Driving Me Mad

by Lindsay Paige

  “Do you want me?”

  Her eyes narrow. “That’s a trick question.”

  I laugh. “Yes or no, Britt?”

  The silence stretches, her eyes looking too clouded and conflicted. I take a seat next to her and hold her hand.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She begins to move, so she can get under the covers. “Let’s go to bed and maybe I’ll let ya cop a feel,” she grins.

  I follow after her, unsure if I should push it. Her grin was legit, so I don’t know. I decide to let it go. “Define ‘cop a feel,’” I say as I pull her against me and let my hands roam all over her body.

  She laughs softly. “I think you already know the definition.”

  And I’m taking advantage of it, too. Needing to feel my mouth against hers, I kiss her hard, but short. I rest my forehead against hers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” She pauses and quietly adds, “I do want you.”

  That’s all I need to hear as I strip her down and kiss her almost constantly to keep her quiet because she can be a bit loud sometimes. Instead of getting lost in my own head and thinking too much about the surprise visit, I get lost in the sensation of Brittany’s soft skin, the way her body feels against mine, and soon, she’s the only thing that exists for me.

  “Feeling okay?” I ask. She seems to be fine, but I want to hear her say it. Dad and Amy aren’t awake yet. We woke a bit early, so we ran to the store to grab things to make breakfast, which is what we’re doing now. She’s on egg duty while I’m fixing pancakes.

  “I’m fine, Trace.”

  “Do you want to stay here with us today or make your escape after breakfast?”

  She’s quiet for a moment before glancing over at me. “What will be easier for you? What do you want me to do?”

  “Those are two different answers.”

  Brittany laughs. “Well, pick one. I’ll be okay either way.”

  There’s no promise my dad will behave today. I don’t want to deal with it and I don’t want to put Brittany through it either. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t had an attack yet. If the situation was reversed, I would have panicked. We can’t hear any movements from down the hall, and breakfast is done.

  “Eat breakfast with me and make your escape.”

  She wraps her arms around my waist, tilting her head back to look at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I’ll make it up to you soon.”

  “How? Some romantic date?” She grins.

  “I can do that.”

  “Okay then.”

  We’re able to enjoy our pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Brittany leaves before Dad and Amy wake up. I guess it’s time to smile and give my dad the visit he wants. Hopefully, it won’t leave me exhausted. I’ll have to be in a good frame of mind to give Brittany her big, romantic date.

  ***

  First impressions are important, right? If I’m to judge by my first meeting with Trace’s dad, then I can’t say I’m a fan. Trace and I never really got to talk about it because we fell asleep after he made sure my outfit wasn’t pointless. With the surprise visit, I never found the time to tell him about my phone appointment checkup with Dr. Gunner. Nothing really happened, so I guess it’s okay.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with Trace?” Rebecca asks as she walks into our dorm room.

  I tilt my head. “Why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

  “You first.” She sits on her bed, facing me.

  “His dad and stepmom showed up unannounced.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, from Texas.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “Last night wasn’t all that great, and then Trace sent me packing this morning.” Her mouth opens and I add, “Don’t ask; I don’t want to talk about it. Your turn.”

  She grins. “I’ve sort of been seeing someone.”

  “What? Since when? Who? Give me details,” I demand as I get comfortable on my bed.

  “His name is Dustin, and I met him in one of my classes last semester. I’ve been seeing him since December.”

  My mouth drops and I feel a little betrayed. “Why haven’t you told me?”

  A guilty look crosses her face. “You’ve been kind of preoccupied with your anxiety and everything.”

  “And? That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about your boyfriend.” How could she wait two months to tell me about the guy she’s seeing? All because of my stupid anxiety? Since when does that mean I don’t get to do things like normal friends, like talk about a new boyfriend? I don’t know whether to be pissed, feel like a bad friend, or both.

  A horrifying thought hits me.

  If my best friend feels like she can’t tell me about the important parts of her life because of my anxiety, then what if the same thing happens with Trace? What if he holds back because he doesn’t want to bother me when I’m dealing with so much as it is? That wouldn’t be how it truly is, but he could think so. Rebecca did.

  “Brittany!” Rebecca snaps her fingers in my face. “Are you with me?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. Tell me about Dustin.”

  It takes all of my concentration to listen to what she’s telling me and to not panic. What if the real reason Trace asked me to leave today was because he didn’t want his rude father to stress me out? What if he thought I couldn’t handle it? I don’t want, nor do I need, for people to start treating me like I’m fragile.

  Rebecca ends up leaving to spend more time with her boyfriend. I’m tempted to be lazy, but I don’t want to overthink things more than I already have, so I pull out my textbooks to do homework. I disregard the time limit suggested by Mrs. Rumley. It’s either obsess about my homework or obsess about what’s happened. I’m choosing the more productive option.

  Rebecca shoots me a text that she’s staying with her boyfriend tonight. My stomach growls, reminding me that I forgot to eat lunch and dinner. I leave campus for the restaurant with the best fried pickles. Maybe if I stuff my face with them, I’ll feel better.

