Driving Me Mad (3 page)

“My parents aren’t helping
either, even though I know they mean well. I think I overloaded
myself this semester, too. I don’t want to drop any of my courses,
though. I redo my assignments like ten times before I finally turn
them in to make sure it’s the best I can do and that I’ll earn an
A, but it’s not always happening. I just want my normal life
back.”

“Okay, I can help you,” Trace
reassures in his calm, controlled, soothing voice. “Keep eating.”
He waits until I take another bite before he continues. “Who’s your
support system here? Rebecca still? Anyone else?”

“Just Rebecca. She doesn’t
really understand, but she’s supportive. She’s the one who urged me
to come see a counselor. I wasn’t going to, but then I hadn’t been
able to talk to you yet, so I decided to go.”

“Good. I’m glad you have
someone. How many classes are you taking?”

“Six, because I slacked off
one semester.”

“No wonder you feel
overloaded. You are.” He shakes his head at me. “How long have you
been squeezing your wrist?”

I glare at him. “Does it
matter?”

“Yes, it does. You and your
wrist is just like someone bouncing their legs or shifting their
weight when they’re standing. It’s a nervous habit and I want to
know when yours returned.”

“You know, I’m not so sure I
like you anymore, Trace,” I joke. “Your tactics seem more
aggressive.”

“That’s because you’re
reluctant to talk to me.” He lowers his voice and leans forward.
“C’mon, Brittany. We’ve known each other for years and we’re
supposed to be honest and forthcoming with each other. What’s
changed?”

Now he’s made me feel guilty.
Before I can respond, he does.

“You haven’t failed,
Brittany.”

I push my plate away, a wave
of nausea hitting me, making me clutch my stomach and close my eyes
for a second. Everything’s different, but it’s the same. I didn’t
used to make it to the point where I’d vomit, I only had nausea. I
didn’t used to squeeze my wrist all the time, only during attacks.
How have I not failed?

“Long deep breath,” I hear
Trace whisper.

Slowly, I inhale and exhale.
“Thanks.” My voice is strained, but I open my eyes, feeling only
slightly better. “I didn’t know it could be worse. I wasn’t
expecting that it would ever be worse than before.”

“I know, but we can get you
back to where you were. I need to get back to the office for an
appointment. Are you busy tonight?” I shake my head even though I
do have homework to do. “Meet me back here around five and we’ll
grab dinner, okay?”

“Thanks, Trace.”

He smiles, a real smile where
it reaches his eyes and he flashes me his pearly whites. I had
forgotten just how handsome his smile could be. I mentally shake my
head to rid myself of those thoughts.

***

B
rittany is
standing outside the building, her fingers wrapped firmly around
her wrist. My heart aches at seeing her in turmoil. I almost think
it’s harder because she thought she had experienced the very worst
her anxiety and depression could do to her. She turns her head
toward me at the sound of the door closing with a thud. Without
overthinking it, I pull her cold fingers away from her wrist and
let them intertwine with mine.

“Nervous about dinner with
me?” My breath is visible in frigid winter air. A smile, which has
been a hard task for my lips to perform lately, easily lifts into
place when she laughs.

“No,” she answers as I lead
her to the parking lot. “It could merely be a habit, you know. It
could have nothing to do with my anxiety.”

I release her hand as I reach
into the side of my briefcase for my keys. “Could, but we both know
that’s not the case.”

“You always have to ruin the
fun,” she jokes, sliding into the passenger seat.

I shake my head at her while
closing the door and then walking around to my side. All day I’ve
been wondering what to do about dinner. I want to be able to talk
to her without interruptions, make sure she’s comfortable, and the
best solution is my new home. Brittany usually doesn’t have
problems out in public and around other people, but for some
reason, her anxiety always comes out a little more when she has to
eat in public. It makes her self-conscious. I always made her go
out two or three times a month, just so her body could readjust and
catch up to her feeling fine about it as she conquered her
anxiety.

So, she would probably be
fine. However, with her anxiety acting up, I can’t be sure. I turn
the key in the ignition and decide to ask Brittany what she wants
to do.

“We can find a restaurant or
we can...” My voice trails off, now unsure if offering is such a
good idea.

“We can what?” she asks.

“I can cook us dinner,” I
manage to say nonchalantly, trying to remind my heart and body that
Brittany is the one with anxiety, not me. But she...she makes me
nervous. I don’t know how or when it happened, but the line of
professionalism between us became blurred until I wasn’t sure it
existed at all. She went from being my client, to a former client,
to Brittany, to Britt. When any and all lines disappear, when I
only see the beautiful person I care for, that’s when she becomes
Britt. It’s when things feel dangerous for the sake of our
livelihood.

“That sounds nice,” she
replies softly. Her hand moves to her wrist. “I still have trouble
in restaurants sometimes. I don’t want to deal with it today.”

That I can understand. We
head out of the parking lot and toward my house. It’s about twenty
miles away from campus in a nice little housing development in a
neighboring suburb. Thankfully, I’m completely unpacked and settled
in. Neither of us will be able to relax and have a clear head in a
messy, chaotic house.

I park my car in the
driveway. Brittany meets me at the front door, standing behind me
quietly as I unlock it and push it open.

“Chicken sound good?” I ask
as I set my briefcase on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah. Can I look
around?”

