Driving Me Mad (12 page)

I’m almost done, even though
I went an hour over the limit I set for myself, when the urge to
vomit becomes overwhelming. I rush to the bathroom, making it just
in time to heave over the toilet. Water leaks from my eyes as the
salad from lunch forces its way back out. My stomach cramps, but I
think I’m finished for now. The walk back to my bed is long and
slow. I slide my textbooks onto the floor and plop down face-first
onto my bed.

I’m so over today.

My phone starts vibrating
from under my stomach. I sigh as I pull it out, swiping my finger
to answer Trace’s call.

“No,” I say.

“I didn’t ask anything.”

“Were you going to?”

He’s quiet for a moment
before saying, “Yeah.”

“Then, you already know my
answer. I’m tired, don’t feel well, and I just wanna lie down for a
while.”

“Do that with me.”

“Trace,” I sigh.

“Brittany,” he sighs right
back. Neither of us say anything for a minute or so. “Please,
Britt.” His voice is so soft, and I realize I’m not the only one
having a rough day.

“I’ll meet you at your house
in a few minutes.”

“Did I ever tell you that
you’re my favorite person?”

I laugh. “No, you’ve never
told me that.”

“Well, you are.”

Smiling, I tell him, “I’ll
see you soon.”

Once we hang up, the smile
fades as I realize I’m going to have to get out of my bed, brush my
teeth, and then drive to his house. The idea of spending time with
Trace is definitely appealing. It’s the small stupid things like
having to leave my dorm while feeling like I do that sucks.
However, I manage to get up and drive to his house.

I knock, and he calls for me
to come in. The house is quiet because the TV is off. Trace is
kicked back in his recliner, and I wonder if that’s his preferred
place to sit when he feels like shit. I drop my purse on the couch
and lie with him. His hand starts to rub my back.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” I whisper back.

“I got pizza delivered.”

“Not really hungry.”

“I figured as much.” His tone
lacks sarcasm. He’s only stating a fact. “Pizza is good 24/7, so if
you do get hungry, I thought that would be something you’d
eat.”

I nod my head on his
shoulder. He’s right. After a while, I snuggle a little closer,
pulling my legs across his lap to sit sideways and be a little more
comfortable. “I like this chair.”

“Me too.” Trace rests a large
hand on my thigh. His hand has been moving constantly on my back,
up and down, or his knuckles drawing lazy circles. If he keeps on,
he’s going to lull me to sleep. His hand gradually slows. I lift my
head to tell him I’m about to fall asleep, as if he needs to stop,
as if I couldn’t actually use the sleep, but his eyelids are
hooded. “What?” His voice is gravelly. I’m not the only one tempted
to sleep.

“Are you okay?” I didn’t know
I was going to ask that question until the words were out of my
mouth. I know what I look like on bad days. I know what to expect.
With Trace, I don’t. It worries me that I haven’t learned him as
well as he knows me. It scares me that he sometimes has to be
prodded to talk to me. He doesn’t look okay, but I’m not sure. I
don’t know what to do with this Trace.

“As okay as you are.” He
starts rubbing my back again.

I frown. “That’s not
comforting to know.”

“But you do know.”

“Why is it hard for you?”

His answer is simple. “I’d
rather listen than complain.”

“It’s not complaining. I
mean, you don’t think I’m complaining when I talk to you, do you?”
Oh, god. What if he does think it’s complaining?

He sits up in the recliner,
pulling me with him, and pulls my hand away from my wrist to
interlock our fingers. “No, I don’t think that.” He takes a deep
breath. “It just feels that way to me when I do it, and I hate
that.” He searches my eyes before adding, “I’ve never been able to
tell my dad, Britt, because it would be me burdening him and
weighing him down with it. That’s part of why I’d rather not do
it.”

I want to ask
so
many
questions about his dad, but I don’t. Something tells me I’m going
to have to wait for Trace to bring it up on his own. Therefore, I
focus on what I can say. “But it wouldn’t be like that with
me.”

He shakes his head. “It
would, but in a different way. Are you telling me you haven’t
thought about holding something back because I’m not in the best of
moods? Or that you wonder how your bad day will impact mine?
Thoughts like that?”

“Well, yeah, but I still want
to tell you. I
do
still tell you. Normal people talk about
their bad days. Why would we be any different? I mean, didn’t you
talk about it with your ex-wife?”

It’s only for a second, but
his body tenses beneath me. Trace shakes his head and I’m shocked.
I stare at him. How is that possible? How did they not talk about
it? Or was Trace pretty much okay during those times? But still.
This doesn’t make sense.

Trace cups my face. “Give me
time.” I nod because I don’t know what else to do. “Let’s eat.”

“Okay.” I move to stand, but
Trace holds me in place. He kisses me softly and then we get up for
the kitchen. We both nibble on our slices, not really hungry. I
glance toward the window and see snow falling heavily. “I’m going
to have to break up with you.”

