“I hope this isn’t the big surprise,” Brittany says when we stop at a fast food restaurant for dinner.
I laugh and throw a fry at her as I pull back onto the road. “No, it’s not.”
“Okay, good. How was your day, by the way?”
“It’s been good.” I’ve felt decent. “What about you?”
She shrugs. “Up and down. I’ve been able to sleep without taking sleeping pills, though.”
“Good sleep?” I ask.
“Mostly.”
“Well, that’s good. Rebecca settle things with her boyfriend?”
“After she made him grovel for days, yes. You’re probably going to hate me next week.”
“Why?”
“Midterms. Don’t you remember how I was last semester? You get to experience it in person this time.”
Now that she mentions it, I do remember. I had talked to her every single day, and she was a stressed-out, panic-induced mess. Hell, it stressed me out to talk to her and feel so helpless. I reach over to take her hand and give it a little squeeze. “I think you’re doing better this semester; maybe it won’t be so bad.”
She gives me a dubious look. “I doubt that.”
“That it won’t be so bad, or that you’re better?”
“Both.”
“You need to appreciate the good days you have, and acknowledge that you have them.”
“No therapist-mode tonight if you want to see what I’m wearing underneath these clothes.” I don’t get a chance to respond because she perks up as she reads the exit sign. “Where are we going? You probably should’ve taken another exit. Traffic’s insane because of the concert.”
“We have to go this way.”
“Why?”
Traffic is stopped on the deceleration lane of the exit, so I reach over to open the glovebox. I pull out the tickets I picked up on my lunch break and hand them to her. She presses the overhead light, so she can see.
“Oh my god! How did you get these?”
“Every time the local radio station was giving away tickets, I called in. Finally won a pair this morning.”
She leans over the middle console to hug me. “You were right to be sure of yourself,” she tells me with a grin as she pulls away. Traffic starts moving slowly, so I focus on the road again. “God, I can’t believe you got these. They’re good seats too!” She squeals and dances a little in her seat. “I’m so excited!”
I smile. It’s good to see her genuinely happy without anything holding her down. We arrive just fine and make our way inside without any problems. Brittany wraps her arm around mine and sticks close to my side.
“Not a big fan of insane crowds like this,” she mutters as she holds onto my arm in a vise-like grip. “Get me to our seats, Trace.”
“Almost there,” I reassure her. Can’t blame her for not liking crowds like this. Who would want to be jammed in the middle of people in an aisle as everyone is trying to get to their seats? Someone bumps hard into her shoulder, so I pull her to stand and walk in front of me, keeping my hands on her hips. Even that little bit of contact shows me how tense she is. “Right here,” I tell her when we approach our row. She takes a deep breath once we’re in our seats. “Doing okay?”
“Yeah; I just hate that part of things like this. Thank you for doing this, Trace.”
“You’re welcome.”
Brittany leans over to give me a quick kiss. She doesn’t care much for the opening acts because she’s extremely picky when it comes to her country music preferences. She loves this band, though. She sings to every song and I’m pretty sure she smiles the entire time. She tenses up when we go to leave again, but I keep her in front of me this time.
“Best concert I’ve ever seen,” she says once we’re in the car.
“I have to agree.” The band was amazing.
“Well,” she begins as she buckles her seatbelt. “Take me home, so I can thank you.”
I grin and back out of my parking space. Whatever she wants, I’ll do. These good days make it easier to get through the hard ones. I’m hoping for more good days before the inevitable harder days come.
***
“I’m calling the grinch, babe,” I whisper, pulling the covers over my head, so I don’t have to look at him. The happiness from the concert and the weekend is long gone. It’s midweek and midterms are kicking my ass. My heart is beating out of control, my chest hurts, I’m sweating, and my hand aches from the frequency and strength with which I squeeze my wrist.
Trace tries to pull the blanket down, but I hold it in place. “You can’t, Britt. Let’s get up and shower. You survived Monday and Tuesday, you can survive today.”
