I can't help beaming with pride.

"Anyway, I managed to convince her to meet me here today, so she should be here any second."

"Is this why you wanted me here so urgently?" I realise, my face falling again. "This was all a ruse to get me in the same room as her, to manipulate her into playing along with your little games?

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," she says, dryly.

"I can't believe this," I say thickly, and my heart feels like it is literally in my mouth. I feel sick. "Why didn't you tell me? She's never going to agree to this, and why would she? She's been treated like shıt, all because of me, and now you've been hassling her behind my back, trying to coerce her into some publicity stunt to save my skin when I blatantly don't deserve it!"

"I didn't tell you because I knew you would react like this," Karen replies, bluntly. "Just for once trust me that I know what I'm doing - I'm not paid this kind of money for nothing, you know."

Before I can formulate an answer there is a soft knock at the door and my heart drops back to my feet again. I'm not ready for this. I haven't prepared myself for seeing her again.

Karen jumps to her feet and skirts around her desk to pull the door open fully and I drop my gaze to the floor, unable to look at the beautiful girl only a few feet away from me, whose mere presence has my whole body trembling.