Page 37 of Blackout-

“Jesus, Lace,” he sighs. “That’s what’s got you all worked up? Baby look at me,” he coaxes, lifting his hand to my cheek. I lean into his touch and turn my head.

“It’s half the reason,” I admit, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Before Marjorie fired me or laid me off—whatever you want to call it, I had a breakdown in the bathroom.” His face goes rigid and I hold up a hand, stopping his next question. “Before you ask, I took my medication.”

“You’ve been stuck in bed for days, Lacey. I’m the one who brought you your pills every morning. I know you’re taking them,” he says.

Drawing my lower lip between my teeth, I nod and divert my eyes away from him.

“Maybe, I’m getting the flu or something. I threw up too,” I reveal. Anything not to express my fears of the meds not working. “I’ll be better tomorrow,” I reply. “I just need to sleep.”

Turning my attention back to him, I can tell he’s refraining from saying whatever is on his mind. Instead, he gives me a nod.

“How about I draw you a bath?” he suggests. “I’ll order dinner and we can finally finish watching that Gaga flick.”

“Can I take a raincheck? I really just want to crawl into bed.”

Swallowing, he gives me another nod before releasing a ragged breath.

“Yeah,” he mutters softly.

Looking conflicted, he gets out of the car. As I watch him round the front, I understand the pain he felt a couple of weeks ago when he confessed to relapsing. The guilt and shame he harbored. I get it because right now, I feel the exact same emotions. It’s horrible to look at the person you love most in this world and know there is nothing you can do to ease their pain. It doesn’t matter how much we want to be better for one another, we’ll always watch each other battle ourselves.

Opening my door, I slide out of the car. He closes the door for me, and I reach for his hand. Together we walk towards our house. He opens the door and I don’t bother taking my coat off as I head for the stairs. Lifting my foot onto the first step, I pause and glance over my shoulder at him. Leaning against the closed door, he keeps his eyes aimed at his boots.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Keeping his head down, he lifts his gaze to me.

“I love you too,” he says huskily. “All of you, every perfection and every flaw.”

Chapter Fourteen

Blackie

Lacey didn’t needto work. She didn’t get up five days a week and drag her ass to the rec center because we relied on her paycheck; I had us covered. She worked because she was passionate about what she did. She worked because there were people who needed to see her face and hear her calming voice. People who needed her assurance.

Anyone who loses their job feels like they failed in some way but, for Lacey, any loss she experiences is intensified. She doesn’t handle defeat well and takes it very personally. I don’t know if that’s because of her illness or if it’s a personality trait. It takes her a little longer to bounce back, to find the confidence in herself to move forward and most times she falls victim to the depression living inside of her.

People think because she’s on Lithium, she doesn’t break down. They assume antidepressants are a manic depressive’s heroin, that they serve as a scapegoat. It’s not a miracle drug. It doesn’t ease every blow. She still gets knocked down. It’s her norm and being the man who loves her makes it mine now too.

However, Lacey doesn’t get physically ill. Sure, she’s had an anxiety attack here and there, but before this shit with her job, she couldn’t get out of bed and now, she’s throwing up. She said it was the flu, but I can’t shake the feeling it’s something different.

It’s the very reason I called Reina after I was sure Lacey was asleep. She’s gone through it with Jack; the highs and lows and everything in between. She saw firsthand what can happen to a person when their meds aren’t working and if that is what’s happening with Lacey, I want to get ahead of it. I don’t want to call no doctor to sedate her. I don’t want to scrape her off the floor like Reina did the other day when Jack became violently ill on his new medication. I just want her to be well.

Her voice sounds in my ears and I replay the very words she said to me the night I told her I relapsed.

You don’t have to be perfect, you just have to be well.

The doorbell rings, interrupting my thoughts and I lift myself off the couch to answer it. Realizing I’ve been sitting in the dark for the last two hours, I flick on the lights and pull open the door. Relief strikes me as I stare into Reina’s eyes.

“Where is she?” she questions, entering the house and removing her leather jacket.

“Upstairs,” I reply, closing the door. “She hasn’t left the bed.”

I watch as she throws the jacket on the back of the couch and turns to me.

“Does Jack know you’re here?”

Placing her hands on her hips, she cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

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