T H I R T E E N
DEXTER'S AWARE HE'S running away.
He just can't seem to make himself stop.
His feet keep moving, running, running, away from her. They've never run away from her before. They do now. They're almost frantic, like they can't wait to get away.
From her.
It makes him feel guilty.
The feeling doesn't just sit in the bottom of his stomach. It consumes him, eats him up from the inside out, making it harder and harder for him to do so much as look at Hadley, let alone hold a conversation with her because he's burning, burning in hell, where he belongs because fuck, Dexter, you know how terrified she is of people leaving her.
She told him so one night, midway through their senior year when the two of them drove down to the beach at half past midnight. It was unplanned and stupid, and neither of them were dressed for the cold bite of the air. They had to share the moldy blanket they found in Hadley's car, and it smelled so bad at first but still they stayed, laughing and blaming each other for coming up with the stupid idea for them to go there in the first place.
Eventually, they got used to the smell, and the two of them stayed, right there under the stars, their hair and clothes and skin picking up sand neither of them bothered to dust off.
"I mean it, though," Hadley was telling him. "It's her loss. Hers. I forbid you from crying over her."
She was a little drunk. He might have been too. He rolled to his side to look at Hadley. Her head was resting on his arm and she was looking at him, the stars reflected in her eyes. At that moment, he didn't care if the stars were dead or not. All he knew was that he liked seeing them in her eyes, like they made her seem more hopeful. Less afraid.
Stars looked good on her.
"Is it though?" he asked her, his voice merely above a whisper. "Her loss, I mean."
"Well, no, not really. I'm just saying that to make you feel better."
"Hey!"
She laughed, rolling over to her side so that they were face to face, their noses nearly touching. She was smiling, the kind of smile that lingered after a good laugh, and Dexter liked seeing it on her. Dexter liked a lot of things about Hadley.
"I'm kidding, you know," she told him a moment later, her voice as quiet as the night.
"What's that?"
"You're a good catch, Dexter Hart." She reached over to trace something on his face. Must be his freckles. She once said he had a little Cassiopeia constellation on his face. Her touch was feather light, but his skin burned where her skin met his. "A really, really good catch."
They were so close she could feel her breath. She smelled of beer. And caramel. She always smelled like caramel. And that night he wanted nothing but to lie there with her, inhaling her scent, marveling at how easily she could comfort him; have him laughing for real when just this morning, he felt like he didn't want to ever get out of bed.
That was how they got here, naturally. He skipped class this morning. Spent all day wallowing up in his misery, listening to the Fix You cover he made with Waverly a few weeks back over and over and over until Hadley finally came marching into his room, throwing the covers off him, telling him to get dressed without giving him room to protest.
She was mad about him skipping class, and she was mad he hadn't told her. She would have skipped with him, she said.
Dexter didn't doubt it. They spent the rest of the day out and about, Hadley leading the way, treating him to his favorite food joints, surprising him when they swung by Colin's house to pick up some beer (She asked him for it as soon as she heard about the breakup), navigating their way like she knew he couldn't do it on his own, that he couldn't see past that dark, foggy haze Waverly left in her wake when she broke up with him.
He knew it will be gone soon; that he'd eventually find his compass and make his way past the piles and piles of Dexter-Waverly rubble around him.
If he survived losing Hadley, he'd survive losing anyone.
"What about us?" he found himself asking her then. "When we broke up. Whose loss was it?"
He expected her to joke around. To give him a shove, reprimand him for trying to fish out a compliment. She didn't though.
Her finger stopped tracing lines he couldn't see on his skin. She stilled, her star-filled eyes drilling into his. She might have stopped breathing for a second.
So did he.
He was about to take the question back, catch it with his hands and put it back in his pocket, tell her not to bother because it didn't matter, not really, because they didn't really lose each other.
But then she said, "Mine."
His mouth immediately dried up. He hadn't expected the answer, or the sincerity in her words. He looked away, fidgeting with his hands. "You don't mean that."
"I do."
Dexter's metaphorical heart stopped beating. He knew it did because suddenly he couldn't see anything but Hadley's eyes, the stars in them, the small scar on her temple, the one she got from when she fell off her bike and got stitches when she was seven and neither of them knew each other yet, but that didn't matter because this—moments like this—could make up for all the time they lost in the past.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. "You were the one who broke up with me."
"Well," she said. "We kind of sucked. As a couple, I mean."
