“Sounds good.”
Rebecca double checks that she has the room keys and then we leave the hotel room. I don’t really see anything as we walk. My mind has shut down into simple functions.
Hold Brittany’s hand.
Nod at all the right times.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Smile when needed.
Seem interested.
However, Brittany wasn’t lying when she told me that I don’t hide it well from her anymore. Somehow we get separated from Rebecca, only by a few feet, and Brittany tugs on my hand to pull me to a stop.
“Here.” She holds out a room key she must’ve grabbed from Rebecca at some point. “Go rest, Trace,” she tells me quietly. “You’re not here anyway, and maybe it’ll help if you take a break.”
A reassurance that I’m fine is on the tip of my tongue. But damn if the offer isn’t too tempting. “What room are we in again?”
“529.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer.
“Don’t be. Text me if you need anything.”
I nod and lean down to kiss her softly, just in time for Rebecca to start coming over to rejoin Brittany. I make my escape before she can reach her. The room is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional footsteps of people walking down the hallway. I plop onto the bed. Twenty minutes pass, and I’m no closer to a nap than I was before. For the first time, I truly realize how Brittany could’ve gotten to the point where she’d taken a sleeping pill when she shouldn’t have.
My sigh seems to echo around the room. I roll over onto my stomach, readjust the pillow, and close my eyes.
Please let me rest, so I can be a decent boyfriend on this trip.
“Trace.” My shoulder shakes some more. My eyelids pull themselves apart. Brittany is leaning over me. “Sorry to wake you up, babe, but we’re going out to get something to eat. Do you want to go with us?”
“Yeah.” My stomach cramps with hunger. I sit up and run a hand through my hair. “Where is Rebecca?”
“Waiting downstairs.”
“Give me a minute, and I’ll be ready.”
She nods, and I go into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I come out and wave for her to come on. Brittany takes my hand as we walk toward the elevators.
“Did your nap help?”
“Yeah,” I answer, silently adding for now. “How was exploring the hotel? Gamble any?” We step into the elevator and I press the button for the lobby.
“Just the slots; I’m already twenty dollars in the hole. I kept losing and losing. So far, I don’t see the appeal.”
I laugh, and it feels good to do so. “Keep playing and maybe your luck will change.” She keeps shifting her weight, seemingly anxious, so I ask, “You doing okay, Britt?”
“Everything is a bit overwhelming, but I’m doing well. For now anyway.”
Damn. She amazes me every day. I lean against one of the walls and pull her to me, resting my forehead against hers. Brittany seems surprised, but she waits for me to speak. “Don’t ever forget that you are much, much stronger than you think.” She had the guts to add that for now when I held it back. The ability to speak openly about your issues with someone you care about is a strength, one I’m obviously and sorely lacking.
The elevator dings and I nudge Brittany, so she’ll walk out. “What makes you say that?” she asks with confusion.
“Because it’s true and I want to make sure you know it. There’s Rebecca,” I finish as I spot her.
We eat dinner at one of the many restaurants in the hotel. It’s Italian and the food is delicious. It’s relatively easy to participate in their conversation. I do feel better in that I can function like a normal person without it wearing me out at the moment.
“Are we doing anything tonight?” I ask.
“We were thinking of going to the Bellagio to see the fountain show,” Rebecca begins. “Then back here. Tomorrow, explore half the hotels, gamble, and the show for us at night. The next day, we’ll explore the rest of the hotels we want to see and go to Fremont Street.”
After that, we go home. The girls wanted to stay for the entire length of spring break, but they weren’t able to pull the money together for that. I’m thankful we aren’t staying that long.
“Sounds good.”
Once we finish dinner, we hail a cab to take us down to the other end of the strip. We’re pushing for time as it is and it’d take us too long to walk. People are everywhere, and Brittany and Rebecca both stick to my sides. I put a hand on both of their backs and wonder what we must look like to other people, for me to have a girl on each side of me.
