Driving Me Mad (20 page)

T
here’s so much
that happened over the weekend, and I don’t know what to think
about first. It’s causing me to think about everything. First,
there’s apparently a story behind his mom’s death and that just
doesn’t sound good. Then, I know I freaked him out with how I
reacted on the medication. I’ve been on the new one Dr. Gunner
prescribed after I called him Monday morning for three full days
now. Is it possible for someone to be silently overbearing? He
doesn’t constantly ask if I’m okay, but he does watch me a lot
whenever I’m around. He asked me over again tonight, but I turned
him down.

My anxiety has been off the
charts. I’m not sure if it’s just me, or the medicine hasn’t kicked
in yet, or if it’s the medicine making it worse. Whenever my
anxiety gets really bad, that seems to be when my depression is
lured out of its cave to attack. Rebecca planned to drag me out
tonight. But I’m two seconds away from calling in the grinch. I’ve
left every night this week to go to Trace’s. I’m not going anywhere
tonight.

I text Rebecca with the bad
news. Even though she’s in her last class, she immediately texts
back that it’s fine and she’ll bring dinner for a night in. I work
on homework in the meantime. About an hour later, my best friend
has arrived.

“You’re going to love me,”
she says with a grin, closing the door behind her.

I manage to lift my lips into
a smile. “You brought fried pickles.” I could smell them the moment
she closed the door. “I do love you.”

She hands me the takeout bags
and then drops the rest of her things on her bed before taking a
seat facing me. “I also got us pasta. I have another surprise too,
but that comes later.” She keeps talking about her day, not giving
me a chance to ask about the other surprise. I love that Rebecca
can talk like everything is normal and has the ability to carry on
a conversation by herself for the most part while we eat. “Have you
decided about spring break yet?” she asks.

Spring break is coming up in
a few weeks. I dread the thought, but then remember that means
we’re close to the halfway mark of the semester.

Wow.

I’m almost halfway done. A
small rush of relief flows through me. It lasts for a
millisecond.

“I don’t know,” I answer.
“Where do you want to go?”

Rebecca grins. “Las Vegas.
How are you going to say no to that, Brittany? I know Las Vegas is
on your list of places to go.”

I glare at her. “That’s why
you chose it, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” She smirks. Then, she
goes in for the kill. “Trace could come. That’s how much I love you
and want us to keep our tradition, especially since it’ll be our
last spring break. I’m willing to be a third wheel here.”

“Why would you be the third
wheel? Dustin doesn’t want to go?”

“He already booked a trip to
Florida with his buddies before we met, so no, he’s not coming.
What do you say?” She looks so hopeful, and I know I’ll feel twice
as bad if I say no since this is our last spring break.

“Fine,” I groan. “I don’t
know if Trace will go, but I’ll ask.”

She doesn’t gloat other than
grinning. “How are things with you and Trace?”

“Good.”

“Then why are you
frowning?”

I lift my lips to correct my
frown. “I just...” I sigh. “I’ve been wondering if I’m good for
him,” I finish with a whisper, glancing down at my food. Most of
the fried pickles are gone, but I have only eaten about a third of
the pasta.

“Of course you’re good enough
for him,” Rebecca tells me adamantly. “Has he done something to
make you think you’re not? Come on, Brittany, that’s insane.”

I shake my head. She
misunderstood what I said. “No, not good enough, but just plain
good.”

She stands to throw away her
empty plate. “I’m confused.”

Am I crazy for thinking this?
I close the takeout plates and set them on the nearby desk. I grab
my pillow and hug it to my chest, wanting to hold something.
Rebecca sits down on her bed, waiting for me to explain.

“I think I give him anxiety.”
She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “He never mentioned
having anxiety before, and every time I’ve witnessed him having an
attack, it’s been because of me. That can’t be good. What if I’m
bad for his mental health, Bec?” This is mainly what I’ve obsessed
over today.

She stares at me, completely
dumbfounded, which makes me feel stupid for thinking such a
thing.

“Never mind,” I mutter,
moving to lie down on my bed.

“No, wait, Brittany. I just
don’t know how to answer that. I’m sure other stuff causes him to
panic. I really doubt it’s only you causing his attacks.”

I don’t want to talk about it
anymore, so I nod. “You’re probably right. I’m going to lie
down.”

“Want me to put in a movie?”
Her phone dings. “And I can go get your surprise.” For some reason,
she seems kind of unsure about it now. “Be right back, and close
your eyes!”

She leaves the room and I hug
my pillow closer. I almost wish I’d decided to go to Trace’s. I’d
love to be in his recliner with him right now. So I don’t get in
trouble with her, I do close my eyes. I hope my surprise doesn’t
involve me doing anything or expending any energy. I just don’t
have it in me tonight. A few minutes later, I hear the door open
and another set of footsteps. Oh, god. What kind of surprise
involves another person? This sounds exhausting already.

“Keep ‘em closed, Brittany,”
Rebecca tells me.

The footsteps get closer and
then my bed dips a little on either side of me. What the hell? My
eyes fly open to see Trace leaning over me with a grin, wearing a
hoodie with the hood over his head.

“Trace?” Oh, god.
Trace!
“What are you doing here? You can’t be in here! Are
you crazy?”

