Trace of Innocence | Sweet and Sour (Book 4)

Chapter 3

(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 3. To Get Me To Say Yes)

The flight back from Billund to Heathrow is quiet. We're all tired from the concert, and looking forward to having Wednesday and Thursday off before we fly to Oslo on the nineteenth. I'm feeling grumpy that I have to drag myself over to Fulham tomorrow to the Modest offices to meet with Karen, when all I want to do is hide away from the world and wallow in self pity.

I stare out of the window of the jet into the blackness of the night, wondering what Jess is doing right now. She's probably in bed, underneath her pure white duvet. I wonder if she's thinking of me. I wonder what she thinks of me. It's probably for the best that I don't know.

It's ironic really, that now I'm within spitting distance of London, we've broken up. This could have been amazing if I hadn't ruined everything. I could have been flying back home to her between shows.

If I could fly.

This line pops into my head and I squeeze my eyes shut, searching my memory for the reason it sounds familiar.

If I could fly, I'd be coming right back home to you.

Fucķ, what is that? I even have a vague melody in my head, but I don't know where it's come from. I sit really still in my seat, lean my head back and close my eyes again, trying to clear my mind. And that's when I remember the day she ended things on the phone, after I'd got Hackford Jones to issue a denial about me being in a relationship Joy Muggli. That feels like months ago.

I recall parts of the conversation, and along with it the misery I felt, and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and desperation at her abandonment of our relationship. I feel exactly the same now, like half of me is missing.

I'm missing half of me when we're apart.

I need to write this down.

I open up a note on my phone and quickly type the lines I have in my head already, along with I've let my guard down and you've got me completely defenceless. I'm not sure how these will fit in yet, but the vague tune is there and I don't want to forget the words. I sing them over and over in my head, and with the repetition comes clarity of the melody, and a slow rhythm.

I'd give up everything if you asked me to.

I feel like I'm back in LA again, in the aftermath of our break-up, feeling lost and hopeless. I've always found it weird how song lyrics can take you right back to a specific moment in your life and evoke such depth of emotion weeks, months, even years later. It would seem the same principles apply when writing songs about your own experiences.

I hope that you won't run from me.

I need Julian. I need a guitar. Neither are on this flight.

I close my eyes again and hum the melody quietly to myself, picturing Jess's face and hearing her laugh inside my head. I look longingly at my lock screen, at the picture of her face, and feel a fresh stab of pain. If I concentrate hard enough I can almost smell her soft scent; sweet and delicate, and reminiscent of a tropical island.

I miss her so much. I'm so confused. I wish I could forget about everything that happened and move on with my life, but every time I think about her it's like taking several steps backwards again. It's like when Nadine ended things, only a million times worse. But I got over that, so I'll get over this too I suppose. I just hope I start to feel better soon.

The song-writing will help. That will get it out of my system. If nothing else, heartbreak is great inspiration for a good love song.

Is this even heartbreak? I ended it this time, not the other way round. It was my fault it fell apart, and I took control and walked away, because what's the point in prolonging a relationship that is doomed to fail, especially when you're not even in love with that person?

Is this how Nadine felt about me, at the time?

The pain from that rejection has healed now but the humiliation lingers, burning shamefully every time I think about confessing that I loved her, and her response: 'Thanks.' Funny how quickly I got over that once I'd met Jess.

The pain gets hard, but now you're here I don't feel a thing.

By the time we land at Heathrow I've got a couple of verses half written in my head, albeit they need some work, and the title If I Could Fly; because it was born from the idea of flying back home to be with Jess. I convince myself this is based on the events of May, and don't allow the thoughts of my own infidelity only last week to ruin what I think will become a really beautiful track.

I mutter goodbyes to the others, and we are ushered through Arrivals (which is pretty dead as it is now well past three o'clock in the morning) and out to our cars to take us to our houses. It's nearly four o'clock before I stagger through my front door, dumping my bag in the hall and making a beeline for the bedroom. I collapse on my bed face down, still clothed, and don't even bother to set an alarm. I haven't checked my messages since before the concert, but I know Karen will have texted through a meeting time for tomorrow, so reluctantly I pick my phone up again to make sure it isn't some ridiculous hour in the morning.

My office, 5.30pm.

She's a woman of few words. And I am exhausted.

I barely have time to consider what she could possibly want to see me about so urgently before sleep takes over, and I lose myself in my dreams about Jess.

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