“Oh! Look!” Rebecca rushes forward and we hurry after her. She’s managed to nab a spot that was just vacated with a great view for the show. There’s only room for the two of them, but it’s no problem for me to stand behind them. I feel like a bodyguard, especially when Brittany pulls me closer to her.
We have about twenty minutes before the show starts. In that time, Brittany gets tenser and tenser from the crowds and all the noises. Traffic starting and stopping, horns honking, engines revving as they punch the gas, conversations creating a jumble of noises as people talk, people shouting as they try to sell you water, and a group about thirty feet away yelling in protests about how people are going to hell for being in this city, gambling and whatnot. It is a little overwhelming, especially when all you’re doing is standing and waiting.
I rub her back and hope it soothes her. It doesn’t seem to help. I place my arm over her like a seatbelt and hold her against my chest. Her own chest is moving with controlled breaths as she grips my arm. Just then, I can faintly hear her speaking.
“Goat. Cow. Pig. Horse,” she whispers, pausing. “Chicken.” Her body ever so slowly begins to relax.
I lean down to ask, “What are you doing?”
She twists to look at me. “New technique to distract myself. It requires more thinking than just rambling off numbers.”
“Hey, it’s starting.” Rebecca points out to the water as music begins to play.
It is a beautiful show. The water moves seamlessly in time with the music and it’s mesmerizing to watch. Rebecca does think to take photos and she records the show. The girls can’t seem to pull themselves away, eager to see what will be played next. Eventually, after nearly an hour and a half, I speak up.
“Y’all ready to go?”
“Yeah,” they sigh, causing me to laugh.
“Let’s walk up to the hotel and catch a cab then.”
Rebecca leads the way and I hold up the back. I’m lost in my head as we wait in line. However, there are two things I’m certain of: my girl doesn’t like crowds, and she was absolutely right that Las Vegas would test her limits and anxiety.
The exhaustion starts to settle in on the ride back to the hotel in both girls. Rebecca probably just from traveling and exploring. Brittany from those things on top of dealing with anxiety all day. Back in the hotel room, we take turns with the bathroom to get ready for bed and change. Brittany and I both take our pills and then lie down.
Rebecca turns off the lights and turns on the TV before getting into bed herself. Brittany scoots closer to rest her head against my chest. I rub her back and hope I can fall asleep. Rebecca is the first to be down for the count. Brittany follows soon after. My nap probably ruined me. All I can do is hope my sleeping pill kicks in soon.
I slept for maybe two hours. Brittany tossed and turned all night, elbowing me in the ribs a few times, and when she wakes up, I know she slept as badly as it seemed. She frowns when she lifts her head to see me already awake. She doesn’t say a word; she only drops her forehead against my shoulder.
“Rebecca is still out,” I whisper. “Try to get more sleep, Britt.”
“I felt like I was tossing and turning too damn much,” she mumbles.
“You were,” I confirm.
She lifts her head with a deep frown. “How much did you get?” she whispers.
; “Two hours, give or take. Just feeling tired this morning; that’s all. Well, maybe a little shitty.” That makes her smile. “You’re terrible for smiling at that.”
“You know that’s not why I’m smiling, Trace.”
“I know.” She’s smiling because I opened up. “At least try to sleep; it’s going to be a long day.” It’ll probably be another hour or so before anyone is going to want to start their day.
Brittany rests her cheek against my chest. I’m surprised when she does fall back asleep, and more so when I wake up to find I did too. The day starts off decently enough. Breakfast and then slowly making our way down the strip through all the hotels and casinos that they want to see. With each step taken, my mood worsens. It takes strength to both keep going and to not hide it from Brittany.
The worried glances she keeps giving me don’t help either. It makes me want to hide it because how she can enjoy this trip if she’s worrying about me? I do my best to hang back and let her and Rebecca lead the way. Rebecca does a great job keeping her distracted from me and focused on the wonders of the hotels. Even I can’t help but appreciate the beauty within Caesars Palace, the Bellagio, the Palazzo, and the Venetian, which is probably my favorite.
