Driving Me Mad (27 page)

I rub her back and hope it
soothes her. It doesn’t seem to help. I place my arm over her like
a seatbelt and hold her against my chest. Her own chest is moving
with controlled breaths as she grips my arm. Just then, I can
faintly hear her speaking.

“Goat. Cow. Pig. Horse,” she
whispers, pausing. “Chicken.” Her body ever so slowly begins to
relax.

I lean down to ask, “What are
you doing?”

She twists to look at me.
“New technique to distract myself. It requires more thinking than
just rambling off numbers.”

“Hey, it’s starting.” Rebecca
points out to the water as music begins to play.

It is a beautiful show. The
water moves seamlessly in time with the music and it’s mesmerizing
to watch. Rebecca does think to take photos and she records the
show. The girls can’t seem to pull themselves away, eager to see
what will be played next. Eventually, after nearly an hour and a
half, I speak up.

“Y’all ready to go?”

“Yeah,” they sigh, causing me
to laugh.

“Let’s walk up to the hotel
and catch a cab then.”

Rebecca leads the way and I
hold up the back. I’m lost in my head as we wait in line. However,
there are two things I’m certain of: my girl doesn’t like crowds,
and she was absolutely right that Las Vegas would test her limits
and anxiety.

The exhaustion starts to
settle in on the ride back to the hotel in both girls. Rebecca
probably just from traveling and exploring. Brittany from those
things on top of dealing with anxiety all day. Back in the hotel
room, we take turns with the bathroom to get ready for bed and
change. Brittany and I both take our pills and then lie down.

Rebecca turns off the lights
and turns on the TV before getting into bed herself. Brittany
scoots closer to rest her head against my chest. I rub her back and
hope I can fall asleep. Rebecca is the first to be down for the
count. Brittany follows soon after. My nap probably ruined me. All
I can do is hope my sleeping pill kicks in soon.

I slept for maybe two hours.
Brittany tossed and turned all night, elbowing me in the ribs a few
times, and when she wakes up, I know she slept as badly as it
seemed. She frowns when she lifts her head to see me already awake.
She doesn’t say a word; she only drops her forehead against my
shoulder.

“Rebecca is still out,” I
whisper. “Try to get more sleep, Britt.”

“I felt like I was tossing
and turning too damn much,” she mumbles.

“You were,” I confirm.

She lifts her head with a
deep frown. “How much did you get?” she whispers.

“Two hours, give or take.
Just feeling tired this morning; that’s all. Well, maybe a little
shitty.” That makes her smile. “You’re terrible for smiling at
that.”

“You know that’s not why I’m
smiling, Trace.”

“I know.” She’s smiling
because I opened up. “At least try to sleep; it’s going to be a
long day.” It’ll probably be another hour or so before anyone is
going to want to start their day.

Brittany rests her cheek
against my chest. I’m surprised when she does fall back asleep, and
more so when I wake up to find I did too. The day starts off
decently enough. Breakfast and then slowly making our way down the
strip through all the hotels and casinos that they want to see.
With each step taken, my mood worsens. It takes strength to both
keep going and to not hide it from Brittany.

The worried glances she keeps
giving me don’t help either. It makes me want to hide it because
how she can enjoy this trip if she’s worrying about me? I do my
best to hang back and let her and Rebecca lead the way. Rebecca
does a great job keeping her distracted from me and focused on the
wonders of the hotels. Even I can’t help but appreciate the beauty
within Caesars Palace, the Bellagio, the Palazzo, and the Venetian,
which is probably my favorite.

It’s amazing how they create
these little towns inside the hotels. The Venetian has one called
St. Mark’s Square. There’s like a river flowing down the middle
where people can take a ride in a gondola. The ceilings are painted
to look like the sky, such a beautiful blue with white clouds.
There are some people on a little stage, singing, dancing, and
giving visitors a show. It’s hard to leave the beauty of it.

Something like this is
exhausting, though. All the walking, all the looking, all the
paying attention, the occasional slot playing. It’s tiring. Add on
emotional turmoil, lack of sleep, and a need to curl into a ball,
and I’m running myself ragged. We eat dinner at our hotel, and I’m
so thankful that Brittany and Rebecca are going to that male revue
show tonight. It’ll allow me to do exactly what I want.

Lie down.

I’m going to need rest to
recover from today and prepare for tomorrow. I have a feeling
Fremont Street will not treat Brittany well.

“I’m heading up to the room.
What are y’all going to do between now and the show?” I ask.

“I’m going to keep trying my
luck on the slots,” Rebecca answers.

Brittany hesitates, glancing
between us. I’d bet anything she doesn’t know which of us she
should choose to be with for the next few hours.

“What do you want to do,
Brittany?” I ask. I don’t care either way. Actually, that’s a lie.
I’m hoping she’ll choose Rebecca.

“I don’t know yet,” she
answers.