"We did," he agreed, unable to stop himself from laughing, letting the moment pass like any other. "God, we wouldn't stop fighting."
She laughed too. Her laughter sounded delicate and rare, and Dexter was grateful that they were lying close enough to each other for him to fully capture the sound.
They exchanged stories of their past, trading out remember when's and you know that one time's. There were a lot of shitty things they'd fought over back then, things neither of them can even remember now. It was stupid. They were both miserable by the end of it, but that was fine, too.
That was them back then but things have changed since.
Later, when they were both starting to fall asleep, their feet cold where the moldy blanket couldn't quite cover them both, she said, "I hope you don't skip class tomorrow. Later, I mean."
His eyes were closed, and she was cuddled into him, her head on his chest. It was such a typical Hadley thing to say that he couldn't help but smile. "It's three in the fucking morning, Had. What makes you think I'm going to wake up in time for class?"
"I'd wake you," she said, yawning midway through her sentence.
"Have I ever told you," he said, "that when I was a eight, I was afraid of sleeping and not waking up?"
"I don't think so," she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep.
His grandfather had died, he told her.
He went to sleep and never woke up. Dexter was devastated. He was all tears and snot and bedtime stories, because he couldn't sleep without her mother in the room for days. He was close to his grandfather. The man was the closest thing Dexter had to a father.
Grandpa lived with them for as long as Dexter could remember, moving in when his wife died, selling their house and splitting the money in Adrian's and Dexter's college funds.
One Sunday morning, Dexter went into his grandfather's room to wake him up so they could walk their neighbor's dog. His grandfather loved taking walks. Said it was good for his heart. He took Dexter with him and convinced their neighbor to walk Scottie every Sunday. Mrs. Holland would give Dexter money to buy ice cream in the park in return.
He remembers shaking his Grandpa's shoulder that morning. He kept doing so, but he wouldn't wake, and Dexter started to panic, screaming for him to wake up, grandpa, wake up wake up wake up, until his mom and Adrian finally came into the room, peeling Dexter away from their grandfather's bed.
"I wouldn't let Mom sleep for days," he said. "I'd go into her room and talk to her so she wouldn't fall asleep because I was afraid she might not ever wake up either."
"Oh, Dex." She propped herself up to look at him. She sounded awake, and Dexter could feel her sudden alarm.
Before she could start with the apologies, however, he said, "Your turn."
"What?"
"Tell me something about you. Anything."
Hadley was quiet for a second, like she didn't want to let go of the previous conversation just yet. Dexter was beginning to worry that he'd fall asleep before she could start speaking. He forced his eyes open, looking for familiar constellations in the dark sky.
Moments passed. Lots of moments passed. Dexter was about to take the question back when she spoke.
"I'm afraid of being left behind." Her voice was so quiet it was barely even a breath. "I'm afraid that people will get tired of me and leave. I'm afraid you'd get tired of me and—"
"What?" He lifted his head up to look at her better. "Me? Get tired of you?"
"You have so many friends, Dex," she pointed out, and he couldn't miss the vulnerability in her words. It was rare for her to say something like this—something that told him she cared—and Dexter didn't know what to do. He wasn't used to this side of her. "I'm boring. I don't like going out. I—"
"Had," he cut her off. "Stop"
"—really suck when it comes to—"
"Hadley."
"—putting other people first—"
"Had."
She stopped.
"I'm not leaving," he told her. "And I won't get tired of you. Ever."
"You will," she said, and it hurt a little because he didn't for one second doubt that she really, truly believed in this. "Trust me. You will."
He reached for her hand to cover it with his. Her fingers were cold, and so were his, but that didn't matter because he wanted her to know he wasn't going anywhere. He needed her to know that he was here to stay, no matter what happens. "I won't."
When he said those words, he meant them. He really, truly meant them. He wanted to tuck her into him and keep her there, her head on his chest, her hand in his hand, their legs tangled and feet cold.
He promised he wouldn't leave.
Just like when they broke up, when he stayed, kept his feet planted on that space next to her because he could no longer picture a life without her.
It doesn't make sense to him why, this time, he's running away.
Away from her.
He hates himself for doing so. He wants to stop and go back and fix them but there's doubt where there never used to be, pulling them taut, ridding their story with plot holes that never existed before.
Or maybe they just never noticed them.
