Reckless {HS}

thirty-four

Harry's Pov

I couldn't stop thinking about Delilah, no matter how hard I tried. Every time I caught myself doing it, I forced myself to focus on something else—anything else. But she was always there, lingering in the back of my mind. It was starting to drive me mad.

I'd been cold to her, kept my distance, but somehow, that didn't make things easier. I thought it would. I thought pushing her away would make it easier for me to keep my head on straight, but it only made things worse. I felt this strange, hollow tension in my chest every time I saw her, like something was clawing at me from the inside.

I couldn't let her get too close. That's the rule. I'd learned it the hard way, time and time again. People get close, they get hurt, and I couldn't let that happen to her. She deserved better than that. Better than me.

And yet... I couldn't stop watching her. Every time she walked by, every time she said something, her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she was curious or amused. I noticed everything.

I needed a distraction, something to get me out of my head for a while, so I walked into the living room. But as soon as I did, my eyes landed on them.

Delilah and Niall.

They were sitting together on the couch, talking quietly, and something about it made my chest tighten in a way that felt entirely wrong. I stopped dead in my tracks, hidden just enough in the hallway so they wouldn't see me. The expression on her face—it was open, vulnerable. She was saying something, her voice low, and Niall was listening, his gaze focused on her like he was genuinely interested in whatever she had to say.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were having a serious conversation, and I wasn't going to barge in on that. But I couldn't help the way it made me feel—like I'd been punched in the gut. She'd gone to Niall. Not me.

I clenched my fists, standing there in the shadows, watching them. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did it matter? Niall was good with people, he always had been. He knew how to listen, how to make people feel at ease. Of course, she'd go to him. It made sense. But still, something about it made my blood simmer.

I was angry—at her, at him, but mostly at myself. I shouldn't have cared. I shouldn't have felt this... possessive. She wasn't mine. I had no right to feel jealous, and yet, the sight of her opening up to him, sharing something real, hit me harder than I'd like to admit.

It should've been me.

The thought slid into my mind before I could stop it. I should've been the one she came to. I should've been the one she trusted enough to talk to. But no. I'd pushed her away, shut her out, and now, she was confiding in Niall. And the worst part? I knew it was my own damn fault.

You're the one who keeps everyone at arm's length, remember? I told myself bitterly. You're the one who decided to put up the walls.

I couldn't have it both ways. I couldn't keep her at a distance and expect her to come running to me. That wasn't fair to her. But damn it, I wanted to be the one she trusted. I wanted to be enough for her.

Enough.

I scoffed at the thought. When had I ever been enough for anyone? My whole life had been a string of failures—people I couldn't save, people I let down. I couldn't let Delilah get caught up in all that. I couldn't let her get close, because if I did, I'd fail her too. That's how it always went.

And yet, here I was, burning with jealousy because she'd gone to Niall for comfort.

It was pathetic, really. I was pathetic. But no matter how many times I told myself to let it go, I couldn't stop the way I felt. Seeing her with him—it was a reminder that I wasn't enough. That I never would be.

I turned away, unable to watch them anymore. I couldn't take it. I needed to get out of there, clear my head, do something that didn't involve thinking about how much I wanted her.

But even as I walked away, I knew it was only a matter of time before I spiraled back to the same damn thoughts. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape her.

And that terrified me.