E L E V E N

THIS IS WHAT Hadley told Dexter when she broke up with him—

"I'm tired of fighting, Dex. I'm tired of us."

She lied.

A month before their breakup, Dexter brought him to his favorite place in town.

Hadley had been hesitant at first, but she went anyway, letting him guide her downtown where her parents would often warn her not to wander into. She wandered anyway, because she was with Dexter, and she never really did learn how to refuse him when he was being stubborn.

He was cute when he was stubborn.

It was something that annoyed her to no end.

She tried to stand her ground, like she always did, but her efforts proved to be futile. Dexter had simply given her this stupid, stupid smile and stupid, stupid puppy-dog eyes, and Hadley was reeled immediately into his antics, making choices she'd swear to him she would regret but never did.

Dexter's one of those choices.

When she agrees to spend the day with him. When she lets him take her hand. When she kisses him back in the shadows by that old tree in front of her house, hidden where her parents or Taylor couldn't see them should they choose to look out the window.

Every time she agrees to go with him, she agrees to all of him.

He was a choice she kept making, time and time and time again, from that first day in the library when he made her laugh just by being himself to agreeing to this idea of his for them to go downtown completely unsupervised.

"Don't worry," he told her when he sensed her worry, one hand reaching for the pendant he kept on a black leather band slung around his beck. "My mom says this is an amulet of protection."

They were sitting on a bus, the two of them sitting next to each other, and Hadley hadn't told her parents where she was going. Her nerves were all over the place and even Dexter's presence didn't help much to ease them away.

Then he was removing pulling the necklace over his head, surprising her by holding it out to her. She only stared at it, frozen, looking at the crescent-shaped metal dangling on the leather band. Eventually, Dexter let out a breath and shifted so that he could put it on her like he's awarding her with a medal.

"It will be fine," he told her. "I've been there a thousand times and nothing's ever happened to me."

That was easy for him to say, of course. Dexter was invincible. There were times when it hurt just to look at him, at his smile, confident and assured, like he knew things would always fall into place without a doubt.

Hadley wasn't like that. Hadley always worried that things would fall apart any second, like everything would fall out of place just because that was how life worked out for her. She needed to be careful, always careful, because her life is filled with pitfall traps, all laid out ahead of her, just waiting for her to make one careless step.

This was why she could never really relax around Dexter.

Dexter was sure-footed where Hadley was clumsy, and if they were in one of those ancient dungeons on that game he and Adrian would sometimes play in their living room, then Dexter would have come out unscathed while Hadley would have lost all her five hearts merely halfway through the mission.

Being with Dexter was fun. Being with Dexter was an adventure. Being with Dexter was one of the best things that ever happened to her.

But being with Dexter was a risk.

He had always been a risk, a walking safety hazard, but Hadley was intent on ignoring all the warning signs.

Minutes later, they were off the bus. It had already grown completely dark by then, the night settling in as the sun took the last of the light with it. They stopped at a nearly empty street, lined by lampposts that gave the place an eerie feeling.

Hadley's feet were frozen on the dark pavement.

"Dexter," she said, unsteady, eyes searching the place like she was expecting to see an ax murderer jump at the two of them. "I swear to god if something happens to us—"

"Hey." He put his hands on her shoulder, urging her to look up at him. It was too dark to see most of his face, but she knew there was a reassuring smile on it. "We're going to be fine."

He led her down the dark street, his hand firmly holding hers. Hadley struggled to keep up with him, checking over her shoulder like she expected to see someone tailing them. She was so busy trying not to stare too long at the shadows lining every corner that when Dexter finally stopped walking and she lifted her eyes to sight in front of them, she'd felt the air lodge in her throat.

There was color everywhere.

She took a step forward, hand slipping out of Dexter's. She let her eyes roam, hungrily taking everything in. The wall stretched out endlessly in front of them, layers and layers of paint taking up every inch of it. To the left was a large portrait of a girl with hair the color of sunsets and a face painted with rainbow-colored shadows, her hands poised next to her lips, like she was blowing a kiss.

Except it wasn't a kiss; but a bird on the verge of taking flight, joining the others that were already taking up a large part of the wall, their intricately drawn wings fluttering to life over a cityscape that bled into a midnight blue.

Hadley turned to see that they were surrounded by graffiti walls, all different but equally enchanting, lit dimly by the lights hanging low around the buildings. It was like seeing a dream painted out and she wanted to take everything into her pockets; bring the magic with her when they finally have to leave.

"Adrian and I found it a few years ago."

She felt Dexter sidle close to her, their shoulders touching as the two of them stood there in the narrow alley. Hadley looked up at him and wasn't surprised to find him looking back at her, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Still think this was a bad idea?"

Hadley smiled. "I think it may be the best you've ever had."

"Know what I think is a better idea?"

"What?"

"This."

His lips were warm when they touched hers. He tugged her closer and she let herself melt into him, her lips moving in sync with his, gentle and unhurried and honest, so honest, that Hadley could feel herself unravelling in his embrace, spilling every secret she'd ever held between her lips, spelling them out for him without a care because it's him. It's him.

They were both breathless by the time he pulled away. He held her still for a few heartbeats, resting his forehead against hers. Dexter was still just half an inch shorter than her then and the two of them stood there in the darkness, holding each other as though they would come undone if they let go.

"That," he breathed out, "was definitely a better idea."

Hadley didn't argue, but she gave him a playful shove, ducking her head low to keep him from seeing her flushed cheeks. He laughed, the sound warm and familiar amidst this unfamiliar backdrop. It made sense, she thought. He made sense. In all this chaos, in all her insecurities, in every new place they'd discovered.

