Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  I swallow hard and do my best not to let those words send me into a panic attack. “What?”

  I almost expect him to drop his hands to my hips and pull me against him, but he doesn’t. He rests his forehead against mine. Those hazel eyes staring into the deepest pit of my soul. He takes a deep breath.

  “I hate what you almost did. I hate what I did to you. I hate that you hurt for so long and were struggling so much. I know you don’t trust me as much as you used to. However, I think we’re focusing on the past too much. My question is, do you think you can trust me enough for us to start over with a clean slate? We can talk anything and everything out tonight that you want, but then we close the door and move forward once and for all. Can we do that?”

  He’s essentially asking for my full trust again. Right this very second. Should we talk about this now that I’m no longer seething with rage and yelling my responses? Is a clean slate even possible? This is Trace I’m talking about. He’s easily proven that he’ll do anything to make us work.

  The question is, will I?

  Thirty hard, slow, thumping heartbeats pass. She’s going to say no. She can’t do it, not yet. If it’s possible for my heart to fracture further, it does. I start to lift my forehead from hers, but she reaches up and grasps my cheeks.

  “We can do that,” she whispers.

  I want to grin, but it’s too soon to say we’re a success. We still need to talk. “Thank you,” I reply softly, pressing my lips to hers for only a moment. “Let’s go back to the living room.”

  She nods and soon, we’re back on the couch. I don’t have to glance down at her hands to know she’s nervous. Hell, I realize I’m a little nervous myself when I catch her gaze on my hand, clutching the back of my neck.

  “So, where do we start?” she asks.

  “What all are you going to do about getting better? We can’t work together if we aren’t constantly working on ourselves. Each time we’ve fallen apart, it starts with us losing our fight. I can’t get through to that Brittany, just like you couldn’t get through to that Trace. I need to know that you’re going to start trying and doing everything you’re supposed to do.”

  She nods in understanding, but she avoids my gaze. “I don’t think I can see Dr. Gunner again,” she begins, finally looking at me. “It would always be in the back of my mind that you two are friends and still talk. I know you said that he never told you anything, but I don’t like y’all talking and him knowing. I was going to ask Mrs. Potter to refer me to someone when I go see her again.”

  “When do you see her?”

  “Next Wednesday.”

  She probably has at least a week before she can get in to see a psychiatrist then. Hopefully, she can get in sooner, but that’s what we’re looking at.

  “Trace,” she starts, bringing my attention back to her. Her voice is soft and quiet, her hand has a tight grip on her wrist, and she’s avoiding my gaze again. “I’m going to do better, but I’ve struggled with how to cope when things get hard and out of hand. I’m worried I’ll slip and mess us up again.”

  I grasp her chin between my forefinger and thumb and make her look at me. “You’re going to slip.” Her shoulders sag, so I keep talking. “And it’s going to be okay as long as you keep trying and don’t push me away. You’re going to have to fight to keep from falling back into old habits. No more drinking. No more sex to feel better. No more holding back and shying away from the problem. We’ll go slow to make it easier and not so much going on at once.”

  “And you’re actually going to be honest with me? Tell me when you’re having a bad day and what I can do to help? You’re not going to lie if you’re having suicidal thoughts? You’re not going to push me away when it’s you having a hard time? You’re not going to become convinced we can make each other worse again?”

  I take her hand to intertwine our fingers. My gaze remains glued to hers, so she’ll hear, believe, and trust everything I’m going to say. “I’m going to slip, too, Britt. When I do, I’m going to fix it and try harder to make us work. I’m not giving up. I’m not going to leave you again.”

  Her inhale is shaky and tears begin to fall. Shit. What did I do? It’s like a dam broke. Her unsteady breathing morphs into sobs as she moves to wrap her arms around me and leans into me, her face pressed against my neck.

  “I’m sorry, Trace,” she mumbles through her tears.

  “For what?”