He leans down to kiss my
forehead. “I told you we’re not quite sane, Britt,” he reminds me
quietly. Why is he here? He grabs my hips to move me to the outer
edge of my bed, so he can lie down behind me, stealing my pillow in
the process for him to use. “Your best friend thought you needed
someone to cuddle with, so she found me and I texted her once I was
here, so she could sneak me in. I hear we’re about to watch a
movie?” he finishes as he pulls my body against his, wrapping his
arms around me.

Rebecca is in the process of
popping a disc into the DVD player. All I can do is stare at Trace,
though. He can’t be here. If someone sees him, he could get fired.
Wasn’t he mad at me a little before when he snuck in to check on me
because I was ignoring everyone?

“Trace,” I begin with the
hopes of talking him into leaving.

His large hand cups my face,
his thumb brushing over my lips. “You want me with you, don’t you?”
I nod. “Then, I’m here.”

I’m tempted to argue, but he
nudges my waist for me to roll over for the movie. The menu is on
the screen, but Rebecca hasn’t pressed play yet.

“Trace, we’re going to Las
Vegas for spring break. You’re invited,” she says.

“Oh, thanks.” He squeezes my
hips. “I’ll let y’all know.”

With that, she presses play
on some chick flick. I should worry more about Trace being here
when he shouldn’t be, but his body is warm, his presses a kiss to
my shoulder, neck, or head every so often, and my body starts to
relax because of him. My eyes begin to drift closed. I don’t know
if I’m good for Trace or not, but he’s good for me.

Trace woke me up before it
was too late for me to take my meds and then I walked him outside.
My anxiety actually wasn’t too bad this morning, which gives me
hope that the new medication is working. Right now, I’m on my way
to Trace’s house. I would’ve been here sooner, but I went to a
study group to try to prepare for an upcoming exam.

When I walk in, he’s kicked
back in his recliner with his eyes closed, the TV on. I quietly
close the door, drop my things off in his room, and then walk into
the kitchen. He texted me earlier that he’d have a plate waiting
for me. Sure enough, there’s one in the microwave. The food is
still relatively warm, so I grab a fork, sit at the table, and dig
in. My appetite has definitely returned.

It’s been a tiring day for us
both, it seems. Every little thing required more energy than
necessary to accomplish the task. I almost bailed on study group,
but my need to do well on my exam kept me from doing so. Sleep
sounds like heaven and Trace’s bed is way better than the one in my
dorm. Once I finish eating and changing into my pajamas, I go to
the couch instead. I really don’t want to wake him. He hasn’t
texted me much today, so I don’t know how his day was, but he is in
his recliner. He can sleep for now.

I grab the remote to change
the channel, lie down with a throw pillow under my head, and soon,
I’m drifting to sleep.

This is way too comfy to be
the couch. A soft breathing is all I hear and a soft glow in the
room as the world begins to light up is all I see. Rolling over, I
find Trace. His eyes are open and he lifts one corner of his
mouth.

“You’re a heavy sleeper,” he
says in that low, tired voice.

“When I’m sleeping well, I
am.”

His hand moves to my hip, his
thumb brushing over the skin from where my shirt rode up. “You
could’ve woken me, Britt,” he whispers.

“I didn’t want to.”

He takes a breath. Something
so simple is so telling. It was a short inhale with a heavy whoosh
of an exhale. For some reason, it wakes me up to pay better
attention. His blinks are slow and his eyes look a little
dazed.

“Did you go back to sleep
once you moved us in here?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away,
but after a few seconds, he says, “No.”

I can’t help but have a
follow-up question. “When did you wake up?”

“Around 11:30.”

Goodness, he’s been up all
night. “Are you hungry? I can fix us breakfast,” I finish, even
though he started shaking his head after my question. I’m not quite
ready to eat yet, so I don’t bother getting up. Maybe he’ll be
hungry later. Maybe he could fall asleep if he relaxed some more.
Doubtful, considering he probably took a sleeping pill last night,
but it’s worth a shot. I snuggle closer to him, close my eyes, and
say, “Close your eyes and breathe with me.”

“I’ve tried everything,” he
says.

“Well, try again.”

Trace sighs, but matches my
breathing. His hand keeps squeezing my hip in a slow, steady
pulse-like manner. I grab his hand and hold it to my chest to make
him stop before throwing my arm around his waist. He’s too tense.
How can I make him relax? Before I can think of something, he
speaks.

“I’m not even tired. Let’s
just get up.” Without waiting even a moment, he pulls away from me
and gets out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says over his
shoulder.

I stare at his back until the
bathroom door closing blocks my view. What the hell? He has to be
tired. His nap couldn’t have lasted long enough to sustain him to
be awake all night and for today. I roll onto my back and stare at
the ceiling. I should probably get up to take my pill, especially
since I missed last night’s dosage.

The sound of the shower
turning on can finally be heard. I hate that he didn’t get any
sleep last night, and I hate that he doesn’t seem to be in a great
mood this morning. When was the last time I got one of his
breathtaking genuine smiles? Off the top of my head, I can’t
remember. Trace is such a good person and he’s so good for me. How
can I not want him to always feel great and be happy?

He deserves it. It’s hard for
me to see him like this, to know he’s having a difficult time, and
to not be able to truly do anything about it. There are only small
ways I can try to help. Hopefully, that will be good enough.