Page 69 of Driving Me Mad (Sanity 1)

Now I’ll look like a loser if I go up to our room. I definitely don’t want to gamble away any more money, but I’m not sure if I want to stick around and hang out with them. I’m tired, and I’m feeling antsy. I wait until we’re back at the hotel with Trace and Rebecca sitting side-by-side at a pair of slot machines to mention going back to the room.

“You want me to come with you?” Trace asks.

“No, stay and play. I’ll be fine. You have a room key, right?”

He nods. I give him a quick kiss and make my escape. Dread quickly fills my body. Something ominous and terrible is coming. I can’t quite put my finger on what it’ll be, but my gut doesn’t have good feelings about what’s to come once we return home.

What a way to end a trip.

My chest labors with great effort as I try to breathe in more air. My eyes water as I lurch over the toilet to puke again. We’ve been back for two weeks. My schoolwork seems to be mounting higher every day, my anxiety doubling right along with it. Trace has yet to tell me about his mom, and my parents are coming today.

I can’t stop thinking about everything possible. When is he going to tell me? Why hasn’t he told me yet? How bad can it be? I’m going to fail this semester and have to push off graduating. That would be so emb

arrassing. Rebecca and I have already found and put a deposit down on an apartment. Moving is going to be so stressful. Why can’t I breathe?

Taking in large gulps of air, sounding like I’m gasping, my chest tightens even more. God, how could it be worse? The attacks are stronger than ever. I sway and reach out to grab the countertop, feeling lightheaded as black dots cloud my vision.

“Britt, breathe.”

I vomit and faintly wonder when Trace walked into the bathroom. Throwing up hasn’t made breathing any easier. I inhale, nearly choking on my own spit. Wouldn’t that be a way to die.

“Breathe strong and steady.”

“I,” another labored breath, “can’t.” My stomach convulses as I dry heave, nothing left in my body to force its way out. I stand up and lean my hips against the sink. I don’t even know what the hell I’m panicking about. I woke up, sweating like it’s fucking July and a hundred degrees. The overwhelming urge to vomit flung me from Trace’s bed and into the bathroom. Tears begin to fall freely. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waking up, either in my bed at the dorms or here at Trace’s, and already be in the midst of a panic attack. I’m back to obsessing over my homework and life and my relationship and Trace and every other thing I could possibly obsess about.

Therapy has been more annoying than helpful. I can’t even focus well enough in there. My last session, which was yesterday, was me sitting in the chair, staring at the wall, and my mouth opening and closing. I didn’t know where to start. Mrs. Potter, my therapist, started asking questions and my responses were short and lacked any real information. I’m even failing at therapy now!

What’s next? School? My relationship with my parents? With Trace? What the hell is wrong with me that I can’t bear the thought of waking up in the morning because I know it’s a start to yet another hellish day and I can’t do it anymore!

“Brittany!” Trace shakes my shoulders. “Did you hear me?”

I shake my head. I have zero energy left to talk. There’s nothing more I want right now than to crumble to the floor, curl up in a ball, and cry. I’m already crying. All I need is to form a ball on the floor. Without even trying, my body starts to slide.

“No, no, no,” Trace says, grabbing me by the waist.

I blink through the tears to see he looks almost as terrible as I feel. God, I suck at being a girlfriend too! I sob and fall against him. “I’m sorry,” I cry.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. I feel him take a deep breath, and then he’s pulling me out of the bathroom and back to bed. He props me on the edge, but I fall to my side, still crying like I’m crazy. “Britt, I need you to either talk it through to me or give me something, so I can help you, damn it. It’s too fucking early for this.”

His words stab me in the heart. No shit. He’s not the only one who is tired of waking up like this, but he doesn’t have to push his frustrations on me! I roll over and pull the pillow over my head. It doesn’t help me get any cooler, but at least I won’t have to look at him. Oddly enough, this somehow forces me to regain control of my breathing. The tears, however, are still coming strong.

I clutch the pillow, pretending it’s my wrist. I hear Trace curse, huff, and then silence. My heart is pounding so hard and loud, I swear I can hear it in my own ears. My stomach hurts. I finally curl into a ball. The bed dips, so Trace must be getting back into bed.

His voice sounds muffled as he speaks to me. “Britt, talk to me. What’s it over today?”

“I don’t know. I don’t freaking know!” I yell into the pillow, my body jostling as Lily jumps onto the bed. “It’s everything!”

“What do you want me to do to help?”

“I. Don’t. Know!” I don’t mean to yell at him again, but I feel like I’m about to bust at the seams. The tsunami wave of panic is swelling, growing larger, and is about to come crashing down on me again.

“Then how the fuck am I supposed to know?” His frustration is growing with me and I can’t deal with it right now.

“Just leave me alone,” I plead.

“Fine.” The bed moves again, and the silence is consuming.

I have to move the pillow because I can’t breathe. Trace isn’t in bed, but I can hear the shower. Lily crawls up the bed like she’s in trouble and plops down in front of me. I lay an arm around her and rest my forehead against her shoulder. She makes me feel marginally better. I try to close out everything except for Lily’s breathing and the feel of her soft fur. She dozes off and starts to snore.

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