“Sure.”

She wanders off while I go
about getting dinner started. I’ll bake some chicken breasts and
pair it with rice, gravy, and some vegetable. I glance over my
shoulder at the sound of footsteps to see Brittany reentering the
kitchen.

“Nice place,” she
comments.

“Thanks.”

“I feel bad that I couldn’t
help you unpack, though,” she says as she comes to stand next to me
at the stove. She’s close enough that I feel the heat from her
body. I expected that being around her again would throw me for a
loop because things aren’t the same between us as the last time I
saw her. Hell, back then, she would never have been invited to my
house, never have had a meal with me, and never have my cell phone
number. On top of that, I care about her. I did before, of course,
but now, I
care
.

“I didn’t want to bother you
so soon into the semester starting and all. I’m glad I didn’t,
since you haven’t been doing well.”

“Neither have you, and you
still got to do it,” she retorts, causing me to laugh. Her lips
quirk up. “I like hearing you laugh, Trace.” She intends to bump
her elbow against mine, but due to our height difference, her elbow
hits my hip as she adds, “I’ve missed talking to you.”

And that causes my heartbeat
to falter. I told her I hadn’t been texting her because things have
been busy. Which is true, but it’s not the entire truth. The move
has fucked me up in ways I wasn’t expecting and it’s taken all my
energy and willpower to get myself settled in and begin at my new
job. Solitude seemed to be the only thing I wanted and could
handle. I hoped Brittany was doing well enough that my absence
wouldn’t affect her.

“You can talk to me like I
talk to you, Trace.” Her quiet voice kills me and spurs me to look
at her. She looks hopeful. She’s paying more attention to me than I
thought she would, or else I’m not doing a good job of masking my
emotions. Brittany reaches up to cup my face, the pad of her thumb
brushing underneath my eye. “How long has it been since you’ve had
a good night’s sleep?”

“You don’t have to worry
about me,” I tell her. I don’t want to add to what she’s dealing
with already.

“Yes, I do, because if I
don’t, who will? I’m going to worry either way, so get used to it
and answer my question.”

I sigh and she drops her
hand. My eyes shift to the pots on the stove. “Over a month, but
it’s not too bad. Not being able to sleep is one reason I was able
to get completely unpacked and settled. Get the plates and some
drinks, will ya?” I nod in the direction of the cabinets she’ll
need.

Thankfully, Brittany lets it
go. She grabs the plates, sets them down on the table, fixes us
drinks, and then finds the silverware. Her phone rings and she
steps into the living room to answer. By the time she finishes her
conversation, dinner is ready and on the table.

“Sorry. It was my mom. She
still calls every few days to check in,” Brittany says as we take a
seat.

“Have you told her how you’re
really doing?”

“No, but I think she can
tell. She seems to ask me more specific questions every time I talk
to her. I tell her the truth mostly.” She pauses to take a bite of
food, which makes me happy considering the weight she’s lost. “If
we’re supposed to be completely honest with each other, how come
you’ve been holding back on me?” Her eyes widen a bit. “Or am I
overstepping by wanting to talk to you so often?” She drops her
gaze down to her plate. “I don’t want to bother you, so I can stop
texting and calling so much if you want. I didn’t mean to—”

“Britt.” Her gaze snaps to
mine, those brown eyes boring into me. I can’t quite make out the
way she’s looking at me. It’s a bit bothersome, considering I’ve
always been able to read her so easily. Maybe it’s because I said
it a bit too loud in order to gain her attention. “I’m sorry.”

The corners of her mouth fall
in a frown as her brows pinch together. “For what?”

“For holding back. You
haven’t been doing anything wrong, or anything I haven’t wanted you
to do.” I want her to talk to me as often as she wants. We discuss
more than what’s wrong with us and I enjoy it probably more than I
should. Obviously, considering I felt like whatever it is we are is
something important enough to mention during my job interview so I
wouldn’t break any employee/student policies in the future.

She smiles, but it’s not
completely genuine. “Then it’s officially a two-way street with us
now?”

“Yeah,” I say, despite the
fact that it’s going to be a difficult task for me. My job is to
listen to people, help them through their problems, and help carry
the weight of the burden. It’s not for me to unleash my problems
onto them. It’s different with Brittany, I know, but the things I
do for my job have transferred over into my life. I’d rather listen
than talk. I’d rather be helpful than complain. It’s why I’m about
to shift the conversation again. “Can I ask you something without
you getting defensive?”

Her eyes narrow
automatically. “Sure,” she answers with caution.

“Have you been taking your
meds like you should? You aren’t skipping doses or going cold
turkey?” She always hated taking medication, but she did it anyway
because it helped. Every now and then, though, she’d either stop or
skip doses because she was tired of taking them.

Brittany sighs, but she nods.
“It’s been hard for me, but I’ve been diligent about it. I’ve only
missed one dose since I’ve been in college.”

“Good.”

“Okay, let’s talk about
something else. How are you enjoying it here so far? Is counseling
college students better or worse than your old job?”

I’m all for taking a step
away from our issues for a while. “Yeah, I like the town and my new
position. It’s different, but in a way, it’s the same too. I
haven’t had much interaction with students yet because I’m still
settling in, so I’m excited about that.”