“Barely,” I grumble.
Trace gets out of bed, and I think I’ve won, even though I don’t want to. I need to go to class no matter how much I hate the thought. My body lacks the energy to force myself out of bed. I’m startled when the covers fly off the bed. Trace leans over to pick me up, cradling me in his arms as he walks to the bathroom.
“There. Half the battle is done,” he tells me.
“I hate you.” Total lie, but I’m annoyed and anxious.
“I love you,” he says simply. Trace turns on the water in the shower and begins to strip.
“You can’t distract me just because you’re naked.”
“Worked yesterday.”
Yeah, but once the high of sex went away, I nearly crashed from the anxiety overwhelming me. Once Trace has stripped down, he starts undressing me, but it makes me feel like I’m helpless. “I’ll do it,” I say quietly. “Get in and get a head start.” He eyes me for a moment before getting into the shower. I quickly finish undressing and step in after him. “Will you wash my hair again?”
“Anything you want.”
He washed my hair yesterday and it felt amazing with those big hands massaging my scalp. We wash ourselves, which is nothing special, but Trace’s gaze keeps traveling over my body. He grabs my shampoo, squirts too much into his hand, and steps closer to me. My eyes close as his hands get lost in my hair. Every time I inhale, my breasts brush against his torso. The length of him is hot and hard between us, leaning against me. My body starts to relax.
He kisses my lips softly, just a breath of a touch. His mouth drops kisses to my nose, my forehead, my cheeks, and my jaw. Feeling a bit dizzy, I grab his hips. “Sure I can’t distract you?” he whispers. I open my eyes to see his face hovering just above mine. Those hazel eyes are intense with all of his focus on me.
“It’s only a temporary distraction,” I weakly point out. I don’t even know why I’m trying to put up a fight.
“But it’s a good one.”
Us, here, in the shower is another temporary distraction. I can already feel the anxiety beginning to squeeze the life out of me. Trace steps forward to make me step backward, tilting my head back under the water as he rinses the shampoo out.
“Distract me, Trace,” I whisper. I don’t want to be consumed by anything but him right now.
He doesn’t say a word. He dips his head, kisses me, and proceeds to do what I’ve asked.
Every day of midterms was just a little worse than the day before. Trace helped me get through it, though. I swear, I don’t know what I would do without him. The best part of it all is he loves me. Trace Lexington loves me.
“What’s the smile for?” Trace asks, bumping my shoulder as we stand in line at security in the airport.
“I was just thinking about how you love me.”
Trace smiles his genuine breathtaking smile, but the moment is ruined when Rebecca says, “Barf. Don’t make me regret volunteering to be the third wheel.”
Trace throws an arm around both our shoulders. “Don’t worry, Rebecca. We’re a trio, not a duo with a sidekick.”
We laugh. The line starts moving, so we start shuffling along. If things can stay as good as they are right now, the trip will be a ton of fun. I’m crossing my fingers. We could all use a break after this past week. We make it throu
gh security all right, and when we’re waiting at the gate, Trace and Rebecca carry on a conversation. I like that they like one another. It always makes things like this easier and more pleasant. But while they’re talking, my eyes are looking around, scanning the place, and that’s when I realize something.
I’ve never been on a plane. What is it like? What’s the worst part of flying? It should be fun to find out, I think. Before I know it, we’re being called to board. My breathing hitches as we walk down and step onto the plane. The line stops as people put their luggage overhead.
“I changed my mind,” I blurt out. “I don’t want to go.”
Trace turns to look at me. “It’s too late.”
“What?” I squeak. “Why?”
The line starts moving again, and Trace grabs my hand to pull me along. “Do you trust me?” he asks over his shoulder.
Trust in Trace. Isn’t that supposed to be my life motto now? He places our carry-on above the seats and takes the seat by the window, leaving me with the middle and Rebecca with the aisle. God, now I’m trapped!
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can,” Rebecca says.
