Driving Me Mad (Sanity Book 1)

by Lindsay Paige

  I text Rebecca with the bad news. Even though she’s in her last class, she immediately texts back that it’s fine and she’ll bring dinner for a night in. I work on homework in the meantime. About an hour later, my best friend has arrived.

  “You’re going to love me,” she says with a grin, closing the door behind her.

  I manage to lift my lips into a smile. “You brought fried pickles.” I could smell them the moment she closed the door. “I do love you.”

  She hands me the takeout bags and then drops the rest of her things on her bed before taking a seat facing me. “I also got us pasta. I have another surprise too, but that comes later.” She keeps talking about her day, not giving me a chance to ask about the other surprise. I love that Rebecca can talk like everything is normal and has the ability to carry on a conversation by herself for the most part while we eat. “Have you decided about spring break yet?” she asks.

  Spring break is coming up in a few weeks. I dread the thought, but then remember that means we’re close to the halfway mark of the semester.

  Wow.

  I’m almost halfway done. A small rush of relief flows through me. It lasts for a millisecond.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “Where do you want to go?”

  Rebecca grins. “Las Vegas. How are you going to say no to that, Brittany? I know Las Vegas is on your list of places to go.”

  I glare at her. “That’s why you chose it, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.” She smirks. Then, she goes in for the kill. “Trace could come. That’s how much I love you and want us to keep our tradition, especially since it’ll be our last spring break. I’m willing to be a third wheel here.”

  “Why would you be the third wheel? Dustin doesn’t want to go?”

  “He already booked a trip to Florida with his buddies before we met, so no, he’s not coming. What do you say?” She looks so hopeful, and I know I’ll feel twice as bad if I say no since this is our last spring break.

  “Fine,” I groan. “I don’t know if Trace will go, but I’ll ask.”

  She doesn’t gloat other than grinning. “How are things with you and Trace?”

  “Good.”

  “Then why are you frowning?”

  I lift my lips to correct my frown. “I just…” I sigh. “I’ve been wondering if I’m good for him,” I finish with a whisper, glancing down at my food. Most of the fried pickles are gone, but I have only eaten about a third of the pasta.

  “Of course you’re good enough for him,” Rebecca tells me adamantly. “Has he done something to make you think you’re not? Come on, Brittany, that’s insane.”

  I shake my head. She misunderstood what I said. “No, not good enough, but just plain good.”

  She stands to throw away her empty plate. “I’m confused.”

  Am I crazy for thinking this? I close the takeout plates and set them on the nearby desk. I grab my pillow and hug it to my chest, wanting to hold something. Rebecca sits down on her bed, waiting for me to explain.

  “I think I give him anxiety.” She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “He never mentioned having anxiety before, and every time I’ve witnessed him having an attack, it’s been because of me. That can’t be good. What if I’m bad for his mental health, Bec?” This is mainly what I’ve obsessed over today.

  She stares at me, completely dumbfounded, which makes me feel stupid for thinking such a thing.

  “Never mind,” I mutter, moving to lie down on my bed.

  “No, wait, Brittany. I just don’t know how to answer that. I’m sure other stuff causes him to panic. I really doubt it’s only you causing his attacks.”

  I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so I nod. “You’re probably right. I’m going to lie down.”

  “Want me to put in a movie?” Her phone dings. “And I can go get your surprise.” For some reason, she seems kind of unsure about it now. “Be right back, and close your eyes!”

  She leaves the room and I hug my pillow closer. I almost wish I’d decided to go to Trace’s. I’d love to be in his recliner with him right now. So I don’t get in trouble with her, I do close my eyes. I hope my surprise doesn’t involve me doing anything or expending any energy. I just don’t have it in me tonight. A few minutes later, I hear the door open and another set of footsteps. Oh, god. What kind of surprise involves another person? This sounds exhausting already.

  “Keep ‘em closed, Brittany,” Rebecca tells me.

  The footsteps get closer and then my bed dips a little on either side of me. What the hell? My eyes fly open to see Trace leaning over me with a grin, wearing a hoodie with the hood over his head.

