Trace of Innocence | Sweet and Sour (Book 4)

Chapter 4

(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.