He made sense.

"Once, I dreamt of this place being torn down," Dexter began telling her, his eyes trained on the graffiti to their left. "These are all abandoned buildings, you know. This one's an old warehouse. That one"—he pointed to the one to their right—"was an old apartment complex. This"—they turned around to the other wall—"was an old arcade. It burned down a long time ago. Never quite got restored again."

"What happened?" she asked him. "In your dream, I mean."

"I don't know," he replied. "I just remember dreaming of biking all the way here only to find people demolishing the buildings. All I could do was watch from the sidelines. When I woke up, I immediately headed down here just to check if it was still here."

"I don't think I can do that." Hadley's eyes fell on the woman's solemn face stretched out on the side of the old warehouse. "Watch something beautiful get torn down."

"I can't do it either," Dexter replied.

Hadley said nothing and they were soon plunged in silence. It was the kind of silence that needed no words. Hadley had always been grateful for how easy conversations were between the two of them, but it was these silences that really, truly threatened to tug at the walls she'd built around herself.

It's these silences, after all, that tell her they can be together when the words have all but dwindled down. It's these silences that tell her they can stand next to each other like this without rushing to fill the gaps between them. That they can co-exist and just be.

There was something intimate about that, and it's the one thing that never fails to make her feel like she's making the right decision by choosing to be with him.

She didn't know how long they'd been standing there when he finally turned to her to say, "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything," she whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Hadley saw him swallow and felt him hesitate, and she waited, patient, knowing some words were simply not easy to say.

Finally, Dexter let out a breath that seemed to take away the tension in his shoulders. Then, "Today's my father's death anniversary."

Hadley's heart jumped to her throat.

"Or so Mom tells me," he continued, his fingers tightening around Hadley's. "It's weird, you know. We light a candle for him every year. Mom thinks it's good practice. Most times, I just stand there and pretend I care, but it's really hard to care for someone you have no memories of."

Dexter was barely a year old when his father died. Hadley didn't know the specific details—Dexter rarely talked about his father—but she knew he died from some kind of accident. Not right away. He was in a coma for a while, but when he hit the sixth month mark, Dexter's mom decided to cut life support.

They couldn't afford it anymore. They were waist-deep in hospital bills and his mom just couldn't afford it anymore. She had no job and two mouths to feed. Adrian had just turned three while Dexter couldn't even walk yet and though their relatives tried to help, they simply couldn't live like that anymore.

At least that's what Dexter's mom herself had told Hadley. It was how Helena Hart learned to focus on enhancing her spirituality. It seemed so easy to give up, she'd said to Hadley, so easy to just let the world collapse without bothering to even worry about it.

Practicing her spirituality was what kept her from spiraling further into the dark. It was what kept her going, and soon enough, she was piecing enough pieces of their life together to build a life for Adrian and Dexter.

Hadley had always been in awe of her since, but all this time she secretly wondered how Dexter felt about growing up without a father.

"Adrian remembers him," Dexter told her then. "Vaguely. But it's there. He tells me he remembers being hoisted up over our dad's shoulders. I don't even have that."

His voice carried the slightest hint of bitterness, but his tone remained even. Hadley felt the need to sidle even closer to him. "The universe already made it up to you," she murmured. "You lucked out in the mom department."

Dexter let out a small laugh. "I did. In the girlfriend department too."

She gave him a small punch on the shoulder, biting back the urge to smile.

"Okay, I take it back," he said, catching her fist when she went in for another punch. "Only a monster could make a punching bag out of this poor father-less boy."

Hadley gave him a flat look, which, for some reason, made him grin.

"I mean it, though," he said, lowering her fist and coaxing it open so he could slip his fingers in the spaces between hers. "That I lucked out, I mean."

He was wrong, she wanted to tell him, because he was. She was the one who lucked out. There was so much Dexter could offer, so much he could give to her. He could bring her to places like this, and he could tell her stories that bring her closer to his world.

She couldn't even let him past the gates to hers.

That's why it didn't make sense to her. Dexter could charm the pants off any girl, but for some reason, he'd chosen her. She was plain and boring and unaffectionate. She didn't understand what he could possibly see in her and she was convinced that he would one day realize he never really liked her.

And that was why she refused to let him in. She couldn't. Not when she knew that one day, he'd realize she didn't deserve him and he'd gather his things and walk out of her life without so much as a glance back.

And this, in the end, was why she broke up with him.

She could never fully open up. She could never truly surrender her heart to him. She could never really believe in the idea of them because her feelings for him had always been half-hearted while his were anything but, and when their fights started to become more and more frequent, he was always the one who gave way. He was always the one who said sorry. He was always the one who wanted so desperately to fix things between them.

She needed to let him go. She didn't it know yet then. She just stood there with him, in that dim alley surrounded by dreams painted on walls of buildings long forgotten, breathing him in, thinking, I could really fall in love with Dexter Hart.

Later, she realized he was a mistake.

Later, she realized that they shouldn't be together because while Dexter seemed ready give her the world, all Hadley could offer him was free candy; just sweet nothings meant to melt and disappear.

Dexter was running on sugar rush—his feelings for her were hyped up by it—and if there's one thing she's certain of, it's that the rush would sooner or later pass.

Then there'd be nothing left but the bitter aftertaste of goodbyes.

She lied when she said she couldn't possibly watch something beautiful get torn down.

She didn't even stop to think when she tore her and Dexter down herself.