Reckless {HS}

five

Delilah's Pov

Waking up felt like crawling out of a fog. My head was pounding, my mouth dry like I'd swallowed sand, and my stomach twisted in a way that told me last night had been... a disaster. I didn't want to open my eyes. The morning sunlight pressed against my eyelids, making everything feel worse. If I stayed still, maybe the room would stop spinning.

I peeked out from under the covers, squinting at the light. My bedroom was a wreck. Clothes, shoes, and pillows scattered across the floor like a tornado had swept through. I winced at the sight. It wasn't often that I let loose like that, but when I did, it always left a mess in more ways than one.

I couldn't even remember how I'd gotten home.

Groaning, I pushed myself up, feeling the immediate regret in my body as a dull ache spread through my limbs. I needed water. And Advil. Or maybe an exorcist, considering how bad I felt. I shuffled to the kitchen, hoping the cold tile would somehow reset my brain, but as soon as I stood up, my legs wobbled and my stomach lurched.

"Good morning, hangover," I muttered to myself. "You win this round."

After downing a glass of water, I leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the mess of my life. My phone buzzed somewhere under a pile of clothes, and I considered ignoring it. Whoever it was could wait—I needed a moment to regroup. But even as I tried to focus on calming down, bits of last night started to float back to me in fuzzy flashes.

The club. Drinks. Dancing. And then—those eyes. Those bright, green eyes.

I froze, my hand still clutching the glass. Why did that memory feel so sharp, like it was cutting through the fog? I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to piece it together. Green eyes. A guy—tall, dark hair. And... something else. A voice, low and almost too calm for the chaos of the club.

I stumbled back into my room, trying to shake off the weird sense of déjà vu. As I sifted through the mess on the floor, my hands brushed against the crumpled fabric of the black dress I'd worn last night. I held it up, wrinkling my nose at the sight of spilled drinks staining the hem. But there was something else—something tucked into the pocket.

Frowning, I reached in and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.

"What the hell...?" I muttered as I unfolded it. The handwriting was messy, hurried, like it had been scrawled in the middle of the night. I blinked, still half in a daze, and read the short message:

You should be more careful next time.

My stomach flipped. I read the words again, then a third time, trying to make sense of them. Careful? Careful about what? And who the hell had written this?

I turned the note over, my eyes catching on the only clue I had. A single letter signed at the bottom:

-H.

H?

My brain worked slowly through the fog, grasping at straws. Was this from someone at the club? I couldn't think of anyone with a name that started with "H." But there was something about those eyes—those green eyes. My heart skipped as the memory flickered back. I'd run into him last night. Or had he caught me? I remembered his hands on me, steadying me as I almost face-planted into the sticky floor.

But I couldn't remember his name. He hadn't told me, had he? Or had I just been too drunk to ask? My mind was spinning faster now, piecing together little fragments of the night.

Was he... warning me? Or teasing me? A small shiver ran down my spine at the thought. Either way, he hadn't exactly stuck around to explain himself, had he? Just left this cryptic note like it was a game. H. That could be anyone. And yet, something deep down told me that whoever he was, he wasn't just some random guy.

"Great, Delilah," I muttered, tossing the note onto the bed. "You've got a mysterious stalker leaving you messages now. Perfect."

I sat down, rubbing my temples in an attempt to fend off the growing headache. I couldn't tell if I was more freaked out or just irritated that I couldn't remember anything useful. What kind of person leaves a cryptic letter after saving you from total humiliation at a club?

The weird thing was, I didn't feel scared. I felt... curious. There was something familiar about him. Maybe it was just my scrambled brain trying to fill in the blanks, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd seen him before. Not just at the club, but somewhere else. Something about those eyes.

Suddenly, the fog lifted for a split second—a flash of memory, so clear it almost hurt. The bank. The robbery. Those same green eyes staring back at me through the chaos.

My breath caught in my throat as the pieces fell into place. It couldn't be. Could it? Was that the same guy?

I reached for the note again, holding it between my fingers like it might offer more answers. H. Who was he? And what did he want?

I didn't know, but I had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time I'd hear from him.