How can my heart be beating so fast? I rub my hands along my legs because they’re clammy and yucky. I can’t do this. This plane is going to suck all the air out of the cabin and kill me. Or, it’s going to fall from the sky and crash and burn.
“Haven’t you flown before?” Rebecca asks.
“No.”
Trace leans down to search through my purse. “Do you trust me?” he repeats.
“Yes,” I grit. What does that have to do with whether or not we’ll survive this flight? “How long is the flight?”
“We’ll get there when we get there.” I do not like that answer. Trace finally pulls out the bag with my meds. He grabs the bottle with my panic pills, opens it, and lets two fall into his hand. “Take these to calm you down, and I’ll help you with the rest.” Once I’ve taken the two pills, he seems satisfied. “Buckle up.” We all do. “What, in particular, is bothering you, Britt?”
“I’ve never flown before. What’s going to happen? What will it feel like? What if something happens? Can you honestly see me reacting well in an emergency? I’ll die from panic!”
He unlatches my hand from my wrist to hold it in his lap. In a low voice, he starts to explain everything I can expect to happen and what taking off and landing will feel like. He still leaves out the length of the flight, and I find myself avoiding my ticket so I can’t see when we’ll land and figure it out. I’m on edge. The takeoff sucks, and I hate it. Being in the air sucks, and I hate that too.
“I’m not a fan of flying,” I mumble, ready for it to be over within thirty minutes of being in the air.
Trace chuckles, throws an arm around my shoulder, and tucks me into his side.
“Do you want to listen to my music?” Rebecca offers.
“No, that’s okay. Thanks, though.”
With that, she puts in the earbuds.
“I’ve flown before,” Trace says. “It can be a long drive back to Texas, so sometimes, I would just fly home. It’s like a car ride, but in the air and with a better view. Look.”
I lean over to peer out the window. “Wow,” I whisper. I’ve obviously never seen the world like this, and I have to say, I like this part of flying. I’m in awe of how everything looks. Tiny and vast at the same time. Okay, so maybe flying isn’t so bad. I lean back into my seat, but rest my head on Trace’s shoulder.
He kisses the top of my head and whispers, “I love you, Britt.”
“Love you, too.” How did I get so lucky? In the midst of the mental health crap I deal with, I landed a supportive, sweet, caring, smart, gorgeous boyfriend who is undeniably my rock in life. He’s the person I lean on when I’m tired of supporting the heavy weight on my shoulders. He’s the person who understands me and knows how to make me smile and laugh when I definitely don’t feel like doing either.
Hopefully, I’m that kind of person for him too. He’s been a saint with me during midterms. I pray that if the situation were reversed, I’d be as good for him as he was for me.
“When are your parents coming again?” Trace asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Week after next. Are you nervous?” I lift my head to look at him.
“A little bit. Meeting the parents is nerve-racking enough as it is, but considering our history and everything, more so than usual.”
“They like you,” I remind him.
“Yeah, as your therapist. What about as your boyfriend?”
“They’ll still like you. Try not to worry about it. They know you’re a good man.”
“They don’t know that,” he dismisses.
“Well, I do! Trace, there’s no way in hell that they can not like you. Former therapist, current boyfriend, or not. Promise.”
He does a stupid little sigh, but he nods. I hate that this is something that worries him, especially when I know my parents won’t have an issue with him. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat.
I feel like we should keep talking, so I do. “By the way, you’ll have tomorrow night to yourself. Rebecca got me and her tickets to some male strip show. She said it was a must since we’re in Vegas.”
“Okay; y’all will probably have fun.”
“And I know she wants to go to Fremont Street.”
“Sounds good.”
He doesn’t sound all that excited about the trip, though. He hasn’t at all, really. I stare at him as I debate whether or not it’s a good idea to ask him the question burning the tip of my tongue.
Of course, he notices.
“What is it, Brittany?”
“You feelin’ okay?”
