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He seems back to normal. For a moment, I wonder if he’s putting on a show for my benefit. Could he really be like this after getting no sleep? But then again, this is Trace and we have this whole complete honesty, two-way street going here. He wouldn’t put on a show for me, right? He most certainly doesn’t have to.
No, Trace definitely wouldn’t do that.
She was worried about me this morning.
She woke up without any anxiety overwhelming her, and then I had to make her worry about me. It’s why I decided to do what I usually try to do—hide it. I got up, showered, fixed breakfast, and took her to the movies. I’m already bone-tired, and hiding the fact that the only thing I want is to lie in my recliner and do nothing all day is even more exhausting. In the moments when we’ve been here at my house and it’s been overwhelming, I decide we both need a distraction. So, I kiss her neck and find my break, peace, and relief with sex.
I feel a bit guilty because I am deceiving her, but she’s finally getting a break. Why would I want to tarnish that because of the way I’m feeling? Not to mention, I kind of think people unintentionally feed off of each other. Think about it. Isn’t it hard to stay happy and upbeat when you’re around someone who is either not feeling well or is negative? I don’t want to let my negative energy bring her down when she’s on the up.
My hand lazily rubs up and down her back. I must’ve wore her out today for her to take a nap. We’re lying naked in my bed, and we had been talking about nothing in particular when she dozed off, her head on my shoulder. I guess I need to decide if I’m going to Vegas with her and Rebecca. I’m glad Rebecca’s boyfriend isn’t going since I’ve been able to confirm he is the one and same Dustin who comes in for counseling on occasion.
On the one hand, I want to go. I’ve never been to Vegas, and knowing that Brittany is already expecting some anxiety due to the craziness of the city, I want to be there as support, if needed. On the other hand, who knows if I’m going to feel like going to Vegas. Would she be upset if I don’t go? Damn, I’m not sure what I want to do. Absentmindedly, I grip the back of my neck. To go or to not go? That is my loaded question. I sigh.
“Babe,” Brittany murmurs, c
uddling closer to me. “Your thinking is disrupting my sleep.”
I laugh. “You shouldn’t be sleeping anyway.”
“Not without you.” She lifts her head, her eyes squinting a little as she looks me over. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Not really,” I lie as I keep rubbing her back. I don’t think there is a word that adequately describes how tired I am. The only thing I’m hoping for at this point is that my body decides it’s had enough and crashes. Obviously, mentally exhausting myself by leaving the house and hiding how I’m feeling in combination with physically exhausting myself with sex isn’t doing the trick.
“What can I do to help?” she whispers.
“Nothing that you aren’t already doing, Britt.”
“Are you sure? I mean,” she hesitates, “if you think being alone would help, you can ask me to leave. I would understand.”
My eyebrows pull together. What is she talking about? “You aren’t the reason why I can’t sleep, and nothing you’re doing or not doing is making it more difficult.” Tired of talking, I kiss her forehead. “Let’s try to get some sleep.” I close my eyes and hope she follows.
“You’re hungry.” She pokes my stomach when it growls.
“I thought you wanted me to sleep?” I crack my eyes open.
“I want that too. Maybe we should stuff you full of turkey. Turkey makes people sleepy, right?”
My grin is real. “You want me to cook a turkey like it’s Thanksgiving in hopes I’ll eat a lot and it’ll knock me out?”
“It’s just an idea,” she laughs. “But for real, do you want me to cook dinner?”
Despite my stomach sounding like a dying whale, I don’t feel hungry. That’s not an answer she’ll want to hear, though. “What are you going to cook?”
“Whatever I find in the fridge that looks good, unless you have a request.”
“No requests.”
She nods, smacks a loud kiss to my cheek with a grin, and slips out of bed. I watch her pull on her clothes and then she leaves the room. I’d think that being alone for a little while would be a blessing and would feel good, but I miss her presence the moment she’s out of view. It’s easier to pretend depression doesn’t exist when she’s around and I’m putting on a show for her.
She depends on the Trace who is strong, stable, and there for her. That’s the Trace I want to be. Not this version who is struggling so much. I need to find a balance because I know I can’t hide it forever. It’s not good for me, for Brittany, or for our relationship. All the reminder I need is to remember what happened with my failed marriage. Faith cheating was simply the last straw; not the cause. We had problems prior to that, which were leading us down the path to divorce.
Brittany walks back into the room with my phone buzzing in her hand. “Someone is calling you.” She tosses it to me before leaving to continue cooking, I assume.
A quick glance at the number, and I don’t recognize it. It’s tempting not to answer it. I do though.
“Hello?”
“Trace? It’s Faith.”
