Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) by Lindsay Paige Page A

the door. I fling it open to see the one person I don’t want to see.
    “You’re ignoring me. That doesn’t sound like you’re giving me a chance,” Trace says, pushing his way past me and into my apartment, leaving me stunned. “I’ll leave once you agree to another date.” He sits down on my couch and settles in like he owns the damn place.
    He’s going to be so disappointed, or thrilled, by my quick reaction. “Fine. I’ll go; just leave.” I’ll do anything to make him get out of here, so I can be alone. Trace frowns, either from how I’m still standing by my open door or because I did give in so quickly.
    “Bad day, Britt?”
    “That wasn’t part of your demand.”
    “It is now.”
    I narrow my eyes at him. “Go home, Trace.”
    He stands and walks until he’s in front of me. He takes one of my hands in his. “Come on. Let me be there for you,” he begs quietly.
    I pull my hand away. “Why? So you can tell me how I’m doing everything wrong? My parents do that already. So you can be encouraging? They do that too. So you can be there for me? I have people for that. What I want is to go to bed and I can’t do that with you here.”
    “No, I want you to talk to me, and I can just listen.” At this, I scoff. “I’m worried about you.”
    His words and his sincerity have no effect on me. I’ve reached a familiar place that’s void of caring, where the only thing I feel is despair, pain, anguish, and a simple sense of hopelessness. My eyes water and I’m so fucking sick of crying. I feel like that’s all I ever do and all I’ve done since the man in front of me left a year ago.
    Before I can half-heartedly tell him to leave, he wraps me in his arms. I melt against him, feeling as if this is a critical moment and I just need someone to be there for me and tell me it’s going to be all right. Trace pulls me far enough away from the door that he can close it and then walks us to my couch. He sits and tugs me down to sit in his lap sideways.
    He doesn’t say anything. He just holds me. I rest my head on his shoulder, wondering what the point is. It doesn’t feel right while managing to feel perfect. My anxiety scratches at me as consistently as Trace’s hand rubbing up and down my back until I’m raw and can’t think straight. He’s here. I don’t want him to be. I want to be in bed. I want this to be over. I want it to stop. I want to go back to work, which is the one place I manage to find my courage to fight through this disaster called my life. And in the midst of it all, Trace is back, front and center.
    I don’t get it.
    “What are you doing?” I whisper.
    Trace doesn’t immediately respond, but seconds later, he quietly replies, “I’m trying to love you, Britt.”
    I press my forehead into his neck. “Try harder.” My words are so quiet, barely audible, because I almost hope he doesn’t hear me.
    But he does if him pulling me closer is any indication. Thankfully, he doesn’t speak. His breathing, his steady heartbeat, and his constant rubbing of my back lulls me to sleep. Trace ruins it before I can nod off completely.
    “I need to get back to Lily. Do you want to come with me?”
    “Not particularly.”
    “Okay.”
    I guess it’s only natural for me to have love and hate feelings toward that answer when I have a love and hate relationship with Trace. Conflicted feelings are a bitch. I don’t want to go to his house; I don’t want him to leave my apartment either. I want to stay just like we are. But Trace isn’t staying and I’m not going, so five minutes later, he’s gone and I’m in bed.
    He gave me this lame, kinda sweet kiss on the forehead and promised he’d be in touch about our next date. I lie in bed, wondering where he’ll take me. If my anxiety and depression weren’t so bad, would I be thrilled that Trace has come back to me? Even though I no longer trust him? Would I be more willing to give him a chance?
    This is the man who I loved without