  “For everything, and for not forgiving you sooner.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  Lily moves to lay on me while resting her head in Brittany’s lap. I hold her until her crying slows. It feels good to have her in my arms again, and by the time, I’m ready to break our connection, I realize she’s fallen asleep. Gently, I shake her shoulder and she rouses awake, lifting her head.

  “I need to take you home.”

  She looks so sleepy and I feel bad for waking her up. She drops her head back onto my shoulder. “Just take me in the morning. I can sleep here on the couch.” Brittany moves away from me to rest her head on a throw pillow, closing her eyes.

  I can’t let her sleep on the couch. It’s comfortable, but my bed would be more comfortable. It is late and we’re not planning to do anything more than sleep, so what could it hurt? With a deep breath, I say, “Come on. I’ll find you something to wear and you can sleep in my room.”

  Her eyes open at this. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  I stand, tell Lily to go out, and we head toward my room. I find her a shirt to wear and she goes to the bathroom to change while I grab my own pajamas and take my pills. There’s nothing wrong or huge about her spending the night, sleeping in my bed while only wearing a shirt. It’s not too soon as long as we keep some space between us and do nothing but sleep.

  When Brittany exits the bathroom, I only allow myself a quick glance as I pass her. The last thing I need to think about is how my shirt drapes her body and falls around her thighs. I change and get ready for bed myself. When I come out, Brittany is fast asleep. That makes me relax for some reason. I crawl into bed and turn off the lamp as Lily comes into the room. She jumps onto the bed, settling at our feet. With one last glance at Brittany, I get comfortable and fall asleep.

  My bed is moving and something is making a noise. Cracking an eye open, I take in the scene before me. Brittany is trying to carefully crawl over my body to get her phone—the source of the noise. When she nearly knees me in the balls, I grab her hips, startling her, and move her to that side of the bed. She throws me an apologetic smile as she answers her phone.

  “What?” she answers.

  Her speaker is loud enough that I can hear Melissa’s voice on the other side. “That’s rude, Brittany, especially when I’ve been knocking on your door for five minutes. Let me in.”

  Brittany pauses. “I’m not home.”

  “Where are you? Trace’s? I’ll come pick you up. I need to talk to someone after last night.” There’s a very brief pause and as if she can’t help herself, she blurts, “He’s pierced! Brittany, he’s pierced.”

  “Okay, okay,” Brittany interrupts. “I don’t need to know that about his co-worker. Do you need to talk right now? I don’t have fresh clothes.”

  “Neither do I. Ben just dropped me off a few minutes ago. I’m coming. Be ready when I get there.”

  “So, this is what it’s like to be friends with you. You’re a dictator.”

  Melissa laughs. “Be there in a few!” And she hangs up.

  Brittany sighs. I know that sigh. It’s her tired, I’m not feeling great kind of sigh. The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t ask if she’s okay. For a moment after placing her phone on the table, she lays her head on my pillow, still facing away from me. I don’t interrupt what I assume is her gathering the strength to make it through breakfast with her friend. However, I can’t stop from rolling onto my side and resting a hand on her hip. A simple touch that I’m here. A touch that hopefully helps her.
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br />   She turns to face me. “Melissa wants to do breakfast. Heads up, I’ll go with her and then I’ll probably stay in bed for the rest of the day.”

  “Think that will help?” I raise an eyebrow at her. That is a habit that needs to be broken. I understand that when days are bad, crawling into bed is exactly what we want to do, but thinking about it this early in the morning isn’t a good sign. She’s giving up too early into the day.

  “No,” she answers quietly, a flash of guilt crossing her face. “Maybe I’ll clean my apartment. It could definitely use it.”

  “I’ll be here all day. Let me know if you want company or if you need anything.” She nods. “Should probably get ready.”

  She takes a deep breath and gets out of bed. I close my eyes to avoid looking at those legs of hers, peeking out from my shirt. I’ve been strong and steady so far, actively turning down the few advances she threw my way, and something as simple as seeing those legs—legs that have been wrapped around my waist before, locked at her ankles as she would pull me even closer—those legs are not going to be my undoing. I’ve held out for too long to fall short now.

