Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) (2 page)

“Hey.” He smiles as he eyes the intruder who is standing too closely behind me. “Bad time?”

“What? No! This is an old friend who I ran into tonight,” I easily lie. “He wanted to exchange numbers to catch up, but our phones are dead, so he followed me so I could write it down.” I hurry over to the paper on my fridge, where I usually jot down items I need to buy during the week, and grab a pen from the counter. I scribble
Go to hell
as I hear Quinn say, “Hey, I’m Quinn, Brittany’s boyfriend.” YES! Maybe that will be enough for Trace to stay away from me.

“Trace,” is all he says.

I rip the paper off the pad. “Here you go, Trace. Sorry to rush you out, but we’ll talk soon.” I shove the paper into his hand and begin to gently push him toward the door. He leaves without a fuss, thankfully. As I close the door, I sigh loudly.

He’s gone.

If it wasn’t for Quinn, I’m not sure how long I would’ve stayed sane. Turning to face him, I grin. “I’m so happy to see you.” I close the distance between us and throw my arms around his neck.

“Rough night?”

“Yes.”

He rubs my back, and the action reminds me too much of Trace. “Sorry I couldn’t be there with you.” Quinn had to work, which is why I attended that thing alone.

“I’m just glad you’re here. My anxiety was terrible and I’m desperate to relax.”

“That sucks. Want me to help you?” His hands dip lower and I hate that I nod my head. Unlike Trace, Quinn doesn’t truly understand what it’s like for me with my anxiety and depression. I try explaining it to him and he’s a champ for trying to understand and be helpful, but then, there are nights like tonight. Sex is the solution. That’s the ultimate way to relax, right? Let me roll my eyes for you. It didn’t work when I was with Trace and it doesn’t work now.

Even worse, when Quinn leads me to the bed, all I can think about is Trace. Him showing up tonight just fucked up my world again. I worry about the consequences of bailing on the event early. I worry about what he thought of the note I gave him. My mind won’t shut the hell up. It even goes as far as me wishing for one stupid second that Quinn was Trace because he
gets
it. He has experienced anxiety and depression himself. Our experiences aren’t the same, but we still know what it’s like for one another.

It’s the only trait I wish with everything I am that Quinn had.

It’s the only trait I’m grateful he doesn’t have.

I believe it was one of the major reasons Trace and I were doomed. It’s like there were two ticking time bombs in a room, designed and built differently, yet both would help destroy the other when one disintegrates into nothing to trigger the other to do the same. How I ever thought two depressed people could make a relationship work is beyond me. When we’re dealing with it at the same time, it’s so hard to be understanding with one another and supportive when we want to say fuck it. Or maybe it can work, just not for us. We were struggling so much individually when he broke up with me. He couldn’t deal with me and I needed him, but I couldn’t deal with him either.

I wouldn’t have left, though.

Quinn grunts with his release and I snap out of my thoughts, faking an orgasm for him. I totally spaced out, but he obviously didn’t notice. He rolls over and off the bed to clean up. When he returns, I get up for a shower, needing to wash away the icky feeling. God, I hate myself for wishing Trace were here. I hate what he did to us, to me, and I absolutely don’t want him back.

Yet, from time to time, I yearn for him. I long to hear his voice, feel his touch, and have him soothe me. I ache for the loss of his love and his understanding. Seeing him tonight has struck me hard in the gut, piercing me right in the heart, and opening up all the bottled up anger I have toward him.

I sit in the tub with my knees pulled up and my arms wrapped around them. I rest my head on my forearms. This is bad. Trace in my life again, even for a few minutes, is so very
bad
. He’s going to throw me further into chaos when I’m barely hanging on as it is. Hell, he already has.

Eventually, I make my way out of the shower and into bed next to a sleeping Quinn. I’ve come to like sleeping naked, but hopefully, Quinn won’t wake up for any fun later. My body and my mind are thoroughly exhausted. My eyes easily close and soon, I’ve fallen asleep.

There’s a hand sliding up my side, which then dips to cup my breast. I swear, Quinn thinks about nothing but sex. And my mood is so bad this morning, I’m tempted to bite him. Instead, I sigh and push his hand away. “No.”

He huffs. “Fine. What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.”

I’m not hungry. I’m numb. My chest feels hollow yet weighed down at the same time. There’s no way I’m leaving my bed, and there’s not a chance in hell that I can deal with Quinn today. I can’t do life today. “Can you leave?” I whisper, keeping my eyes closed.

“Again?” There’s a touch of annoyance in his voice. Considering I’ve asked him to leave four times so far this week, I can’t say I blame him. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” There’s nothing but honesty in his tone. “I never know anymore who I’m going to wake up to. The Brittany I know or this one. I’m trying, but it’s not easy when you push me away.”

I wish I could truly hear him, but all I hear is
blah, blah, blah
. “Just go, Quinn.”

Now, he’s angry. “Fine. Fuck it! I’m done. I’ve tried, but what’s the point?”