  It’s while I’m there that Trace calls me.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “I miss you.”

  I laugh. “That bad?”

  “No. Things have been fine, actually. It was a little rocky this morning. He explained the reasoning behind his visit, so once he checked in on me, he went back to being himself.”

  “So, why did he come?” I pop another fried pickle into my mouth. God, I love these things.

  Trace is silent for a bit. Finally, he clears his throat. “The anniversary of my mom’s death is in December. He was worried since I moved across the state, changed jobs, and hadn’t been answering his calls. He didn’t know what was going on, especially once he found out I was dating a college student.”

  This is the first time he’s mentioned his mom, aside from the one time he told me she had passed away.

  “So, everything is better now?”

  “Yeah. I’m taking them to the airport around noon tomorrow.”

  “Good.” The waitress drops by to check on me and I let her know that I don’t need anything at the moment.

  “Where are you?”

  “Out getting dinner. I’m currently eating fried pickles. Jealous?”

  “Yep.”

  Part of me wants to ask why he really told me to leave. I kind of want to tell him what happened with Rebecca, but I’m scared. I’m worried I’ll find out he’s doing the exact same thing and how I’ll react to that.

  “You’re there by yourself?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  There’s a pause. “Everything okay, Britt?”

  It shouldn’t, but his question sets off the ticking time bomb. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I can’t go out to dinner by myself? How else am I going to eat? You’re the one who keeps telling me I need to eat. Well, I can’t eat with someone every single day, Trace. And why do you keep asking me if I’m okay? Do I ask you if you’re oka
y all the damn time?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Wrong answer. “You’re impossible! I can handle myself just fine, okay? I don’t need you checking and asking if I’m okay all the time. I’m not a mental mess 24/7, Trace.”

  His voice softens. “Hey, calm down. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I grit.

  “You just blew up at me because I asked you a simple question.” His calming voice is irritating.

  “Then stop asking me!” I vehemently whisper into the phone. The waitress arrives with my meal. “My food just came. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy your time with Clark and Amy.” With that, I hang up.

  I poke at my food, feeling terrible. I keep picking up my phone to call him back and apologize, but something makes me set it down each time. Blowing up at him wasn’t my intention, but it’s like I have this excess stress and I don’t know how to get rid of it, so I’m taking advantage of whatever opportunity comes my way. It terrifies me to think of anything going wrong with us. Currently, I’m not helping things.

  Fifteen minutes pass without me calling Trace and without him calling me back. This time, I pick it up and hover my thumb over his contact. I need to fix this and stop causing issues with us. My anxiety can’t get in the way this time.

  “Thinking of calling me?”

  Startled by Trace’s sudden appearance and his lips brushing against my ear, my phone slips from my hand, clanging onto the table. He slides into the booth next to me, angling toward me. I don’t have to ask how he found me: “fried pickles” was all he needed to know.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Trace doesn’t answer my question. “You know, you have a short fuse when you’re stressed,” he says instead. “I didn’t know that.” He plucks a fried pickle from the pile and tosses it into his mouth, and all I can do is stare at him. “What’s bothering you, Brittany?”

  “Why did you ask me to leave?” I blurt out.

  He frowns. “So you wouldn’t have to deal with my dad.”

  “Why? Because of the simple fact that he’s a jerk or because I have anxiety and you didn’t think I could handle it?”

  His mouth parts and his eyebrows pull together. “Where is this coming from?”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Trace.”

  He sighs, which isn’t a good sign. “A little of both, I guess. It wasn’t because I didn’t think you couldn’t handle it, but because I didn’t want you to have to. Will you please tell me why you started thinking about this?”

  “Rebecca has had a boyfriend for two months.”

  “Okay,” Trace says with confusion.

  “She didn’t tell me because I was, and I quote, ‘preoccupied with my anxiety and everything.’”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. So then I wondered if you were basically doing the same thing, and you are! Trace, you can’t hold back or make decisions because I happen to deal with anxiety. It’s not fair. I’m still me and I don’t deserve to be treated with kid gloves. How is this supposed to work if you’re more concerned about my anxiety than me?”

  Trace takes my hands in his. “I’m sorry, Britt. I just didn’t want to make things worse for you if it could be avoided.”

  “I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile and can crack at any second, even if it’s true,” I whisper.

  He cups my face. “I’ll work on it,” he promises before kissing me gently. “Now, let’s eat before this food goes to waste.” He picks up my fork and eats a bite of my pasta.

  “Let’s? This is my food.”

  “Yeah, well, consider it my reward for coming to work things out with my girlfriend.” The waitress makes her rounds to our table and Trace orders a drink and asks for another set of silverware.

  “That was really sweet.”

  He grins, accepting the silverware the waitress brings. “I figured it would be easier to solve things in person when you can’t run away or hang up.”

  “Your dad isn’t upset that you left to deal with your crazy girlfriend, is he?”

  Trace shakes his head. “No, and he said to tell you he’s sorry about his behavior.”