Trace’s head snaps up.
“What?”

I point toward the window.
“It’s snowing again.”

He laughs, a
real
laugh, and grins. “You’re blaming me for the weather?”

“Yes, is that okay?”

He nods. “I can deal with
it.”

I finish my slice of pizza.
“I think I’m going to head back before it gets any later.”

Trace reluctantly nods. I
don’t know if I want him to let me go, or ask me to stay. How is it
possible to want both? I grab my purse with Trace following behind
me. At the door, he gives me a kiss that definitely makes me want
to stay as he holds me extra tight against him. The moment ends
like all good things do.

“Let me know when you get
there, so I know you made it safely.”

After nodding in agreement, I
begin walking down the walkway toward my car. Then, the worst, most
embarrassing thing ever happens.

I slip and fall.

A whoosh of air leaves my
lungs as I land with a thud. Damn, the ground is hard and cold.
Trace’s head appears over mine.

“Are you okay?” He helps me
sit up.

“Yeah, just got the air
knocked out of me.” My back hurts, but it doesn’t feel too bad.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Get me out of the
snow, Trace.”

He chuckles and helps me up.
Trace walks me to my car, kisses me one more time, and then I
leave. Later, after Rebecca laughs at me over falling, my back
still aches a little, and I’m lying in bed, staring at the
wall.

I should have stayed with
him.

I wish I was sleeping.

I hope tomorrow will be
better.

Why didn’t Trace talk to his
ex-wife? Why doesn’t he talk to his dad about it? If he can’t talk
to them, how can he talk to me?

What if we don’t last? What
if he never tells me anything? What if his ex-wife reenters the
picture somehow? What if Trace feels like I’m too much work? What
if he changes his mind about us? What if I fail my classes? What if
I don’t graduate on time? What am I going to do about spring break?
Will Rebecca be upset if I don’t go anywhere with her?

God, I wish I could shut my
mind up and fall asleep already.

***

I
should have
asked her to stay.

The one thought plagues me
for hours as I lie in bed. I didn’t ask her because I kind of
didn’t want her here. I wanted moments of peace, and I wasn’t sure
if she could give that to me based on how the night had been going.
Not to mention, she seemed eager to leave. I didn’t want her to
feel obligated or guilty.

The moment her car was out of
my driveway, I felt her loss and regretted not asking. She’s
probably worried about us now. She keeps peeling back my layers and
I’m not so sure she likes what she sees. Maybe that’s why she was
in a rush to leave. Nothing seems to twist me up as much as the
idea of losing Brittany.

What I need to do is stop
thinking about the possibility and start focusing on keeping her
happy.

What I really need to do is
go to sleep.

I roll onto my stomach and
hope I’m out like a light soon.

The week, and January, end
without anything exciting happening. I only see Brittany one more
time, though I talk to her a lot, because Rebecca has been
pressuring her to hang out with her. Mostly because Brittany told
her she was coming to my house for the weekend. I’m hoping we can
make this weekend more fun and less mental health issues.

“Did you grab the drinks?” I
call into the living room.

“Yep!” Brittany shouts
back.

I pour the freshly popped
popcorn into a bowl and join her for
Dateline
. I’m about to
sit down when there’s a knock on my door. Brittany looks surprised,
and I frown. Who the hell could that be? I have no other friends
here. She takes the popcorn.

I open the door and the panic
hits me so hard, all I can do is stare.

“Well, are you going to let
us in?” Dad asks.

I step aside to let him and
his wife, Amy, into my home. What
the fuck
are they doing
here? Why aren’t they in Texas?

“We decided to surprise you
since you can’t be bothered to come visit,” Dad explains without me
having to ask.

Shit. They have luggage.

“Trace?”

I whirl around to see
Brittany, who looks worried.

“Who are you?” Dad asks her.
He’s never been subtle, and that sometimes causes him to come
across as rude. Except right now, he
is
being rude. Before
she can answer, he turns to me. “Are you going to close the door,
son?”

Right. I close the door and
find the ability to speak. Brittany comes over to stand by my side.
She tugs on my arm, pulling my hand away from squeezing my neck,
and interlocks her fingers with mine. Dad is eyeing our hands like
it’s a bomb. Saying he loved my ex-wife is an understatement. He
was more crushed than I was about the divorce. They just bonded.
With a deep breath, I say, “Y’all, this is my girlfriend,
Brittany.” I glance down at her with what I’m sure are pleading
eyes. “This is my dad, Clark, and stepmom, Amy.”

Brittany plasters on a fake
smile. “Nice to meet y’all.” She looks up to me. “I’ll go back to
campus and let you spend time with your family.”

“Campus?” Dad questions, and
I nearly wince. Why couldn’t she just say she was leaving? “You’re
dating a student?”