  “Trace?” Oh, god. Trace! “What are you doing here? You can’t be in here! Are you crazy?”

  He leans down to kiss my forehead. “I told you we’re not quite sane, Britt,” he reminds me quietly. Why is he here? He grabs my hips to move me to the outer edge of my bed, so he can lie down behind me, stealing my pillow in the process for him to use. “Your best friend thought you needed someone to cuddle with, so she found me and I texted her once I was here, so she could sneak me in. I hear we’re about to watch a movie?” he finishes as he pulls my body against his, wrapping his arms around me.

  Rebecca is in the process of popping a disc into the DVD player. All I can do is stare at Trace, though. He can’t be here. If someone sees him, he could get fired. Wasn’t he mad at me a little before when he snuck in to check on me because I was ignoring everyone?

  “Trace,” I begin with the hopes of talking him into leaving.

  His large hand cups my face, his thumb brushing over my lips. “You want me with you, don’t you?” I nod. “Then, I’m here.”

  I’m tempted to argue, but he nudges my waist for me to roll over for the movie. The menu is on the screen, but Rebecca hasn’t pressed play yet.

  “Trace, we’re going to Las Vegas for spring break. You’re invited,” she says.

  “Oh, thanks.” He squeezes my hips. “I’ll let y’all know.”

  With that, she presses play on some chick flick. I should worry more about Trace being here when he shouldn’t be, but his body is warm, his presses a kiss to my shoulder, neck, or head every so often, and my body starts to relax because of him. My eyes begin to drift closed. I don’t know if I’m good for Trace or not, but he’s good for me.

  Trace woke me up before it was too late for me to take my meds and then I walked him outside. My anxiety actually wasn’t too bad this morning, which gives me hope that the new medication is working. Right now, I’m on my way to Trace’s house. I would’ve been here sooner, but I went to a study group to try to prepare for an upcoming exam.

  When I walk in, he’s kicked back in his recliner with his eyes closed, the TV on. I quietly close the door, drop my things off in his room, and then walk into the kitchen. He texted me earlier that he’d have a plate waiting for me. Sure enough, there’s one in the microwave. The food is still relatively warm, so I grab a fork, sit at the table, and dig in. My appetite has definitely returned.

  It’s been a tiring day for us both, it seems. Every little thing required more energy than necessary to accomplish the task. I almost bailed on study group, but my need to do well on my exam kept me from doing so. Sleep sounds like heaven and Trace’s bed is way better than the one in my dorm. Once I finish eating and changing into my pajamas, I go to the couch instead. I really don’t want to wake him. He hasn’t texted me much today, so I don’t know how his day was, but he is in his recliner. He can sleep for now.

  I grab the remote to change the channel, lie down with a throw pillow under my head, and soon, I’m drifting to sleep.

  This is way too comfy to be the couch. A soft breathing is all I hear and a soft glow in the room as the world begins to light up is all I see. Rolling over, I find Trace. His eyes are open and he lifts one corner of his mouth.

  “You’re a heavy sleeper,” he says in that low, tired voice.

  “When I’m sleeping well, I am.”


  His hand moves to my hip, his thumb brushing over the skin from where my shirt rode up. “You could’ve woken me, Britt,” he whispers.

  “I didn’t want to.”

  He takes a breath. Something so simple is so telling. It was a short inhale with a heavy whoosh of an exhale. For some reason, it wakes me up to pay better attention. His blinks are slow and his eyes look a little dazed.

  “Did you go back to sleep once you moved us in here?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer right away, but after a few seconds, he says, “No.”

  I can’t help but have a follow-up question. “When did you wake up?”

  “Around 11:30.”

  Goodness, he’s been up all night. “Are you hungry? I can fix us breakfast,” I finish, even though he started shaking his head after my question. I’m not quite ready to eat yet, so I don’t bother getting up. Maybe he’ll be hungry later. Maybe he could fall asleep if he relaxed some more. Doubtful, considering he probably took a sleeping pill last night, but it’s worth a shot. I snuggle closer to him, close my eyes, and say, “Close your eyes and breathe with me.”

