Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  “No. I don’t even know what I would want to read. I haven’t read for fun in a long time because I always had school to make me read a freaking textbook. I’ll stop by a bookstore on the way home and try it.”

  “Good.”

  We walk in comfortable silence. Living alone does make managing our anxiety and depression harder, but there are also aspects to living with someone that make it harder, too. Pretty much anything can make it worse, really. Everyone is different and has different triggers. We have to find a way to control it to the best of our abilities.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner?” I ask as we approach my house.

  “No, it’ll push off the inevitable. Besides, I’m staying over tomorrow night.”

  “All right.” I try not to sound too disappointed because I am glad that she’s not saying yes to prevent from going home. I’m proud of her. She’s facing her issues head on again. I’m still sad I don’t get to spend more time with her today. However, I will have all of tomorrow night and Saturday with her. We’re at her car now, so I lean down to give her a kiss. “I’m here if you need me.”

  She nods before getting into her car and driving away.

  “What are we doing here?” Brittany asks when I pull into a shopping outlet to start our date. “You’re taking me shopping?” she adds with surprise.

  “No, I’m not.” After she arrived, I was so grateful that I’d made the plans I did for our date. She didn’t tell me much about her day, but she was tense as I’ve ever seen her and seemed to be on edge. I want to take her hand and walk her far away from the edge. “We’re going to relax; we’re getting massages.”

  Her lips purse together. “I’ve never had a massage by a pro before.”

  “You’ll love it.”

  “Well, let’s go.”

  After filling out some paperwork and spending a few minutes in the waiting room, we’re both called back. We’re briefly introduced to our masseuses and then we’re stripping down and getting onto the table. Back in college, massages were a regular thing for me. I was so tense all the time. The only time I felt like I could really relax was for an hour-and-a-half-long massage. I’m not really sure why I ever stopped going.

  The next ninety minutes are blissful. There’s soft, relaxing music playing. The room is dimly lit. Four strong hands, sometimes in combo with hot stones, are working the muscles of our bodies. A few times, I wonder how Brittany is enjoying it. She answers positively when occasionally asked by her masseuse, which is a good sign.

  When the door softly clicks behind them as they leave for us to redress, Brittany says, “I’m not sure I can get up. I’m so loose, I might flop over.”

  I laugh. “Just stay where you are then.” She does, too, while I get dressed. I grab her clothes from the chair and bring them to her. “Resting period is over.”

  She frowns. “I’m oily and I have to put clothes on?”

  “You’ll get used to it.” I trail my fingers up her naked thigh. “We’ll shower when we get home.”

  “Our date’s over?”

  “This part is.”

  With a long, possibly exaggerated sigh, she sits up, hops off the table, and begins to dress. A to-do list begins to form in my head of everything I need to accomplish while she takes a shower. Not to mention that I’d like a shower myself. Luckily, Ben owes me a favor and he’s doing the most time-consuming task for me.

  Brittany, fully dressed now, throws her arms around me. “Thank you for this, Trace.”

  I give her a quick peck on the lips. “Welcome. Let’s go.”

  The ride home is quiet. We both head to my bedroom once we’re there to get a change of clothes.

  “What do I need to wear? The only thing I have is pjs and clothes for tomorrow, unless I put the clothes I’m wearing back on,” Brittany says, glancing at me over her shoulder.

  “Well, it’s a night in because I figured it was the best way to stay relaxed after the massages, so whatever you want to wear will work.” I hold up my pajama shorts. “I’m going with this if you want to go with your pjs.”

  Brittany’s looking at me as if she’s mesmerized or something of the sort. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I ask, walking over to her.

  “Read me so well to know what I need.”

  The answer is simple. “I pay attention to you, Britt. I notice when you’re tense or stressed. Your forehead wrinkles because your eyebrows pull together. Sometimes, you have the tiniest of frowns. You’ll seem a little distracted. You either focus on one thing or look around too much.” I shrug. “I just pay attention and wing it from there.”

