No Hard Feelings

thirteen

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.