“I think you should try to
win your money back,” Rebecca says.

“I think so too,” I add.

She narrows her eyes at me,
but I don’t know why. She should be with Rebecca. Not because I’m
hiding anything, but because Las Vegas is her number one place to
visit, and she needs to truly experience it. She can’t do that in
the hotel room with me.

“Then it’s settled,” Rebecca
declares.

“All right. Y’all have fun.”
I kiss Brittany’s forehead and make my escape. God, I can’t wait to
be back home. This was a terrible time to do a med change because
they obviously haven’t kicked in. What more am I supposed to do to
balance myself out?

I can’t correct my brain. I
can’t make myself feel better. I can’t do a damn thing except
trudge through it and hope I eventually come out on the other side.
That’s what I hate about depression. The whole fucking thing is out
of my control—out of anyone’s control. I should be able to feel
happy when I want to be happy, damn it. I should be able to laugh
when my girlfriend says something funny and it be genuine. I should
be able to travel and explore with her. I should be able to sleep
when I’m tired.

But, no.

All I can do is take deep
breaths, try to sleep, eat, take my pills, and hold on. Hope like
hell that I survive it. Fight it every damn moment of every damn
day until things start to look up. Hope I survive rock bottom. Hope
I don’t bring Brittany down with me. Hope I don’t turn into my
mother because my father wouldn’t be able to handle it.

I’m so tired of
everything.

So, so tired in every way
possible.

My phone buzzes with a text,
and I pick it up.

Brittany:
Are you
sure you don’t want me to come up and keep you company?

Me:
I’m sure. Have
fun; I’ll be fine.

Sometimes, I do want her with
me. Not today, though. After having no luck sleeping, I step into
the shower and close my eyes as I stand underneath the hot water.
Maybe this will help me relax.

***

“
J
ust let me have
five minutes to go check on him,” I beg Rebecca when Trace ignores
my third text.

“He’s probably sleeping,
Brittany.”

“We won’t know until I go
check. Five minutes and then I’ll be back down here and I’ll tip
the waitress for you when she brings you another drink.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “You owe
me five bucks if he’s sleeping.”

I nod and hurry to the
elevators. There’s no way I can relax until I check on him. For
some reason, I feel like I need to see him right this very second.
I slip my key card into the slot and open the door. The shower is
running, giving me some relief.

“Trace?” My anxiety notches
higher when he doesn’t respond. I tentatively open the door, am
ambushed by steam, and step inside. “Trace?” I ask again, but
there’s still nothing. I push the curtain aside to see him sitting
in the tub, his head against the tile, and he’s fast asleep. How in
the hell is this 6’5” man managing to sleep in this hard, small
tub? How do you even fall asleep in the shower? I wonder how long
he’s been in here. Probably not too terribly long since the water
is still hot.

I turn off the water, grab a
towel, and shake his shoulder. “Trace, babe, wake up.” He doesn’t
even flutter his eyes, and for a moment, I wonder if he took his
pills early. “Trace,” I say louder, slapping his face a little.

He startles awake. “Fucking
hell,” he mutters as he stands, stepping out of the shower.

I hand him the towel and say,
“I’m glad I came to check on you. Let’s get you changed and into
bed where you should be sleeping.”

“Yeah, I’m tired,” he
grumbles. Once he finishes drying off, I hand him his clothes. He
quickly dresses and grabs his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you,” I
repeat. He nods. I take his hand and lead him to the bed, watching
as he settles in and gets comfortable. “I guess I’ll go now.” I
really hate to leave him, even if he does fall asleep. This is not
my Trace.

His eyes are red, his
expression lacks emotion, and he just seems like he needs someone
to take care of him. He obviously doesn’t have it together.

Trace glances at the clock
and then holds out his hand. I place mine in it. He’s lying on his
back, his sigh sounding as tired and distraught as he looks. “Stay
with me for a bit, Britt. Please?”

Has he ever said please
before? Has he ever sounded like he was begging me? Has he ever
sounded so weak? I nod and climb into bed next to him, my back
resting on the headboard. Trace throws an arm around my hips and
rests his head on my chest. I slip a hand through the back collar
of his shirt to rub his back while using my other hand to play with
the cold, wet hair on the top of his head.

“I hate this,” he
mumbles.

“What?” I can’t help but ask.
Is he referring to depression or leaning on me?

“How I feel.”

“It’ll pass eventually.”

“Yeah, eventually. I hate
that too.” He squeezes me tighter. “Okay. I’m going to sleep.”

It does funny things to my
heart to have this big, strong man curl into me and hold onto me as
if he’s holding on for dear life. As if he needs something—or
someone—to anchor him.

I’ll gladly be that
person.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s
sound asleep. I ease out of bed, grateful I don’t wake him.
Downstairs, I find Rebecca at the same slot machine. She’s up a
hundred dollars, but who knows how much she’s spent to get
there.