  I get out of bed and lead Lily to the backyard to distract my thoughts. Today will be my lazy day. A day to recover and recharge. That’s something I’ve learned since going to therapy and probably should’ve known already. People need time to decompress, especially people like us. Rain starts falling before Lily can come inside. Damn, weather. It’s odd how things like that can affect us too. Depression is harder to manage when it’s gloomy and cold outside. It’s a smidgen easier when the sun is shining and the air is warm. Today, the weather is dreary and I worry about how that’ll affect Brittany once she’s back at home.

  “Trace?”

  I turn to see Brittany back in her own clothes. “Yeah?”

  “Melissa’s here.”

  My mouth opens to call Lily inside, but I don’t want her to hold Brittany up when she tries to leave either. “Want me to walk you out?” I push off the doorframe with my arm, but Brittany shakes her head no. She doesn’t go to leave either. She isn’t squeezing her wrist, but she seems antsy.

  Before I can ask what’s wrong, she quickly closes the distance between us, slinks her arms around my waist as she lifts onto her toes and presses a small kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  I’m not sure what she’s thanking me for, but, “Welcome.”

  She drops her arms and takes a step back. “Text me later. Maybe it’ll help hold me accountable.”

  I nod. “Will do. Have fun with Melissa.”

  “Will do,” she repeats with a smile before turning on her heels and leaving without a backward glance.

  Lily ambles back into the house as the front door closes. She walks that way as if to investigate. She’ll be disappointed to find Brittany’s gone. My day starts out okay enough. I fix something to eat, watch TV for a bit, and then clean my house as well. Unlike Brittany, my co-worker doesn’t call me to discuss the details of last night. Thank god.

  My energy and mood seem to dwindle as the day passes me by. Brittany isn’t the only one who’s not feeling great, it seems. It’s about time, I guess. Good periods can only last but so long. Let’s hope my mood applies the hit it and quit it ideal that some people have. Let it come, drag me down, and then leave so I can pick myself back up and move on.

  That’s pretty much the way it is every day. Have to pick yourself back up from whatever low you reached the day before. You don’t always have to move forward and overcome it to make progress. Sometimes the simple act of picking yourself up and standing instead of staying crumpled and defeated is enough. It’s better than nothing. It’s still an accomplishment.

  My phone rings and I grab it off the coffee table, expecting it to be Brittany. It’s my dad.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Hey. How’s it going? How are you?”

  “Doing pretty good and things are going well. How are y’all?”

  “We’re great. Any news on getting Brittany back?”

  I give him a brief rundown on how she’s giving me a chance and we’re going to work on things. He doesn’t need to know everything. Just enough to know we’re giving us another try. Dad seems genuinely happy and suggests that when things are stable again that I should bring Brittany down to Texas. I can show her around and hang out with them. I tell him I’ll keep it in mind, but it could be a while before we’re on solid ground.

  Once we hang up, I text Brittany.

  Me: Get your apartment cleaned?

  Brittany: Yes. It’s only stressed me out and pissed me off.

  Me: Talk to me.

  Brittany: My rent is going up at the end of the month. I can handle it, but it could make money tight everywhere else.

  Me: Do you need to live in that area?

  The area she’s in puts her closer to the city. It’s also doing a lot of growing and expanding. She could probably find rent cheaper somewhere else.

  Brittany: No, but I don’t know if I can deal with the stress of moving either. It would be the 3rd time in about a year if you count leaving the dorms.

  Me: Do you want short term stress from moving or long term stress from your rent?

  Brittany: Stop being so logical. It’s an ugly trait.

  Me: Haha. Just trying to help.

  Brittany: I know. Thanks. How was your day?

  This is something I’ve sorely missed. Simple, everyday conversation. Not a day went by that I didn’t wonder how her day was. It seems like such a small thing, but it’s one of the things I missed the most. We text for a while. I promise to help her find a new place. She’s stressed because she’s on a deadline; we have until the end of the month to move her out. This is bad timing to have more stress added to her plate. Then again, maybe it’ll be a good distraction.