“Just fine,” he says as he rests his head against the seat and closes his eyes again, ending the conversation.
“Liar,” I whisper, angling away from him. He loves me, but he’s full of shit. That whole complete honesty phrase he feeds me sometimes to make sure I talk to him is a load of crock. He still can’t be honest with me about how he’s feeling. Well, not all the time at least.
“Britt,” he begins.
“Don’t. Take your nap.” I close my eyes, even though I doubt I can sleep. I don’t want him to tell me because I don’t believe he’s telling the truth. I don’t want him to tell me because I want to know and he knows it’ll make me happy. I want him to tell me because he wants to share it with me and doesn’t feel the need to lie to me about it. He doesn’t have to hide it from me. He shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t want to. Not to mention, I thought he was trying to do better, but obviously not in this area.
A hand lands on my thigh, but I ignore it. Lips brush my ear, and I try to ignore that too. “I just don’t want you to worry about me and I don’t want to bring you down with me.”
I turn back toward him. “I worry about you regardless, Trace, and that’s no excuse to hold back on me. You won’t bring me down with you either. You haven’t so far. How would you feel if I lied to you about how I’m feeling?” He frowns, and I’m quick to say, “Exactly! You wouldn’t like it. What makes you think I do? You’re not good at hiding it from me anymore, Trace.”
His expression is firm and annoyed. “Fine. I feel like shit. Happy now?”
“No, because you’re irritated that you’re having to tell me.”
“I’m not irritated with you,” he sighs. “I’m pissed at myself. I hate that it takes you calling me out for me to be honest with you. Some days, it’s harder than others. Today is a hard day. I want to tell you, I do—”
“Then do it,” I interrupt. I feel…I feel almost desperate for him to do this. Like if he does, then it seals our relationship. Like it’s the last big hurdle we have to go through before we can honestly say we can tackle anything that comes our way. Otherwise, we’re surely doomed. “We have this undetermined length of an airplane ride,” I add when all he does is stare at me.
Finally, he cracks a smal
l smile. “Fine.” He rests his forehead against mine. “What do you want me to tell you?”
“If the situation were reversed, what would you want to hear from me?”
Trace seems to think about it. “Well, I should probably mention that I got a med change yesterday. I was fine earlier, but I don’t know,” he sighs. “I’m tired and I want my recliner. Or lots of sex.”
I knew it! I knew he used sex to distract himself and make him feel better.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks curiously.
“You just proved something I was wondering about is all. Keep talking.”
“That’s all I got.” He must see my disappointment because he says, “I want to tell you about my mom once we get back home.”
“You don’t have to, not unless you really want to.”
“I do.”
“Okay.”
He kisses my forehead. “Will you be okay if I take a nap?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
It was a small step, and I had to force his hand, but Trace could’ve chosen to shut down on me and he didn’t. I lean against him and close my eyes, repeating my life motto in my head.
Trust in Trace.
***
I can’t help but chuckle as the girls exit the cab with looks of fear on their faces. Needless to say, they aren’t fans of Vegas taxi drivers. They booked a hotel at one end of the strip, and they keep glancing around at all that’s happening as we make our way inside to the checkin desk. My nap on the plane didn’t last nearly enough as Brittany woke me up at some point because she was starting to get antsy and it was feeding her anxiety, despite the pills she took.
Exhausted. Bone-tired. Weary. Near death. Any way to describe how tired I am wouldn’t do it justice. I need a bed, stat. Emotionally and mentally, this is the worst time for me to be on a trip where I’m expected to do things, be social, and be in a good mood. To make matters worse, Brittany had to practically pull it out of me that I feel this way.
We carry our bags up to our room. Brittany told me that Rebecca had wanted to get two rooms, so we could each have our own, but she knew Rebecca couldn’t afford it. Therefore, we’re sharing a room with two queen beds. At this point, I’d rather have a room to myself. I try to expel those thoughts from my mind. They won’t do me any good.
Driving Me Mad Page 16
