Page 48 of Driving Me Mad (Sanity 1)

“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.”

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