It’s amazing how they create these little towns inside the hotels. The Venetian has one called St. Mark’s Square. There’s like a river flowing down the middle where people can take a ride in a gondola. The ceilings are painted to look like the sky, such a beautiful blue with white clouds. There are some people on a little stage, singing, dancing, and giving visitors a show. It’s hard to leave the beauty of it.
Something like this is exhausting, though. All the walking, all the looking, all the paying attention, the occasional slot playing. It’s tiring. Add on emotional turmoil, lack of sleep, and a need to curl into a ball, and I’m running myself ragged. We eat dinner at our hotel, and I’m so thankful that Brittany and Rebecca are going to that male revue show tonight. It’ll allow me to do exactly what I want.
Lie down.
I’m going to need rest to recover from today and prepare for tomorrow. I have a feeling Fremont Street will not treat Brittany well.
“I’m heading up to the room. What are y’all going to do between now and the show?” I ask.
“I’m going to keep trying my luck on the slots,” Rebecca answers.
Brittany hesitates, glancing between us. I’d bet anything she doesn’t know which of us she should choose to be with for the next few hours.
“What do you want to do, Brittany?” I ask. I don’t care either way. Actually, that’s a lie. I’m hoping she’ll choose Rebecca.
“I don’t know yet,” she answers.
“I think you should try to win your money back,” Rebecca says.
“I think so too,” I add.
She narrows her eyes at me, but I don’t know why. She should be with Rebecca. Not because I’m hiding anything, but because Las Vegas is her number one place to visit, and she needs to truly experience it. She can’t do that in the hotel room with me.
“Then it’s settled,” Rebecca declares.
“All right. Y’all have fun.” I kiss Brittany’s forehead and make my escape. God, I can’t wait to be back home. This was a terrible time to do a med change because they obviously haven’t kicked in. What more am I supposed to do to balance myself out?
I can’t correct my brain. I can’t make myself feel better. I can’t do a damn thing except trudge through it and hope I eventually come out on the other side. That’s what I hate about depression. The whole fucking thing is out of my control—out of anyone’s control. I should be able to feel happy when I want to be happy, damn it. I should be able to laugh when my girlfriend says something funny and it be genuine. I should be able to travel and explore with her. I should be able to sleep when I’m tired.
But, no.
All I can do is take deep breaths, try to sleep, eat, take my pills, and hold on. Hope like hell that I survive it. Fight it every damn moment of every damn day until things start to look up. Hope I survive rock bottom. Hope I don’t bring Brittany down with me. Hope I don’t turn into my mother because my father wouldn’t be able to handle it.
I’m so tired of everything.
So, so tired in every way possible.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I pick it up.
Brittany: Are you sure you don’t want me to come up and keep you company?
Me: I’m sure. Have fun; I’ll be fine.
Sometimes, I do want her with me. Not today, though. After having no luck sleeping, I step into the shower and close my eyes as I stand underneath the hot water. Maybe this will help me relax.
“Just let me have five minutes to go check on him,” I beg Rebecca when Trace ignores my third text.
“He’s probably sleeping, Brittany.”
“We won’t know until I go check. Five minutes and then I’ll be back down here and I’ll tip the waitress for you when she brings you another drink.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “You owe me five bucks if he’s sleeping.”
I nod and hurry to the elevators. There’s no way I can relax until I check on him. For some reason, I feel like I need to see him right this very second. I slip my key card into the slot and open the door. The shower is running, giving me some relief.
“Trace?” My anxiety notches higher when he doesn’t respond. I tentatively open the door, am ambushed by steam, and step inside. “Trace?” I ask again, but there’s still nothing. I push the curtain aside to see him sitting in the tub, his head against the tile, and he’s fast asleep. How in the hell is this 6’5” man managing to sleep in this hard, small tub? How do you even fall asleep in the shower? I wonder how long he’s been in here. Probably not too terribly long since the water is still hot.
