Making Me Sane
Copyright © 2016 by Lindsay Paige
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
License Notes
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Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Coming Soon
I glance around the room, sort of feeling proud of myself. I’ve been working in the community relations department with a company and tonight is the product of the first time I was able to lead on a project. It’s a fundraiser for one of our clients and the public was invited, of course. There are lots of people here. More than I imagined there would be, so I guess I did a good job. My eyes fall on a tall man with blond hair and hazel eyes. My heart stops when I realize he’s watching me.
Oh, dear god.
What is Trace doing here?
God, he’s still gorgeous. My heart starts beating again as I soak in how he seems even more handsome than before. That familiar urge to seek comfort in his arms is overwhelming, and it takes everything in me to not walk toward him. It’s like no time has passed at all, when a little over a year has.
The panic attack hits me as he starts walking my way. Oh, no. No, no, no. He doesn’t need to come to me. I don’t want to see him. I can’t face him. I turn and do what any not quite sane person would do.
I make a run for it.
A brisk walk, really.
“Brittany.”
Crap. I force myself to stop and turn to my boss.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
I glance around to see Trace getting closer and closer. All I can do is shake my head. I have the best boss in the world. She’s been so understanding about my anxiety and I’m hoping for some of that right now.
“You’ve done well tonight. Head home early, okay? I’ll check in with you Monday.”
“Thank you.”
With that, I hurry on my way. I push through the swinging door that opens to the hallway which will lead me to the parking lot. I took a cab because my car is in the shop. The sound of hurried footsteps are too close behind me and I don’t feel good about my odds of escaping. Trace grabs my arm and whirls me to face him.
Damn it.
He looks so good and calm and here I am, chest heaving with too-fast breathing, cheeks flushed, hands clammy, and sweat beginning to bead around the edges of my forehead.
“Please, stop and let’s talk.”
“No.” Pride surges through me at how firm I sound.
“Brittany,” he starts, but I have zero interest in whatever he has to say.
“Just let me go.” I try to pull my arm out of his grasp, but it’s useless with his strong grip.
“No. You’re not running away from me until we’ve had a chance to talk.” He’s suddenly pissed and anger is laced in his words. He’s also worried, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now, except getting away. “Britt.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, cringing at seeing the pain in his gaze, my name a plea on his lips. “Please,” I whisper. Tears pool in my eyes, threatening to fall over.
“I’ll get you out of here, I promise, just let me come with you.”
God, he’s bargaining with me now? Since he broke up with me, I’ve managed to not run into Trace. Why now? I can’t be here anymore, but I don’t want to be with Trace either. The need to escape is stronger.
“I hate you,” I whisper as I nod my agreement.
“I love you,” he replies, sliding his hand down to mine, interlocking our fingers, and leading me away from my nightmares like the stupid knight in shining armor that he is. The thing is, though, his armor is discolored, dented, merely a disguise because he’s actually my nightmare. He fools everyone, sometimes even me, but when I’m thinking clearly, I remember he’s the worst thing to ever happen to me.
And like an idiot, I’m allowing him to lead me away again.
Only this time, I know it’s not toward a happy ending.
“I’m only saying yes so I don’t have to wait for a cab,” I add, hoping it hurts him. I’m so bad at this.
“Yes is yes; I don’t care why.”
Maybe punching him in the throat will be better.
When we’re in his car, I close my eyes and rest my head against the door. There’s so much fury in me. Why do we need to talk? We aren’t together anymore, haven’t been in a long time, and he can tell me he loves me all he wants, but we aren’t getting back together because he doesn’t mean it. When I needed him the most, he left me. He can go to hell for all I care.
Just as soon as he drops me off.
Without opening my eyes, I spout off my address, then look at him to see his glance of surprise. I feel a little power at how he didn’t know I moved. He knew where Rebecca and I were living because I told him prior to the breakup. He ran from me and I ran from our past together. In very rare moments, I realize I can’t blame him entirely. I just never thought that when I needed him the most, he would bolt.
“I do still love you,” he says quietly. “I never stopped.”
My mind can’t take any more assaults and shuts down completely.
My body, my mind, my senses are all numb and I relinquish control to allow it to take over. This moment…it’s almost like a sweet serenity, such peaceful nothingness. No pain, no anxiety, and no loneliness. That’s a gift worth having to sacrifice the positive emotions I seldom experience to start with.
