Trace of Innocence (No Control Book 3)

Chapter 77

(No Control - 77. No Control)

I walk back along the hotel corridor. Dale is waiting for me at the end.

"You OK, H?"

"No."

I'll never be OK again.

He accompanies me to the lift. We ascend in silence. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like shit. She must really fucking love me if she still wants me looking like this. After all this. After all I have done.

This makes me feel worse.

I walk blindly along the hallway to my suite. It takes me three attempts to get the key card in the slot before I give up. Dale does it for me.

He follows me inside and I sit on the bed. I don't know what to do. We have a show in a matter of hours. I need to pull myself together.

There is a knock at the door.

Louis.

"You alright, mate?" he asks.

"No."

"What happened?"

"I ended it."

"What?"

The confusion is clear on his face.

"I ended it," I repeat.

"Why? What do you mean, you ended it?"

I say nothing. I stare at the wall.

"H?"

I look at Louis.

"What?"

"What happened? You look fucked."

"I am fucked," I answer, robotically. "Just leave me alone, Lou. Please."

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

He's never this pushy about stuff like this. I close my eyes.

"She screamed at me, made me relive it. I told her everything apart from the Speed - she doesn't know about that. Then -" My voice breaks and I drop my head down so Louis can't see my face. "Then she said she wanted to try and sort things out. I told her I didn't."

"Why?!" Louis breathes.

"Because I've hurt her enough. I obviously don't love her, or I wouldn't have looked twice at Sara."

"Anyone would look twice at Sampaio! A fucking blind man would look twice at her. She's fucking stunning."

"No," I say firmly. "I wouldn't have, if I loved Jess. So what's the point? It's over. I'm walking away."

"You're a bellend."

"Fuck you."

"You need to sort this out with her," Louis says. "Ring her and apologise for being a knob, and tell her you'll do whatever it takes to make it right. She loves you. You love her."

"I don't."

"You're being a prick again."

"I'm not."

"You are!" he insists. "She offered you a second chance and you fucking threw it in her face! Stop acting like a spoilt brat and get your bony arse down there and talk to her!"

My arse isn't bony, it's squidgy, I want to say, but don't. That's too painful even to think about.

"You only hurt the ones you love," he says, wisely, and I pull a face and look up at him.