  That makes her laugh. “Well, keep doing what you’re doing. Am I using the guest bathroom to shower?”

  “Use mine.”

  She nods and we head our separate ways. Once I’m in the guest bathroom, I call in our order and text Ben when it should be ready for pick-up. Then I take the quickest shower ever. While waiting for Ben to come, I grab what I need and head outside. I start setting everything up, only stopping to take the food from Ben and hide it in the microwave before returning outside to finish.

  Darkness starts to fall, but there are ocean-scented candles around the perimeter of the rectangular plastic pool I bought. It’s filled with sand and there are two towels lying in the center for us to sit. There’s a radio on the picnic table, playing soft sounds of waves crashing in the ocean. I stand upright to inspect my handy work.

  “Trace? What’s all this?”

  “Part Two.” I wave my hand for her to come over to me. She does and I instruct her to step into the pool and sit on the towel. “I’ll be right back.” I fix our plates, grab two cans of Sun Drop, and return outside. Lily is lying in the grass next to the pool. Brittany is wiggling her toes in the sand. I step into the pool and sit next to her. “We’ve been to Vegas, but we can’t exactly pick up and go to Italy. Instead, we’re going to pretend we’re on a beach in Italy. This,” I hold up the plate of pasta, “is from the best Italian restaurant in the city.”

  It doesn’t take long for us to dig in. We’re quiet as we eat. Brittany keeps glancing over me with that goofy, my-boyfriend-just-did-something-great grin that I haven’t seen in such a long time. I love that grin. It means I’ve done something she loves. What’s better than that? When we finish, I take our plates inside. I turn up the track of the waves and turn off the outside light before returning to her.

  I lie down on the towels with an arm behind my head and my knees bent and Brittany follows suit. The sand is cool beneath our feet. There’s always something special about cool sand. It just feels so good. The moon seems especially bright and the stars twinkle beautifully. With my free hand, I reach over to hold Brittany’s. It almost feels as if we really are at the beach. There’s probably too many bugs making their noises than what’s actually at the beach, but that’s it.

  “You did good,” Brittany tells me.

  I chuckle. “Thanks.” I turn my head to look at her. “How are you doing today?” I ask softly.

  She takes a deep breath. “It was a little rough this morning, but I’m better now. Trying to be patient and hope the meds work. No negative side effects so far, either.” She turns her head. “How are you doing today?”

  “It’s a good day for me.”

  She smiles and looks back up at the sky. After a minute or so, she asks, “What do you hope to accomplish in the future?”

  I take some time to think about it. “Well, I already have a great job and live where I want to be living. I want to eventually make it to Italy, and maybe travel some more. And I want try the whole marriage thing again. Ultimately, it’s my fault my first marriage failed, so given the chance, I’d want to marry the love of my life and make it last until I die.”

  “Do you want kids?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. One day.”

  Brittany laughs, causing me to glance over at her. “You said yes and then maybe. You don’t sound so sure.”

  “Well, I haven’t
really thought about it before. I was in college, which was a definite no, then I was married to Faith, which was a not really, and then I was alone before I started dating you.” Suddenly, images of a happy, healthy, pregnant Brittany fill my mind along with some of her holding a baby who looks just like her. It almost makes me want to correct myself and answer that yes, one day, I want kids. But I’m not going to do that. “What about you?” I ask. “What’s your future look like?”

  “Hopefully, I’ll be able to move up with my job in due time. I want to get married one day, too. Mostly, I want to focus on the right now and on getting better. Thinking too far into the future gives me anxiety.”

  That’s understandable.

  Brittany sits up, slapping a spot on her leg. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure Dateline will start soon and the mosquitoes are starting to bite me.”