  “I’ve tried everything,” he says.

  “Well, try again.”

  Trace sighs, but matches my breathing. His hand keeps squeezing my hip in a slow, steady pulse-like manner. I grab his hand and hold it to my chest to make him stop before throwing my arm around his waist. He’s too tense. How can I make him relax? Before I can think of something, he speaks.

  “I’m not even tired. Let’s just get up.” Without waiting even a moment, he pulls away from me and gets out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says over his shoulder.

  I stare at his back until the bathroom door closing blocks my view. What the hell? He has to be tired. His nap couldn’t have lasted long enough to sustain him to be awake all night and for today. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I should probably get up to take my pill, especially since I missed last night’s dosage.

  The sound of the shower turning on can finally be heard. I hate that he didn’t get any sleep last night, and I hate that he doesn’t seem to be in a great mood this morning. When was the last time I got one of his breathtaking genuine smiles? Off the top of my head, I can’t remember. Trace is such a good person and he’s so good for me. How can I not want him to always feel great and be happy?

  He deserves it. It’s hard for me to see him like this, to know he’s having a difficult time, and to not be able to truly do anything about it. There are only small ways I can try to help. Hopefully, that will be good enough.

  As I hear the shower turn off, I get out of bed to take my medication. That’s when I realize something. If it’s hard to see him like this, what will it feel like if things get worse for him? I don’t want to think about it. Both for selfish reasons and for Trace.

  I grab my tote so once he’s done, I can take my own shower. Trace is taking his sweet time, though. Five minutes later, he finally walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He sees me with my bag and says, “You can go ahead.”

  Off to the shower I go. I’m not sure what, if anything, had been planned for us to do today. Trace might not feel like doing anything at all, which is fine. My mind wanders to what I’ll cook us for breakfast. He recently went to the grocery store, so the kitchen should be stocked. Maybe I’ll fix French toast. I can’t remember the last time I had that, and it suddenly sounds really, really good.

  When I finish in the bathroom and open the door, I’m assaulted by the aroma of bacon. Trace is cooking? That has to be a good sign. Otherwise, why bother, especially when I was planning to cook for us. He’s standing in front of the stove in jeans and a T-shirt, scrambling eggs. The toaster pops with fresh toast, and the bacon has already been placed on a plate. A timer goes off, and he pulls out a pan of biscuits from the oven.

  “Smells good,” I tell him as I grab a pair of plates, set them by the stove, and then begin fixing us something to drink.

  “Better be hungry after I’ve slaved at this stove all morning,” he jokes with an easy smile.

  I return his smile, happy that he seems happy. “No one asked you to go all out on a five-star meal.”

  “But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make breakfast for my girlfriend?”

  “An okay one.”

  Trace laughs as he places food on our plates. I grab our drinks and take a seat at the table. A moment later, a plate is set in front of me and Trace takes his seat. I thank him and we’re quiet the first few seconds of eating.

  “So,” Trace begins. “Vegas, huh?”

  “Yeah, Bec picked that to bribe me and make sure I agreed to go somewhere for spring break. She’s using you to further bribe me. You don’t have to go, though. I already told her I would go either way. Looks like I’ll have spring break plans after all.”

  “Who all is going?”

  “Just me and her. Her boyfriend agreed to go to Florida with his friends before they started dating.”

  Trace nods. “Do you want me to go?”

  I shrug and say, “I wouldn’t mind it if you went, but you don’t have to go unless you want to. Rebecca and I will be fine and have fun either way.” I don’t want to make him feel as if I’ll be disappointed if he says no. Sure, I probably will be a little bit, but it’s no big deal if he doesn’t want to go. Plus, he did just take me to Bryson City for the weekend. “However, we’ll probably need to know soon, so she can book the hotel and plane tickets.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know for sure Monday then.”

  I nod. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

  “I was thinking we could go see a movie or something to get out of the house. Want to do that?”

  “Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the movies.”

