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“Britt, you’re capable of living alone,” I interrupt. “Is it a little harder? Yes, of course. Can you do it anyway? Absolutely. You just need to find out what helps rather than hurts. Like, do you remember when you walked in on me cleaning and listening to music?”
She laughs. “Yeah because you were listening to Justin Bieber.”
“My point is that day, I was struggling and wishing I wasn’t home alone. So, I turned on some music and started cleaning my house. That helps me space out for a while without it being a bad thing.”
“My apartment is spotless because I keep cleaning it to find something to do other than watch TV.”
“Watching a show or movie doesn’t help?”
Brittany shakes her head. “It doesn’t keep my focus.”
Hmm. I think for a moment before coming up with an alternative. “What about reading? Have you tried that?”
“No. I don’t even know what I would want to read. I haven’t read for fun in a long time because I always had school to make me read a freaking textbook. I’ll stop by a bookstore on the way home and try it.”
“Good.”
We walk in comfortable silence. Living alone does make managing our anxiety and depression harder, but there are also aspects to living with someone that make it harder, too. Pretty much anything can make it worse, really. Everyone is different and has different triggers. We have to find a way to control it to the best of our abilities.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” I ask as we approach my house.
“No, it’ll push off the inevitable. Besides, I’m staying over tomorrow night.”
“All right.” I try not to sound too disappointed because I am glad that she’s not saying yes to prevent from going home. I’m proud of her. She’s facing her issues head on again. I’m still sad I don’t get to spend more time with her today. However, I will have all of tomorrow night and Saturday with her. We’re at her car now, so I lean down to give her a kiss. “I’m here if you need me.”
She nods before getting into her car and driving away.
“What are we doing here?” Brittany asks when I pull into a shopping outlet to start our date. “You’re taking me shopping?” she adds with surprise.
“No, I’m not.” After she arrived, I was so grateful that I’d made the plans I did for our date. She didn’t tell me much about her day, but she was tense as I’ve ever seen her and seemed to be on edge. I want to take her hand and walk her far away from the edge. “We’re going to relax; we’re getting massages.”
Her lips purse together. “I’ve never had a massage by a pro before.”
“You’ll love it.”
“Well, let’s go.”
After filling out some paperwork and spending a few minutes in the waiting room, we’re both called back. We’re briefly introduced to our masseuses and then we’re stripping down and getting onto the table. Back in college, massages were a regular thing for me. I was so tense all the time. The only time I felt like I could really relax was for an hour-and-a-half-long massage. I’m not really sure why I ever stopped going.
The next ninety minutes are blissful. There’s soft, relaxing music playing. The room is dimly lit. Four strong hands, sometimes in combo with hot stones, are working the muscles of our bodies. A few times, I wonder how Brittany is enjoying it. She answers positively when occasionally asked by her masseuse, which is a good sign.
When the door softly clicks behind them as they leave for us to redress, Brittany says, “I’m not sure I can get up. I’m so loose, I might flop over.”
I laugh. “Just stay where you are then.” She does, too, while I get dressed. I grab her clothes from the chair and bring them to her. “Resting period is over.”
She frowns. “I’m oily and I have to put clothes on?”
“You’ll get used to it.” I trail my fingers up her naked thigh. “We’ll shower when we get home.”
“Our date’s over?”
“This part is.”
With a long, possibly exaggerated sigh, she sits up, hops off the table, and begins to dress. A to-do list begins to form in my head of everything I need to accomplish while she takes a shower. Not to mention that I’d like a shower myself. Luckily, Ben owes me a favor and he’s doing the most time-consuming task for me.
Brittany, fully dressed now, throws her arms around me. “Thank you for this, Trace.”
I give her a quick peck on the lips. “Welcome. Let’s go.”