  We blow out the candles, turn off the radio, and go inside, Lily on our heels. Even though I’m pretty stuffed from dinner, I grab a bag of popcorn and toss it in the microwave. She was right. My show will start in five minutes. The delicious aroma of buttery popcorn fills the kitchen. As the last few kernels pop, I grab the bag and head into the living room, where Brittany and Lily are sitting on the couch. The rest of the night is spent cuddling on the couch, munching on popcorn, watching TV, and then going to bed.

  Brittany’s had a death grip on her wrist since the moment we saw the very first apartment. We’ve seen four this morning and none of them were as nice as the one she’s in right now. One landlord gave us both the creeps. Another showed up twenty minutes late. The other two seemed fine, but the apartments were less than stellar. All of my hard work in getting my girl to relax yesterday flew out the window as she grew tense with every passing minute.

  She hasn’t said much either. That all comes to an end once we walk into my house and I say, “Britt.”

  “What in the hell am I supposed to do now?” she shouts, whirling around to face me, her arms flailing about. “I can’t move into any of those places! I only have a week left. I really don’t want to pay more than I am now. What am I going to do?” Her frustration sends tears over the edge, falling down her cheeks and leaving a wet, glistening trail behind.

  My mind goes into overdrive to think of a solution for her. For the moment, I pull her into my arms and hold her. I end up blurting out the first thing I think of. “You could move in with me.” Brittany takes a step back to stare at me with wide eyes. “Until you find a new place, I mean.” My heart starts hammering as the silence grows between us. That was a mistake. Obviously, by her reaction. But now my brain is playing dead and refuses to help me out with how to recover from this.

  “Are you insane?” The question jumps off my lips in a shout, and I feel as if I’m forcing it out to cover up some of my hurt. I panicked when he asked. Who wouldn’t? But then when I realized he wanted it to be temporary, my mind surged to pain and questions. Are we in a place where we should live together? I don’t know. But to hastily tack on that it’d be a temporary move, it’s like he doesn’t want to live with me. And if he doesn’t want to live with me now, why would he in the future?

  Because that’s how my mind works!

  “I…I…” My mouth keeps opening, but that’s all I can manage to get out.

  Unfortunately, Trace decides to start talking. “I have an empty guest bedroom, Brittany. As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think we’re quite there yet. But you could move in, have your own room, and we’d be roommates until you could find your own place.”

  That little voice in the back of my head is waving a red flag. The same voice that wonders if I can really trust Trace again is getting louder, shouting at me that if he can’t even stand the thought of living with me long-term, this is just going to end badly once more. Then I remember we’re supposed to have a clean slate and I start to drown in guilt for continuing to doubt him.

  “Hey,” Trace says, taking a step closer and resting his hands, which seem so heavy and large right now, on my shoulders. He glides them inward until his fingers lace together on the back of my neck, his thumbs on my jaw, pushing up to make sure I have my eyes on his. “Please don’t think I’m saying I wouldn’t love to live with you. I’m not. If you weren’t facing the issue you are, I wouldn’t be mentioning it at all.”

  My eyes squeeze closed at his contradiction. I go to pull away, but Trace keeps me where I am.

  “Damn it; this isn’t coming out right. I’m trying to help here. Be my roommate, so you don’t have to pay the higher rent, and you’ll have more time to search for a decent place. Did any of that cause my foot to reenter my mouth?”

  Maybe it’s because of all the anxiety I’ve had all day, but I’m feeling ridiculously emotional and all I want to do is go home and cry. I shake my head to answer Trace’s question, though I’m not positive it’s the truth. He breathes a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I should head home. Looks like I need to pack.”

  “Do you want me to come with you? Is that furniture yours?”

  “No and no. The only thing that I have is my clothes, sheets, and all the pots and pans and such in the kitchen. Everything I own can fit into boxes.” For some reason, that thought depresses me. The only large item I own is my car, but my parents bought that for me. A short, harsh breath through my nose—you know, the kind you breathe when you’re trying not to cry—comes with my exhale and I try to steady my shaky lungs.