  He seems back to normal. For a moment, I wonder if he’s putting on a show for my benefit. Could he really be like this after getting no sleep? But then again, this is Trace and we have this whole complete honesty, two-way street going here. He wouldn’t put on a show for me, right? He most certainly doesn’t have to.

  No, Trace definitely wouldn’t do that.

  She was worried about me this morning.

  She woke up without any anxiety overwhelming her, and then I had to make her worry about me. It’s why I decided to do what I usually try to do—hide it. I got up, showered, fixed breakfast, and took her to the movies. I’m already bone-tired, and hiding the fact that the only thing I want is to lie in my recliner and do nothing all day is even more exhausting. In the moments when we’ve been here at my house and it’s been overwhelming, I decide we both need a distraction. So, I kiss her neck and find my break, peace, and relief with sex.

  I feel a bit guilty because I am deceiving her, but she’s finally getting a break. Why would I want to tarnish that because of the way I’m feeling? Not to mention, I kind of think people unintentionally feed off of each other. Think about it. Isn’t it hard to stay happy and upbeat when you’re around someone who is either not feeling well or is negative? I don’t want to let my negative energy bring her down when she’s on the up.

  My hand lazily rubs up and down her back. I must’ve wore her out today for her to take a nap. We’re lying naked in my bed, and we had been talking about nothing in particular when she dozed off, her head on my shoulder. I guess I need to decide if I’m going to Vegas with her and Rebecca. I’m glad Rebecca’s boyfriend isn’t going since I’ve been able to confirm he is the one and same Dustin who comes in for counseling on occasion.

  On the one hand, I want to go. I’ve never been to Vegas, and knowing that Brittany is already expecting some anxiety due to the craziness of the city, I want to be there as support, if needed. On the other hand, who knows if I’m going to feel like going to Vegas. Would she be upset if I don’t go? Damn, I’m not sure what I want to do. Absentmindedly, I grip the back of my neck. To go or to not go? That is my loaded question. I sigh.

  “Babe,” Brittany murmurs, c
uddling closer to me. “Your thinking is disrupting my sleep.”

  I laugh. “You shouldn’t be sleeping anyway.”

  “Not without you.” She lifts her head, her eyes squinting a little as she looks me over. “Aren’t you tired?”

  “Not really,” I lie as I keep rubbing her back. I don’t think there is a word that adequately describes how tired I am. The only thing I’m hoping for at this point is that my body decides it’s had enough and crashes. Obviously, mentally exhausting myself by leaving the house and hiding how I’m feeling in combination with physically exhausting myself with sex isn’t doing the trick.

  “What can I do to help?” she whispers.

  “Nothing that you aren’t already doing, Britt.”

  “Are you sure? I mean,” she hesitates, “if you think being alone would help, you can ask me to leave. I would understand.”

  My eyebrows pull together. What is she talking about? “You aren’t the reason why I can’t sleep, and nothing you’re doing or not doing is making it more difficult.” Tired of talking, I kiss her forehead. “Let’s try to get some sleep.” I close my eyes and hope she follows.

  “You’re hungry.” She pokes my stomach when it growls.

  “I thought you wanted me to sleep?” I crack my eyes open.

  “I want that too. Maybe we should stuff you full of turkey. Turkey makes people sleepy, right?”

  My grin is real. “You want me to cook a turkey like it’s Thanksgiving in hopes I’ll eat a lot and it’ll knock me out?”

  “It’s just an idea,” she laughs. “But for real, do you want me to cook dinner?”

  Despite my stomach sounding like a dying whale, I don’t feel hungry. That’s not an answer she’ll want to hear, though. “What are you going to cook?”

  “Whatever I find in the fridge that looks good, unless you have a request.”

  “No requests.”

  She nods, smacks a loud kiss to my cheek with a grin, and slips out of bed. I watch her pull on her clothes and then she leaves the room. I’d think that being alone for a little while would be a blessing and would feel good, but I miss her presence the moment she’s out of view. It’s easier to pretend depression doesn’t exist when she’s around and I’m putting on a show for her.