The bed shifts as he gets up. I hear him dress while he mutters under his breath, and then he’s stalking out the door. I wait to hear the door slam, but it doesn’t. Oh well. Good riddance. It’s like he said. What’s the point?

I
’ve been standing outside of Brittany’s door for ten minutes. It’s good, yet also worrisome, that the apartment building’s main entrance stays unlocked. After yesterday, she’s been on my mind even more than usual. But I keep hesitating about knocking. What if her jerk of a boyfriend is still here? Granted, I don’t know if he’s a jerk. However, I do know she doesn’t want to see me. Not exactly going to get a warm welcome either way.

Just as I gather the courage, the door flings open. Quinn falters for a moment. “She’s not accepting visitors,” he snaps. Oh, that’s not a good sign.

“She’ll see me,” I say with false confidence.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” He brushes against my shoulder as he pushes past me.

What kind of boyfriend leaves her door wide open for me, a stranger to him, to step inside? The kind I don’t mind, because it gives me access. I quietly enter her apartment and close the door with a soft click behind me. She’s nowhere to be seen, but I’d bet my life savings that she’s in bed. Sure enough, she’s underneath her sheets, lying on her side with a pillow on top of her head.

I toe out of my shoes and sit with my back propped against the headboard, ignoring the fact that Quinn probably slept in this very spot only a short while ago.

“Go away, Quinn,” she groans. When she adjusts her hold on the pillow, I see nothing but bare shoulders leading to a bare back.
Holy shit.
Is she naked? I shut out what that could mean as a dozen memories filter through my mind of us together. My silence lasts too long because she sighs as she sits up to glare at me, her sheets falling to her waist, exposing her. Her eyes widen with surprise and then she quickly covers herself as I peel my eyes away from her breasts and to her eyes. “What in the hell are you doing here, Trace?”

“Your boyfriend let me in.”

Her eyes narrow. “He’s not my boyfriend, and you need to get out.” She lies back down, facing away from me, but doesn’t cover her head again. Still, I can see her eyes squeeze tightly together.

Today is not a good day for my girl.

The luxury of even calling her that is no longer mine, but that’s beside the point.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. There’s no one single thing I’m apologizing for. I’m sorry for all of it.

Brittany scoffs. There’s nothing I want more right now than to just hold her. She wouldn’t let me, I’m sure of that. She seems to be done with all conversation, so I settle in to wait her out. Her emotions will get the best of her soon enough and then I’ll be here for when she unleashes it on me.

In the meantime, I glance around her room. It’s a mess. Not dirty, but clothes are strewn everywhere, shoes seem to have been taken off at random points in the room, and her dresser is overflowing with various items. The worse she is, the messier she gets. I remember that from when she was in high school. And based on this room, she’s not doing well at all.

Fifteen minutes pass before she sniffs. I glance over at her just in time to see her wipe away a tear. My entire body is buzzing with a need to feel her, to hold her, to comfort her. If she’s vulnerable enough, she’ll let me. I hate that I think that. I hate it even more that I’m going to take advantage of it for my own selfish needs.

I slide further down on the bed, lay an arm over her waist, slip the other underneath her neck and get as close as I can. At first she stiffens, but then she slowly relaxes. Her tears fall onto my arm at a fast rate. I have no clue how she’s holding it together right now.

“Let go, Britt,” I whisper.

Her muscles tense as she rolls to face me. Her mouth opens to yell most likely, but another voice stops her.

“What the hell kind of friend is he, Brittany?”

She sighs, closing her eyes.

“Old boyfriend,” I answer, her eyes flashing open to glare at me.

“Fucking figures,” he grumbles. “I forgot my phone.” He stomps over to her nightstand and grabs it.

Brittany sits up. “Quinn.” Her voice is soft as she reaches out to grab his wrist. The tone of her voice causes him to pay attention and look at her, where before he was avoiding it. “I’m too tired to fight either of you, so I just gave in.”

He stares at her for a moment, long enough for her to drop her hand. I should probably feel uncomfortable at this point, but I don’t. Well, maybe a little. I’m here for Brittany, though, and we’re going to talk.

Quinn cups her face. My jaw clenches when he kisses her forehead. “This is still over. It’s too much work,” he whispers to her. “I can’t be supportive when you don’t let me in all the way. You won’t let me be here for you.”

Her reply is barely audible. “I’ve tried.”

“I know, baby, but we’re not working.” He kisses her forehead one more time before leaving.

Brittany is frozen, it seems. Even after we hear the door close with a loud thud, she doesn’t move.

“Britt,” I start. My voice snaps her out of it.

She stands and grabs a robe hanging from the open closet door. “You do
not
call me that. You shouldn’t even be here! I don’t want you here, Trace! What part of
I hate you
didn’t you understand? It’s bad enough that you show up like this, and then have to witness my boyfriend breaking up with me for the second time this morning, but now, you won’t leave! GO! Get the hell out of my apartment! Don’t come back! I don’t want to know why you’re here. I don’t want to hear your side of the story. I don’t fucking care anymore, okay? I don’t give two shits about anything, so for the love of all that is holy, get the fuck out!” she screeches, her chest heaving as she catches her breath.