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“Why not?”
“I don’t feel like going anywhere,” I say, this time pulling away from him.
He tugs me right back where he wants me, though. “It might make you feel better.”
“Doubt it.”
Trace sighs. “Come anyway.” My silence answers him. “Lily misses you.” Yay. The dog misses me. “I miss you,” he whispers. I still don’t say anything. His words practically bounce off me, having zero effect. “What will it take for you to come home with me, Britt? You want me to pack your bags? You want me to carry you out of here so you don’t have to walk? What do you want me to do? I want you to come with me.” Desperation leaks into his voice and it cracks me open just enough for me to agree.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder and gets out of my bed. He opens the door for Rebecca to come back in. I sit up and watch as he and Rebecca start to pack a bag for me. Faintly, I wonder whose idea it was for Trace to come up here and whisk me away.
Once he’s packed everything, he hands me some clothes to change into since I’m still in pajamas. I change, take his outstretched hand, and he leads me out of the building. I don’t feel good, and I mean that in a physically sick kind of way. The rest is a blur until Lily is walking circles around me, wagging her tail like crazy. I drop to my knees and hug her neck. Okay, so it looks like I missed the dog too.
“Are you going to sit on the floor and love on Lily or come watch an episode of Dateline that I missed and love on me?”
I glance up at the sound of Trace’s voice. He’s walking toward the couch and I think he has two cans of Sun Drop in his hands. Of course, I get up to follow after him. I take the Sun Drop, suddenly feeling really thirsty. I pop the top and start guzzling it down, as my stomach growls.
“Have you eaten today?” Trace asks. “Or drank anything?” he adds as he watches me finish off the can of soda.
“No.” I curl into his side. This time, I’m glad to have his body next to me.
“Want me to order pizza?”
I shrug. Trace pulls out his phone and opens an app to place the order. Lily jumps onto the couch, sitting next to me and resting her head on my lap. I scratch behind her ears, wishing I could sleep. How can I be so tired, but not sleepy?
“Hey.” Trace hooks a finger under my chin and lifts so I’ll look at him. He doesn’t say anything. He just studies me for a moment. “Did you get any sleep last night or today?”
“Not really.” He looks tired, too.
“Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“How you’re doing.”
I roll my eyes and look away. “How does it look like I’m doing, Trace? Can we not talk? Please?”
“Sure, okay.”
I lean into him again, getting comfortable. Trace changes the channel to his recording of the show. He holds me close. I don’t pay much attention to the show. Instead, I focus on Trace’s breathing, the fast and steady beat of his heart, and his sturdy body. I feel just a little better by the time he has to pause the show because the pizza has arrived.
“I’m not really hungry,” I say once he returns with the box, disappointed in myself.
He turns the box so it faces me, opens it, and moves it in circles under my face. “You can resist pizza that smells this good?” A corner of his mouth quirks up into a crooked smile. “Would it be more tempting if I cut it up into pieces and tossed them for you to try to catch it in your mouth?”
I laugh. “No, it wouldn’t.” I reach out to snag a slice, Trace’s smile turning into a full-blown grin.
“I’ve missed that laugh.”
Trace sits down again next to me. I decide to change the subject because I still don’t want to talk about myself. We might as well turn the tables.
“Did you ever call your dad back?”
His smile fades. “No, not yet.”
God, I hate myself. I shouldn’t have asked. I knew how it would make him feel. Is it really worth it just so it’ll take the focus off of me? Without ever having taken a bite of my pizza, I set it back in the box, which is now on the coffee table. That overwhelming feeling rushes over me again. I’m supposed to be normal. I’m supposed to be a good girlfriend. I’m supposed to eat and take care of myself. I’m supposed to be all these things and I can’t fucking do it! I can’t. I can’t. I can’t!
Tears start spilling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. Trace starts to say something, but I can’t sit here next to him anymore. I get up and rush to his bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turn on the shower, hurriedly remove my clothes, and step into the tub. Standing seems to take too much effort. I sit under the onslaught of water raining down, pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and start crying hard.
