“What are you doing?”
I whirl around at the sound of Melissa’s voice.
“I don’t know. Is there a room I can hide in?”
“Hide? What’s wrong, Brittany?”
“I just feel on edge and I need a few minutes away from everything.” My throat feels tight and my breathing has quickened. I feel a little dizzy and my mouth is suddenly dry.
Melissa leads me to Ben’s room because apparently, “no one would think to look here” for me. Is that what I’m doing? Hiding? From who? I feel like I need to hide from myself, but that’s not possible. I sit on the floor with my back against the side of his bed and the farthest from the door. Sitting on his bed would make this even weirder. I fumble with the screen on my phone, watching teardrops fall, as I try to get to where I need to call my dad. This feels like a situation for only him.
“Hey, Brittany.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“Trace doesn’t think I’m doing everything I can to trust him and he’s right. Then he had to go and ask me to actually move in with him. I want to, but I don’t want to, and I feel like shit and I’m starting to freak the hell out. Help me.”
Vomit rises in my throat, but I push it down because I don’t want to get up, much less throw up.
“Deep breaths, Brittany,” he tells me, counting as he tells me when to inhale, hold, and exhale. Once I’ve calmed down, he says, “I’m going to ask you some questions, okay? Answer with the first one that comes to mind.”
“Okay.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be with him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like living with him so far?”
“Yes.”
“Does he treat you right?”
“Yes.” I laugh a little because I’m not sure if that one is for me or for Dad.
“Do you believe he’ll prove you can trust him?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Did your mom ever tell you that we broke up three times before we finally got our shit together? I broke up with her three times.”
“And she kept taking you back?” I interrupt. Surprised doesn’t even cover it. Mom never told me this.
“Yep. Shocked me every time, and after that last time, I wasn’t ever letting her go. I asked her once, after she agreed to marry me, why she kept taking me back. She said that at the end of the day, she loved me, she wanted to be with me, and she was willing to take another shot at working out our kinks. Brittany, no one in this world can tell you what to do because no one knows Trace or your relationship with him as well as you know it, and vice versa for him. At the end of the day, what do you want?”
Someone slaps my arm and I look down to see a pissed off Melissa. “What in the hell is wrong with you?” she asks.
“Baby, what’s—” Ben starts, but Melissa throws a glare his way.
“I’m pissed and unless you want it directed at you, then shut up.” She turns to me. “What did you say to her? I’ve never seen her that distraught before.”
At the mention of her, I glance over to where I left Brittany. Her seat is empty, her plate is abandoned. “Where is she?”
“None of your fucking business. You listen to me, Trace Lexington. I can guess what y’all were discussing and you need to back off!” She pokes me hard in the chest. “She’s trying. I’ve never seen someone worry so much over a relationship and try so hard, and you can’t even see it! She needs time and you need to give it to her!”
“Quit bustin’ his balls, baby. It’s none of your business,” Ben tells her.
Man, she can shoot fire from that glare. “I’m going to break both your balls if y’all keep on.” She faces me again. “She’s trying. She needs you to stop pushing her, so stop it.”
“Where is she?” I ask again.
“She asked for time to herself, so that’s what I gave her. You can wait ten minutes to give her that and then I’ll tell you where I left her.”
I eye her for a moment. “I like you better than the other friend she had.” I can’t be pissed that she’s getting in the middle of things when it’s to stand up for Brittany, even though I’d rather people not meddle.
“Like me or not, I’m not going anywhere.” With that, she swivels on her heels to grab herself a beer from a nearby cooler.
“How did I know you liked them like her?” I joke with Ben, who laughs.
“Who doesn’t love a woman who will stand up to someone like that?”
“Where do you think she hid my girlfriend?” I’m starting to get antsy and I want to find her to make sure she’s okay. Ben shakes his head. “What?”
“Did you not just listen to her? Give the girl some time. I’m not telling you to have that anger aimed at me.”
Turns out, I only have to wait a few minutes before Brittany walks past me and over to Melissa. She’s put her clothes back on. I wait patiently for her to finish talking to her and come back over to me. Her eyes are a little red, but she’s smiling a bit.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
“Can we head out early?”
“Sure.”
We say goodbye to Ben and soon, we’re in my car, heading home. Brittany is squeezing her wrist and she keeps glancing at me.
“Why haven’t you said something?” she asks.
“What?”
“Why haven’t you said something? You’ve been so talkative today and you usually don’t let there be silence after discussions like that.”
I shrug. “Melissa said I need to stop pushing you and give you time, so I was trying to do that before your best friend breaks my balls.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay?” I finally ask. I’ve been dying to ask since she walked up to me.
“I’m fine.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll stay.”
“What?” Definitely wasn’t expecting that. “Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to; I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
Brittany starts laughing softly. “Just accept the win and stop asking questions. I had a heart to heart with my dad when I was hiding in Ben’s room, and regardless of what we’re working on, at the end of the day, I love you and I want to be with you. I want to stay.”