  “How’s it going, Trace?” Mrs. Kirk asks as we take our seats in her office.

  “Pretty good.”

  She smiles. “You gave her another chance, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I tell her everything that’s happened.

  “Do you think y’all will work this time?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, I think it’s good that she’s starting the process of getting back on track. You’re willing to stick with her through it, and that’ll help. I don’t want to dampen your optimism, but when your first big struggle comes, how the two of you handle it could speak volumes to whether y’all will last. However, it doesn’t set anything in stone. My point is that you both need to be aware of your reactions and if it’s helping or hurting. Communication is more important than usual for you two. I also think you need to make sure y’all have time for yourself as well.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “How have you been doing?”

  “Fine for the most part. I’ve had some anxiety and my mood has sucked some, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “It’s good to hear that you’re confident you can handle it. I know we talked about potentially having you come see me every two weeks instead of once a week. However, I want to maintain our sessions. I think it’ll be good for you while you and Brittany are working out your kinks. I want to monitor you throughout it as well. Once you two are on solid ground, then we could extend the length between appointments. What do you think?”

  “That sounds okay with me.” It’ll be good to have her to talk to if things do get rocky. I’ve gotten used to seeing her so often, too. Now, I understand Brittany’s anxiety when I suggested that she would be fine without sessions with me. However, I’m looking forward to when I can take that step and move to seeing her every two weeks.

  Before I head home, I text Brittany about her day. It feels so damn good to be able to do that.

  My life has been one long ride of ups and downs, but I’ve been going down for so long that it’s about damn time I start going up again. Hopefully. My appointment with Mrs. Potter is tomorrow and I’m a nervous wreck. Sitting at home, trying to find
a new place to live, isn’t enough of a distraction. Usually, I would either seek sex, alcohol, or go to sleep. I promised I wouldn’t fall into old habits, though. I grab my phone and text Trace.

  Me: Can I come over? Please?

  The one time I need him to immediately respond, he doesn’t! Five tortuous minutes pass before he texts me back.

  Trace: Come on over.

  Those three words are as sweet as I love you right now. Things have been moving smoothly with Trace so far. He’ll text me to ask about my day and we talk about nothing in particular for a few hours. I’m supposed to trust him again and fight. Is texting and running to Trace allowing me to do that?

  As much as I hate to admit it, there’s still a tiny voice in the back of my mind that’s nagging me, whispering that I shouldn’t trust him and place my shattered heart into his hands. The same hands that destroyed it in the first place. Thoughts like these are no good, and I try to push them from my mind for good once I pull into Trace’s driveway.

  I hurry to the door, knock, and hear, “Come in!” That’s all the push I need as I open the door and step inside. At first, I don’t see Trace. Noises from the kitchen pull me in that direction. Trace is pulling out a pan from the oven.

  “Sounded like you needed something to comfort you,” he says when I come up next to him to see about a dozen Ritz crackers slathered with peanut butter and topped with marshmallows that are a nice brown from the broiler in the oven. Tears start sliding down my cheeks from the sweet act as I remember our weekend away at the cabin. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Trace pulls me against him, his arms hanging around my waist and his chin resting on the top of my head.

  “You didn’t make me cry. There’s just so much going on in my head that it had to come out somehow.”

  Trace reaches out to pick up a cracker. “Here,” he says as he holds it up a few inches from my mouth. “Eat this before we talk.”

  I lean forward and bite half of it. Just as good as I remember. As soon as I swallow it, Trace holds the other half at my lips. My mouth parts and he pops it in. Lily comes in through her doggie door, barking and rushing over when she sees me. I grab another cracker before I pet her. Trace steps away to grab two cans of Sun Drop from the fridge. I pull myself onto the counter, so I can keep eating. Trace hands me a Sun Drop and rests against the counter next to me.