He sees them now, though, and he doesn't understand why. Why they were a shitty couple. Why they broke up. Why they ended up becoming best friends. Why he'd chosen to stay.
Why he couldn't stay now.
Could a person only choose to stay once? Was that it?
Did he run out of the power to stay? Like he used it all up the first time and now, he couldn't quite do it again?
He wants it back. He wants it back so fucking bad because he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to get tired of her. He wants to stay, with her, with her, because he promised, because it's them—Dexter and Hadley, Hadley and Dexter—and how can he ever forget that?
He wants to stay.
He wants to stay, but it hurts where it shouldn't and it's difficult where it didn't used to be and he doesn't know what else to do.
Dexter's aware he's running away.
He just can't seem to make himself stop.
* * * * *
"Is everything all right?"
Dexter looks over at Andy. There's an earnest look on her face that makes Dexter feel the need to force out a reassuring smile.
"Of course." He holds out his hand for her in a gesture that's grown surprisingly familiar to him in only a span of a few days.
She takes it without hesitation but says, "You seem distracted."
Dexter looks at her in surprise. He didn't think she'd notice anything. In fact, he thinks he's been doing a pretty good job at keeping his spirits up whenever he's with Andy.
They've been steadily growing closer over the past two weeks. Dexter hasn't really been showing her around new places recently but it's quickly becoming clear that it doesn't really matter. As long as they're in each other's company, they were bound to have a good time.
Now, the two of them are walking down the length of the boardwalk. It has become a bit of a routine ever since he found out she enjoyed the pies in that small pastry shop a short distance away from the beach. They would head down there and order Frankie's pie of the day. Then they walk around for a bit, just because, before calling it a night.
Dexter isn't sure what he and Andy are. He hasn't kissed her and the most they've done so far is hold hands. Still, he doesn't feel the need to define what they are and neither, it seems, does she. It's like they've both agreed to let things unfold on their own. To not worry about what they are as long as they enjoy hanging out with each other.
And Dexter enjoys hanging out with her a lot.
She tells him stories of New York. How busy it is back there and how different people are here in Rivermount. He in turn tells her how it's like to grow up in a beach town; the influx of tourists in the summer and the grey blanket that takes over the town during the colder seasons.
Other times, they talk about their families. Most of her stories were of her and her brother. Their little antics and brother-sister pacts. Some, though less often, were about the divorce. That's when he sees her sadness bleed through the solemn look in her eyes.
He rarely feels it. She always seems so bright and cheerful and never had he heard a truer laugh than hers. There's something vibrant about the energy she exudes, and often he finds himself thinking as though that's all she is.
She isn't, though. She looks at him now. Her gaze isn't probing so much as it's coaxing; like she doesn't want to push him into talking unless he really wants to.
But he can't tell her.
He can't tell anyone.
So instead, he says, "It's nothing. Just worried about my mom."
Her brows furrow. "What's wrong?"
"Someone's been sending her hate mail recently," he tells her. It's not exactly a lie, but it might as well be.
"Hate mail?"
"Yeah," he says. "Just people accusing her of scamming people because of what she does. Nothing new."
"That's horrible." She squeezes his hand and looks up at him. He sees the worry in her eyes and finds himself squeezing back. "Is she all right?"
Dexter gives a reassuring smile. "She's used to it. If anything, she seems more amused than anything. It's Adrian who's probably taking it the hardest. I'm worried he'd jump on a plane to Texas just so he can punch the guy's face in."
He isn't sure if she believes him, but she laughs that laugh he's grown so fond of and proceeds to ask him more about his mom and Adrian.
Them, he can freely talk about. But his growing confusion toward Hadley and their relationship is a secret he'll take to the grave with him. It sits in his chest like a heavy rock weighing him down, constantly reminding him of his guilt because he promised he'd never ever get tired of her, said it without a single seed of doubt in his heart because he honestly, truly believed that the two of them were unbreakable.
He made her keep him in her life because he vowed he wouldn't ever leave her.
You promised her, Dex, the two-ton rock in his chest brags. You promised you promised you promised you fucking promised her you'd prove her wrong about the two of you but now you've made a mess of it and fuck you, Dex, fuck you for running away.
Maybe she was right about people.
Maybe she was right when she said that people change in time and that they're bound to leave, one way or another, some sooner, some later.
Maybe she was right about Dexter.
No wonder she didn't think they were worth saving two years ago.
Perhaps they never really were.