“If I wasn’t driving, I’d kiss the hell out of you.”
Her laugh is loud this time. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance.”
“Thank you.”
She smiles. When we get home, we shower and then I put us to work. Brittany is standing in front of my closet while I rearrange my drawers to condense, so there’s room for her.
“Your closet is small. Seriously. Whoever built this house liked the person in the guest bedroom better. I think that closet is bigger.”
I laugh. “They’re the same size.”
“What are you doing anyway?” she asks, coming to stand next to me.
“Condensing.”
“You mean you use all of these drawers?”
I have a tall dresser with many drawers. “Yes, I use all of them.”
“For what?” She sounds incredulous.
“There’s junk in the bottom three. Just odds and ends that I didn’t know what to do with. Are you going to judge how I use my space or help me so you can take over some of it?”
“Why don’t we buy a new dresser?” she asks as she peers into the one I currently have open.
“What’s wrong with my dresser?”
“Do you know why it had to be tall? Because it has short drawers. Dressers are always better when the drawers are deep. You can fit more in them.”
“Yeah, but then you have to dig for it. All I have to do is pull my drawer out further.”
Brittany frowns, not agreeing with my assessment. “Is this what living with you is going to be like?” she jokes with a smile. “Disagreeing about basic things?”
“Pretty much,” I laugh. We set about fixing m
y room to bring her in. Brittany cracks me up because she’s jumping in whole hog. She makes small comments about needing a new comforter because apparently mine screams manly, about investing in legit hangers because wire ones aren’t as good, and things like that. I tell her she can change whatever she wants, because I honestly don’t care, but if she insists on changing my sheets and comforter, she has to take me with her shopping. I’m particular when it comes to my sheets and such, so it needs my stamp of approval.
As we’re putting her clothes up in my room, Brittany asks, “So, bills. How’s that going to work?”
“The only bills I have that we could share are lights, water, internet, and groceries. There’s a mortgage on the house, but you’re not helping with that. I figured you could have lights and water and I’ll cover internet and groceries.”
“Okay. That works for me. We should go through my kitchen stuff and see if we can use any of it or if it should stay boxed up.”
“We’ll save that for another day. What’s your work week looking like?”
“It’ll be normal again. I guess I need to update the address on all of my accounts and driver’s license, too.”
“We’ll get it all done.” I don’t want her to stress about all that she needs to change since she’s officially living with me now. She has time to change stuff and it doesn’t have to be done all at once. “So, I have an idea.”
“Oh lord,” Brittany tries to mutter, but her giggle comes out anyway.
I smile. “Don’t oh lord me. It’s a good idea. Do you want to hear it or not?”
“Yeah. Lay it on me.”
“Do you want to leave early Saturday and go to the beach? We could take Lily and camp out on the beach. Or,” I start, seeing her frown at the mention of camping, “we could get a hotel room.”
“You own a tent?” she asks with skepticism.
“Yeah.” Maybe she’s more open to it than she seemed. “There’s bathrooms nearby, so that handles that.”
“But what about Lily? It’s hot to be outside all day. Will she be okay?”
“We can carry an umbrella and ice for her water. She loves the beach.”
“Hmm,” she hums.
I reach over, grab her wrist, and pull her away from the closet and against me. “What’s holding you up?”
“Well, I kinda don’t want to say yes because what if I don’t feel up to it when it comes time to leave, and then I kinda wanna ask if you would want to stay at my parents’? They’re close to the beach and I wouldn’t mind seeing them. Maybe we could take a half day off work and leave Friday?”
“I don’t know if I can do that. It’ll depend on how many clients I’m supposed to see, but if you want to see your parents, we can do that as well.” I just want a weekend away.
Brittany squeezes her arms around me. “Thanks.”
I give her a quick kiss and we get back to work. Once we finish joining all her things with mine, we settle in the recliner to rest. It’s been a long day. Part of me is curious as to what her dad told her. He wasn’t a fan of me the last time I saw him. Wonder what he said to make Brittany take the plunge. I’m not asking. I’m taking this blessing, no questions asked.
Later, when we’re lying in bed, kissing like we normally do, Brittany straddles my lap. Damn, I want to kiss her for the rest of my life. I keep feeling like I’m sixteen again, struggling to keep my hands on a girl’s hips to keep things from going too far, but Brittany is sliding her hands all over my chest and they keep going lower and lower with each visit. Those soft hands are driving me crazy as much as the shifting of her hips and the brushing of her breasts over my chest.
She pulls away when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of my pajama shorts. “Don’t say not yet. I’m making the decision to trust you. Trust that I’m ready.” When I don’t answer or act immediately, she deftly removes her shirt.
Fuck. My self-control went from barely there to gone. Brittany’s not backing down, and I’m not going to make her. I glide my hands up her sides, around to her back, and up to her neck, pulling her mouth back to mine. I roll us so Britt is the one on her back. Open-mouthed kisses placed on her neck cause her to dig her fingertips into my lower back. One set of fingers dance across her skin to skim across the waistband of her pajama bottoms.