  “Britt,” Trace whispers. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug out of his grasp. “I’m just overwhelmed at everything I have to do before Thursday.” Which is the last day of the month. Without waiting for an answer, I head for his room to grab my overnight bag. He’s standing right where I left him. His eyes are analyzing my every movement. I force a smile. “Thanks again for going with me. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I reach up on my tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. He moves his head just a little, so I kiss him full on the lips.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” His hands grasp my hips.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You already asked if I was sure,” I point out.

  “Yeah, I know, but it feels like a lie. I don’t want to start that again. I want you to talk to me, no matter what. I know I fucked up just now, and I know it affected you. Tell me what’s bothering you still. Let me in, Britt.”

  Ugh. This is probably the only time ever that causes me to hate him shortening my name. It gets to me. It seeps into my blood, reminding me of how he started using it in his texts, and causing me to remember the first time I heard him say it. It was the first time I came here to his house and it was when we supposedly became a two-way street of discussing our issues with one another.

  Trace speaks again as if answering my silence. “I feel like if you leave, and you’re holding back like I think you are, then we’ll be taking a step backward and I don’t want to do that.”

  The thing, though, is that I don’t want to talk to Trace about it. Talking about every little thing can’t be any better than not talking about the big things. “It’s not an us thing or a you thing. It’s a me thing, and I’d rather just have some space, decompress, and calm myself down before I go and make issues when none need to be made.” There. That sounds like a good response, right?

  “All right,” he says with a nod. “Have your space and decompress. If that doesn’t work, talk to me.”

  “Deal.”

  Finally, he gives me another quick kiss and releases me. I don’t hesitate to leave. Though I said I was going to pack, I don’t stop to buy boxes and I go straight to my bedroom once I get to my apartment. I realize this is one of my bad habits, but I’m indulging in it. I don’t know of any other method to decompress. When the sheets are up to my nose and I’m comfortable, I inhale long and slow and exhale. My sheets smell like lavender since I washed them the other day.

  That’s all it takes for my brain to break down. Turns out that I do want
to talk about it. I pick up the phone and call my mom. She’s the one who encouraged me to give Trace a second chance. She should be the one to help me sort this mess out.

  “Hey, Brittany,” Mom answers.

  “Help me.”

  “What’s wrong?” The sudden concern in her voice makes me wince and regret my opening line.

  “Nothing bad. I just…need someone to talk to before I go crazy.”

  I hear her release a breath. “I’m listening.”

  “So, I told you that we were going to look at apartments today, right? They were all a bust for various reasons. Naturally, I started panicking because the month ends Thursday. That’s not a lot of time to find an apartment and move, and I really don’t want to pay higher rent. We get back to his house, I’m freaking out and wondering what I’m going to do, and Trace says, ‘You could move in with me. Until you find a new place, I mean.’

  “That’s what I’m going to do. He made it clear that I’m coming in as a temporary roommate and I can stay in his guest bedroom. It’s screwed with my mind, though. He was trying to reassure me that it’d basically be different if I didn’t need somewhere to go. It just made him sound like he never wanted to live with me long-term and didn’t want it to be an option. We’re supposed to have this clean slate and I still don’t trust him. It scares the hell out of me. I’m going to be living with him. Even if it is short term and I have my own room. That’s going to have an effect. Right? I’m so stressed as it is and I don’t know if I can handle this, too.”

  We’re both quiet for a beat and then Mom asks, “Are you done?”

  I laugh. “Yes.”

  “I think it’s normal for you to be concerned. It sounds like Trace wasn’t very good at wording things, but he means well. Don’t be upset, but it sounds like you’re still holding back. Now, no one expects you to overcome everything that happened so quickly, but from what you’ve told me, Trace has done well so far.”

  “But things haven’t been bad,” I interrupt. “How do I know he won’t do like before when things are bad?”

  “You’re not giving him enough credit,” she starts, but I cut in again.