Page 12 of Driving Me Mad (Sanity 1)

“Let’s get you back to campus.”

“One more,” she whispers.

I grin before kissing her again.

My mind seems to check out after that. I take her back to campus, kiss her one last time, and then head home. I shower before crawling into bed, taking one of my sleeping pills. I can’t help but think about my mom. She’s the reason why I refuse to tell my dad about my depression. After all these years, her death still haunts us. Him more so than me.

If I were to tell him, he’d start having flashbacks and comparing me to my mother. It took him a while to remarry, to be happy again, and I’m not going to be the one to take that away from him. And I would if I told him because he’d be too busy calling me daily and worrying about me. He’d probably want me to move back to Texas. There’s no way I can do that.

All I can do now is hope that Brittany lets it go. This whole two-way street thing is kind of hard. I’m used to not sharing my troubles with anyone else. That could be one reason why my marriage failed. Faith didn’t know what she was getting herself into. We did move rather fast. My lack of wanting to talk and her not knowing what the hell was going on with me could be what started our problems, which eventually led her to cheat.

I close my eyes and try to stop thinking so much about everything. Or to at least think about Brittany instead. Either way, I hope the sleeping pill pulls me under fast and keeps me there until morning.

“So, how old is your boyfriend anyway?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” A date and a kiss or three doesn’t make him my boyfriend, right? Not that I’d object to the idea…

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Rebecca says, digging her spoon into her bowl of ice cream. We’re at lunch and I have no idea how she’s able to eat ice cream in January.

“He’s thirty-one.” Not too much older than I am. Only by nine years.

But Rebecca’s jaw drops as if he’s eighty. “He’s robbin’ the cradle!”

I laugh. “He is not.”

“Fine. Is he hot?”

“He’s gorgeous,” I confirm.

“What does he look like?”

“Dirty blond hair, hazel eyes, probably 6’5”, and—”

“Oh, I bet he’s, you know, proportional.” Bec wiggles her eyebrows. “I definitely want those details once you sleep with him.”

I begin ignoring her. I’ve been on one date with the guy and suddenly, he’s my boyfriend and I’ll be sleeping with him soon? Rebecca is ge

tting ahead of herself. Not to mention I don’t want to think about those things yet. We’re able to enjoy the rest of our lunch without talking any more about Trace.

The day started promising. My anxiety was relatively normal this morning compared to how it has been, so not only was I grateful, but I thought that meant today would be good. Great, even. My classes went kind of smoothly, too.

And then, I head over to the counseling building. To fulfill my end of the bargain, I made an appointment this morning with one of the counselors, Mrs. Rumley. It almost seems pointless to go because I have no clue what to talk about.

My anxiety is the obvious answer, I know. For example, my anxiety is through the roof at the thought of seeing a therapist who isn’t Trace. He’s the only one I’ve ever seen. What if Mrs. Rumley isn’t as easy to talk to? What if she judges me? What if she sucks? What if I don’t feel comfortable with her? Am I going to have to rehash all of my time in therapy to catch her up? Or will she want a brief update? Am I allowed to tell her about Trace? You know, if I happen to bring him up.

My hand begins to ache with its grip on my wrist repeatedly tightening and loosening. The secretary gives me a small smile and tells me to have a seat to wait because Mrs. Rumley hasn’t returned from her lunch break yet. What’s the freaking point of an appointment if she isn’t here? Nausea rolls in my stomach and up my throat. The woman has two minutes before I leave.

Is it possible to feel your pulse throughout your body? God, how high do they have the heater in this place? The urge to double over is strong, the pounding in my head becoming louder. The nausea is impossible to ignore. Oh, my God. All my progress from the last three and a half years is going down the drain with this appointment. I’m a fucking mess.

I stand so suddenly it startles the secretary. Before I can speak, an elderly woman and Trace walk into the door laughing over something.

“Mrs. Rumley, your next appointment is already here,” the secretary says.

“Actually, I need to cancel. Sorry.” I push by Trace since he’s the one who is mostly in my way and race out of the building. A surge of anger rushes through me. She was late because apparently the old lady was having lunch with my boyfriend!

I’m halfway across campus when my phone vibrates. I pull it out to see a text.

Trace: Everything okay?

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