“Trace,” she breathes. “You’re killing me here.”
I chuckle. “You seem pretty alive to me.”
The following week is great. It’s not much different than the previous week Brittany stayed, but is also somehow completely different. Before, it was like we were together, but not. There was a disconnect happening. Every day that we’re living together, I feel like that canyon of disconnect between us is growing smaller and smaller. Not to mention that Brittany has felt good this week. I’ve caught her in a few bad minutes or hours, but for the most part, it seems her meds are helping level her off.
Now, it’s Friday. We’re supposed to leave early in the morning to meet up with her parents and at this point, I don’t want to go. My mood is terrible and I don’t want to do much of anything. Yet here I am, in the kitchen cooking dinner while I wait for Brittany to come home. It’s good that we didn’t take a half day off work. She ended up staying late, so something must have come up to make her busy.
Just as I finish cooking, I hear the door open and then, “Trace, I’m home!”
“Up for a walk with Lily before we eat? Steaks are better when they sit anyway,” I say when she walks into the kitchen.
“Let me change.” She turns to head for our room.
“Lily, want go for a walk?” She barks and runs to the front door where I keep her leash. I changed before I started cooking, so I’m ready. I hook her leash to her collar. “Go tell Brittany to hurry up.” She runs down the hall, her leash dragging behind her, barking the entire time.
“Don’t rush me, Lily,” Brittany laughs as she comes out of the room a few minutes later. “Or should I say Trace?”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “It was all her.”
“Mhm.” She grabs the other end of the leash with one hand and reaches for my hand with the other once we’re outside. “How was your day?”
“A struggle. It’s going to be me, you, popcorn, Sun Drop, Dateline, and my recliner after we eat. Yours?”
“Do you still want to go tomorrow? We don’t have to.”
“We’re still going. Do I feel like it right now? Not really. Am I going to anyway? Yeah, because sometimes when you don’t feel like doing something or going somewhere, that’s when you need to do it the most. Besides, I do want to go. How was your day?”
She drops the topic and answers my question. “It was really good. I worried for a long time that my job would give me the same kind of anxiety that school did, but oddly enough, I don’t really have any anxiety about it. I mean, I get some when I have to attend events, but the rest doesn’t cause any. Now that I feel pretty good, I think what little anxiety I may have had, I’ve been able to manage better.”
“That’s great, Britt.” I squeeze her hand.
“I keep thinking about my session with Mrs. Potter earlier this week, though.”
“Why?” She was quiet that day, but she said it went fine.
“She wanted to talk about triggers. How sometimes, there are specific reasons why I have attacks. Like crazy, congested crowds or traffic, or if there’s a situation where there’s a lot of pressure, things like that. She talked about doing those things to face my fears, like what you used to make me do with going to restaurants. But something keeps nagging me. There’s been plenty of attacks without a trigger. What then? How do I face and tackle a fear to conquer my anxiety and hopefully stop it when there seems to be none? What then? It’s starting to stress me out a little because I keep thinking about it.”
I think about what she’s said before responding. There are plenty of ways to answer her question, but they feel like bullshit responses because they aren’t catered to Brittany and her anxiety. The perfect res
ponse shifts through the rest and becomes clear to me. “Don’t those kinds of attacks usually happen when you’re completely stressed to the max? Not that you mean to, but you could be working yourself up until you’re having a panic attack. Maybe there is a trigger, but it’s less obvious than the rest. You’ve freaked the fuck out on me before and it was ultimately because of stress. Don’t look at me like that,” I say when she gives me a little glare. “Freaked the fuck out, panic attack, same thing.” I know my wording is what bothered her because that’s when she shot me the glare.
“Maybe you’re right. Everyone’s always happier when they aren’t stressed and sulkier.” She laughs and I smile. When she sobers up, she sighs. “It seems daunting and tiring, knowing how much mental stuff we have to constantly attempt to manage.” These are those little bad moments I mentioned.
“Thinking about it doesn’t help, but at least we each have a therapist and each other to vent to.”
Brittany shoots me one of those my-boyfriend-just-did-something-great smiles that I haven’t seen in what seems like forever. “That we do,” she agrees. “That we do.”
“I missed you so much.” I have a deathlike grip on my mom as I hug her.
“You talk to me almost every day,” she laughs.
“Still feeling well?”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
I release her to glance at Dad, whom I’ve already hugged. “Is she telling the truth?”
He laughs. “Yep. Y’all need to rest at all or are y’all ready to go to the beach?”
Trace looks at me to answer. “We’re ready. We just need to change.” Trace picks up our bags from where he set them down to hug my parents, and I lead the way to my room while Lily stays behind with my parents, who are already dressed and ready for the beach. He breathes what sounds like a sigh of relief when we enter my room. “What?” I ask.
“I was suddenly worried on the way in here that you’d have a twin bed.” He sets the bags down on the full-size bed and I laugh.
Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) Page 15