I turn off the water, grab a towel, and shake his shoulder. “Trace, babe, wake up.” He doesn’t even flutter his eyes, and for a moment, I wonder if he took his pills early. “Trace,” I say louder, slapping his face a little.
He startles awake. “Fucking hell,” he mutters as he stands, stepping out of the shower.
I hand him the towel and say, “I’m glad I came to check on you. Let’s get you changed and into bed where you should be sleeping.”
“Yeah, I’m tired,” he grumbles. Once he finishes drying off, I hand him his clothes. He quickly dresses and grabs his neck. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check on you,” I repeat. He nods. I take his hand and lead him to the bed, watching as he settles in and gets comfortable. “I guess I’ll go now.” I really hate to leave him, even if he does fall asleep. This is not my Trace.
His eyes are red, his expression lacks emotion, and he just seems like he needs someone to take care of him. He obviously doesn’t have it together.
Trace glances at the clock and then holds out his hand. I place mine in it. He’s lying on his back, his sigh sounding as tired and distraught as he looks. “Stay with me for a bit, Britt. Please?”
Has he ever said please before? Has he ever sounded like he was begging me? Has he ever sounded so weak? I nod and climb into bed next to him, my back resting on the headboard. Trace throws an arm around my hips and rests his head on my chest. I slip a hand through the back collar of his shirt to rub his back while using my other hand to play with the cold, wet hair on the top of his head.
“I hate this,” he mumbles.
“What?” I can’t help but ask. Is he referring to depression or leaning on me?
“How I feel.”
“It’ll pass eventually.”
“Yeah, eventually. I hate that too.” He squeezes me tighter. “Okay. I’m going to sleep.”
It does funny things to my heart to have this big, strong man curl into me and hold onto me as if he’s holding on for dear life. As if he needs something—or someone—to anchor him.
I’ll gladly be that person.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s sound asleep. I ease out of bed, grateful I don’t wake him. Downst
airs, I find Rebecca at the same slot machine. She’s up a hundred dollars, but who knows how much she’s spent to get there.
“What happened to five minutes?” She glares at me, but I don’t think she’s actually mad. “I’m guessing he wasn’t asleep.”
“No, he was.” She grins and holds out her hand for the money I owe her. I roll my eyes and slap her hand away. “He fell asleep in the shower. I woke him up and got him back into bed. He wanted me to stay until he fell back asleep. I don’t think he’s doing well at all, Bec.”
“At least he’s resting now.”
I told her earlier that he didn’t get much sleep last night. Rebecca gets distracted by spotting a waitress and ordering another strawberry daiquiri. “That’s your last one. You’re a lightweight and I’m not taking a drunk Rebecca to the show,” I tell her as I feed money to the machine in front of me.
She only rolls her eyes at me. It may not be a big glass, but it’s loaded with alcohol. We play for a bit before walking upstairs where the show is. I’m a little nervous because I’m not sure what to expect. I’m considering this normal anxiety—the kind where you’re expected to be nervous about whatever it is because it’s a natural and normal reaction.
From the moment the show starts, I can’t stop giggling. Yeah, the men are hot, but they are funny too, and it’s just ridiculous to watch them. All the thrusts and dirty moves, sitting in the lap of an elderly lady, and hearing the catcalls from the other girls is hilarious. It feels good to laugh and not think for a while, on top of spending time with Rebecca. There’s a nagging in the back of my mind that I should be with Trace, but it’s good to know he’s sleeping right now. After the show, Rebecca and I get our pictures taken with all of the guys as a keepsake.
Trace is knocked out, lying on his stomach, when we return to the room. I change and crawl in next to him, smiling a little when he wakes up just enough to pull me closer.
There have been numerous times in my life when I’ve felt helpless. Usually at the hand of my own anxiety. You can’t make it stop just because you want it to. You can’t force yourself to feel better. There’s only a handful of things you can do. The sometimes lack of effectiveness of what you can do can easily make you feel helpless.
Driving Me Mad (Sanity Book 1) Page 17