I stare out the window for the rest of the short drive. Without waiting on him, I get out of the car the moment he’s parked. Hop
efully, he’ll do us both a favor and leave. But I’ve never had any luck and it damn sure isn’t starting today.
Inside, he comes to stand next to me while I wait impatiently for the elevator to arrive.
“Please leave,” I whisper.
“No.”
Son of a bitch! Ding. The doors slide open and I step inside, the stupid knight following me like a lost puppy. I slam my finger into the round number six. I push too hard and wince from the pain in my finger. The silence is awkward and my stress levels continue to rise. In turn, so does my anxiety. Why is he here? After a little over a year, what could he possibly want from me? Why would he think I’d want to hear anything he has to say? I don’t even want to hear him tell me he loves me.
The doors open. With a grateful breath, I step out and hurry to my apartment with Trace on my heels. I push it forward once I unlock the deadbolt. Seeing a figure rise from my couch, the glow from the lamp shining on him, I stop in my tracks.
“Quinn.” Oh, thank god! My boyfriend is here. Normally, I would be annoyed when he’d surprise me because my anxiety just can’t handle it, but today, I love him for it.
“Hey.” He smiles as he eyes the intruder who is standing too closely behind me. “Bad time?”
“What? No! This is an old friend who I ran into tonight,” I easily lie. “He wanted to exchange numbers to catch up, but our phones are dead, so he followed me so I could write it down.” I hurry over to the paper on my fridge, where I usually jot down items I need to buy during the week, and grab a pen from the counter. I scribble Go to hell as I hear Quinn say, “Hey, I’m Quinn, Brittany’s boyfriend.” YES! Maybe that will be enough for Trace to stay away from me.
“Trace,” is all he says.
I rip the paper off the pad. “Here you go, Trace. Sorry to rush you out, but we’ll talk soon.” I shove the paper into his hand and begin to gently push him toward the door. He leaves without a fuss, thankfully. As I close the door, I sigh loudly.
He’s gone.
If it wasn’t for Quinn, I’m not sure how long I would’ve stayed sane. Turning to face him, I grin. “I’m so happy to see you.” I close the distance between us and throw my arms around his neck.
“Rough night?”
“Yes.”
He rubs my back, and the action reminds me too much of Trace. “Sorry I couldn’t be there with you.” Quinn had to work, which is why I attended that thing alone.
“I’m just glad you’re here. My anxiety was terrible and I’m desperate to relax.”
“That sucks. Want me to help you?” His hands dip lower and I hate that I nod my head. Unlike Trace, Quinn doesn’t truly understand what it’s like for me with my anxiety and depression. I try explaining it to him and he’s a champ for trying to understand and be helpful, but then, there are nights like tonight. Sex is the solution. That’s the ultimate way to relax, right? Let me roll my eyes for you. It didn’t work when I was with Trace and it doesn’t work now.
Even worse, when Quinn leads me to the bed, all I can think about is Trace. Him showing up tonight just fucked up my world again. I worry about the consequences of bailing on the event early. I worry about what he thought of the note I gave him. My mind won’t shut the hell up. It even goes as far as me wishing for one stupid second that Quinn was Trace because he gets it. He has experienced anxiety and depression himself. Our experiences aren’t the same, but we still know what it’s like for one another.
It’s the only trait I wish with everything I am that Quinn had.
It’s the only trait I’m grateful he doesn’t have.
I believe it was one of the major reasons Trace and I were doomed. It’s like there were two ticking time bombs in a room, designed and built differently, yet both would help destroy the other when one disintegrates into nothing to trigger the other to do the same. How I ever thought two depressed people could make a relationship work is beyond me. When we’re dealing with it at the same time, it’s so hard to be understanding with one another and supportive when we want to say fuck it. Or maybe it can work, just not for us. We were struggling so much individually when he broke up with me. He couldn’t deal with me and I needed him, but I couldn’t deal with him either.
I wouldn’t have left, though.
Quinn grunts with his release and I snap out of my thoughts, faking an orgasm for him. I totally spaced out, but he obviously didn’t notice. He rolls over and off the bed to clean up. When he returns, I get up for a shower, needing to wash away the icky feeling. God, I hate myself for wishing Trace were here. I hate what he did to us, to me, and I absolutely don’t want him back.
Yet, from time to time, I yearn for him. I long to hear his voice, feel his touch, and have him soothe me. I ache for the loss of his love and his understanding. Seeing him tonight has struck me hard in the gut, piercing me right in the heart, and opening up all the bottled up anger I have toward him.