  “Really?” I sound way more skeptical than I’d like, but I can’t help it.

  “No.” Trace sighs. “He’ll come around, though. Or maybe he won’t. It doesn’t matter either way because he’ll be back in Texas.”

  Fair enough. We continue to eat my pasta and fried pickles while talking about our days. Trace’s frown tells me he isn’t happy that I spent all day doing homework, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Once we finish eating and I pay for my meal, he walks me outside to my car.

  “Want to come over tomorrow afternoon? We never got to finish our Dateline date,” Trace says.

  “Am I spending the night?” I ask.

  “If you would like to, then I’d be thrilled.”

  “Okay. Let me know when you leave the airport.”

  We’re at my car now, and Trace pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. My head rests against his sternum. I can feel his heart beating, faster than I expected, and his chest hums as he speaks.

  “I care about you a lot, Britt. I hate that you have to deal with it, and sometimes, I hold back because I don’t want to make it worse. I know you as well as, if not better than, you know yourself. Is it so bad that I might want to save you from having to worry with some stuff?”

  “No, but you see where I’m coming from, right?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he sighs. “I wanted to make sure you knew where I was coming from, too.”

  I tilt my head back with a smile. “Know what will make this night better?”

  “What?”

  “If you kissed me.”

  Trace grins. “I love the way you think.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine. He manages to quickly warm my body up, those large hands running down my back to grab my hips and tug me closer.

  Kisses used to be just kisses. Sure, they could be heady and needy or soft and sweet, but they were still just kisses. With Trace, there’s no mistaking the passion and how much he wants me and cares for me with each kiss. He lifts my legs around his waist to make us face to face. When his lips move to my neck, I know his mind is undeniably on sex now. I’ve realized that he’s kissed me on the neck right before we have sex. It’s a way better tell to have than him grabbing the back of his neck when he’s anxious.

  “Trace,” I breathe. “We’re in a parking lot, and you have to go home.”

  His lips never leave my skin. “Why can’t you come with me?”

  My brain is slow to figure out why. “Because I’d have to go back to campus for clothes and my meds.”

  He lifts his head to look at me, those hazel eyes bright from the lights in the parking lot. “You wouldn’t need clothes.”

  “But I’d need my meds,” I point out.

  “You should start carrying them in your purse.”

  “Or you shouldn’t get so horny all the time.”

  Trace laughs. “I’m sorry that I happen to really enjoy kissing you.” He lowers my legs to the ground slowly, so I have to slide down his body. “Let me know when you get to your dorm, so I know you got there safely.”

  “Same for when you get home.”

  He gives me another quick kiss before opening the door for me. My relationship with Trace is a little weird. In the best way, though. We can get mad or get in an argument, and we’re back to normal within a few hours because we resolve it. I’ve never had that before. In previous relationships, arguments could last for days before the making-up part happened. I definitely like the way we do things better. Maybe it’s a sign that we’ll work out and last.

  I sure hope so.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I sob. Tears blur my vision to the point that there’s just one white blob in front of me. My stomach convulses, but at this point, all I can do is dry heave and spit. Trace isn’t saying anything. He’s only holding my hair back with one hand
while rubbing my back with the other. I woke up at three A.M. and haven’t been able to fall back asleep or get rid of my anxiety since.

  I can’t think in complete sentences, and I just want to go back to bed. My day with Trace after he dropped his dad and Amy off at the airport was great. And then, this morning happened. I don’t think Trace got much sleep either, so I feel bad that he’s been up with me for four hours now.

  Leaning back on my heels, I blink away the tears until I can see Trace. His dirty blond hair is a wild mess and his eyes look tired. All I want to do is collapse. As soon as I have the thought, I tumble into Trace. “I can’t do it. I’m tired of it being like this. I just want it to stop,” I cry.

  “I know. Breathe with me, okay?”

  “Breathing isn’t going to fix it! Nothing is going to fix it! It’s going to be like this forever.”

  Trace cups my face and makes me look at him. “We had a good day yesterday, didn’t we? It’s not going to be forever, Britt. Bad days happen; we need to get through them.”

  “It feels like forever.”

  He wipes away my tears with his thumbs. “I know. Match my breathing.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder and focus on the movements of his chest. The thought of going to school ruins any progress I make. Then I realize Trace has to go to work.

  “You have to get ready for work,” I reluctantly mention.

  “Are you ready for me to get up?”

  Not at all. “It doesn’t matter.” He still has to go to work one way or another. Besides, if it’s not comfortable for me to sit on the floor of his bathroom, I doubt it’s any comfier for him.

  “It matters to me,” he replies softly, stroking my back. I shake my head to answer his question. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

  We sit there for ten more minutes before I feel good enough to let Trace get up. He gets into the shower and I make my way back to his bed. I stare at the ceiling and my mind has finally shut up; it’s blissfully silent. This, I could get used to.

  Some time later, Trace exits his bathroom fully dressed. He stands next to the bed. “What time is your first class?”

  “Ten. Can I stay here until then?”