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“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.