I sit in the tub with my knees pulled up and my arms wrapped around them. I rest my head on my forearms. This is bad. Trace in my life again, even for a few minutes, is so very bad. He’s going to throw me further into chaos when I’m barely hanging on as it is. Hell, he already has.
Eventually, I make my way out of the shower and into bed next to a sleeping Quinn. I’ve come to like sleeping naked, but hopefully, Quinn won’t wake up for any fun later. My body and my mind are thoroughly exhausted. My eyes easily close and soon, I’ve fallen asleep.
There’s a hand sliding up my side, which then dips to cup my breast. I swear, Quinn thinks about nothing but sex. And my mood is so bad this morning, I’m tempted to bite him. Instead, I sigh and push his hand away. “No.”
He huffs. “Fine. What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.”
I’m not hungry. I’m numb. My chest feels hollow yet weighed down at the same time. There’s no way I’m leaving my bed, and there’s not a chance in hell that I can deal with Quinn today. I can’t do life today. “Can you leave?” I whisper, keeping my eyes closed.
“Again?” There’s a touch of annoyance in his voice. Considering I’ve asked him to leave four times so far this week, I can’t say I blame him. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” There’s nothing but honesty in his tone. “I never know anymore who I’m going to wake up to. The Brittany I know or this one. I’m trying, but it’s not easy when you push me away.”
I wish I could truly hear him, but all I hear is blah, blah, blah. “Just go, Quinn.”
Now, he’s angry. “Fine. Fuck it! I’m done. I’ve tried, but what’s the point?”
The bed shifts as he gets up. I hear him dress while he mutters under his breath, and then he’s stalking out the door. I wait to hear the door slam, but it doesn’t. Oh well. Good riddance. It’s like he said. What’s the point?
I’ve been standing outside of Brittany’s door for ten minutes. It’s good, yet also worrisome, that the apartment building’s main entrance stays unlocked. After yesterday, she’s been on my mind even more than usual. But I keep hesitating about knocking. What if her jerk of a boyfriend is still here? Granted, I don’t know if he’s a jerk. However, I do know she doesn’t want to see me. Not exactly going to get a warm welcome either way.
Just as I gather the courage, the door flings open. Quinn falters for a moment. “She’s not accepting visitors,” he snaps. Oh, that’s not a good sign.
“She’ll see me,” I say with false confidence.
“Yeah, good luck with that.” He brushes against my shoulder as he pushes past me.
What kind of boyfriend leaves her door wide open for me, a stranger to him, to step inside? The kind I don’t mind, because it gives me access. I quietly enter her apartment and close the door with a soft click behind me. She’s nowhere to be seen, but I’d bet my life savings that she’s in bed. Sure enough, she’s underneath her sheets, lying on her side with a pillow on top of her head.
I toe out of my shoes and sit with my back propped against the headboard, ignoring the fact that Quinn probably sl
ept in this very spot only a short while ago.
“Go away, Quinn,” she groans. When she adjusts her hold on the pillow, I see nothing but bare shoulders leading to a bare back. Holy shit. Is she naked? I shut out what that could mean as a dozen memories filter through my mind of us together. My silence lasts too long because she sighs as she sits up to glare at me, her sheets falling to her waist, exposing her. Her eyes widen with surprise and then she quickly covers herself as I peel my eyes away from her breasts and to her eyes. “What in the hell are you doing here, Trace?”
“Your boyfriend let me in.”
Her eyes narrow. “He’s not my boyfriend, and you need to get out.” She lies back down, facing away from me, but doesn’t cover her head again. Still, I can see her eyes squeeze tightly together.
Today is not a good day for my girl.
The luxury of even calling her that is no longer mine, but that’s beside the point.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. There’s no one single thing I’m apologizing for. I’m sorry for all of it.
Brittany scoffs. There’s nothing I want more right now than to just hold her. She wouldn’t let me, I’m sure of that. She seems to be done with all conversation, so I settle in to wait her out. Her emotions will get the best of her soon enough and then I’ll be here for when she unleashes it on me.
In the meantime, I glance around her room. It’s a mess. Not dirty, but clothes are strewn everywhere, shoes seem to have been taken off at random points in the room, and her dresser is overflowing with various items. The worse she is, the messier she gets. I remember that from when she was in high school. And based on this room, she’s not doing well at all.
Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) Page 1
