The Same Deep Water (17 page)

His.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I spend the next day in a happy haze, body buzzing with the after effects of the night with Guy. Following the lust-filled encounter in the kitchen, he switched to lovemaking with an intense gentleness where he told me he loved me, and looked at me as if I was the most precious thing in the world.

Memories and images switch from making me blush to creating a need for more, but unease underlies the evening. Guy seemed calmer this morning, although he was already awake and working on his laptop when I woke. I can’t shake the niggling worry that something has happened in his life to trigger the behaviour. With that, comes the fear over what – and why he hasn’t told me.

I exchange a couple of texts with Guy and we arrange for him to come over to my place; I offer to cook. To my relief, Jen heads out for the evening with Cam and I shower and change.

The Guy who arrives a few hours later immediately worries me, carrying the air he does when things are troubling him. His eyes are sunken, the over-exertion of the last few days catching up on his pale face, ageing him.

“I need to talk to you,” he says quietly as soon as I close the door.

“Alright...”
No kiss. No touch. Nothing
. A creeping anxiety replaces the happy buzz of the day. Guy glances at me then looks away. “Now?”

“I guess.”

I head to the kitchen; but when I turn to speak to Guy, he’s still in the hallway. His agitation is clear as he runs a hand across his hair, staring at his feet. I swallow; my sixth sense is correct and I don’t want to be right.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.” He rests against the wall in the hallway.

“What’s wrong, Guy? Has something happened?” I pause. “Did the doctor tell you something bad? Is that what’s happening?”

He’s retreated again, the way Guy folds inward, the peace and happiness lost. The other man, drowning. “This isn’t good. This is wrong.”

“What?”

In his eyes is a different person, not the one who looked at me tenderly and shared his heart. He’s distracted, switched off, as if he sees through me. “I hurt people. I kill people.”

“Guy, we spoke about this. What’s happened?”

“They know and they told me this is wrong, that I shouldn’t do this.”

“Who knows?”

“My family. I knew they were watching me again. They’re supposed to leave me alone, but they always interfere.”

“Come and sit down.”

Guy shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “I should go.”

“No. Don’t!” I approach and take his arm, curling my fingers around his jacket. “Don’t go. Explain to me about your family.”

“Explain? Right. Because of what I did to them, my father didn’t want me. He sent me to live with my grandparents for years and moved away with his second wife.” Guy glances up at me. “Like I told you, he died a year ago – for once, not my fault. I moved away from the rest of the family. Didn’t want to be around them. But that doesn’t stop them following everything I do.”

“Maybe they’re worried about you and they want to mend bridges before you go?”

Guy digs his nails into his palms. “They don’t care, they get into my head and tell me what to do. If I won’t listen, they hassle me with reminders. Tell me how bad I am. Now they know about you and tell me to leave you alone.”

“This is your life, Guy. Ignore them. We can decide what to do. So bad things happened in the past, make this good. You won’t hurt me.”

“That’s the problem! One day, I will!” He runs both hands down his face. “I thought maybe this time I wouldn’t, that something good would survive.”

“What do you mean? Guy, please.” As he places a hand on the door handle, I step forward in alarm. He can’t leave like this, with misunderstandings. “Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong, you need to.”

He places his hands on the door, facing away from me. His rapid breathing and stiff stance are unlike anything I’ve seen from Guy before. “I haven’t just killed my mother!” he says through clenched teeth. “I don’t just hurt those I love. People die around me. My sister – killed her. My girlfriend – killed her.”

I step back and cross my arms, eyes widening. “What?”

He turns back to me and looks down. “So yeah, maybe your housemate is right. I am a psycho!”

For the first time, I’m scared of Guy. His height and bulk threaten me, and I know his strength. Then I look into his deep blue eyes and all I see is pain. He’s not a threat. On the beach when he told me about his mother, that was his interpretation and not reality. “Killed them or they died?”

“Died because of my actions. What if you do?” I attempt to take hold of him again and he throws my hands off his arms. “No. I’ll kill you, too.”

“Guy, calm down.”

“Don’t you see? I let myself fall into this, thought you could save me, but all I’ll do is take you down with me.” The agitation on his face spreads to his body as he drags his hands repeatedly through his hair. “Shit, shit, shit. See, we shouldn’t have gone there. We should’ve stopped.”

A key turns in the lock and Guy jumps away from the door. A surprised Jen walks into the house. The relaxed smile on her face freezes when she sees Guy.

“Are you okay?” she asks me.

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine. What’s happening?”

Guy pushes past her and out of the house. Jen stumbles then stares after him. “Jesus, that man is rude.”

I hang onto the pain spreading across my chest from where he tore the piece of himself away I thought he’d given, and give Jen a false smile.

“Sorry, we had a row. All good.”

Jen shakes her head. “He’s bad news, Phe. I keep telling you. Don’t get messed up by him.”

She heads into the house and I stand in the doorway, hand on the door. Do I follow him? Closing the door behind, I head down the low stone steps and along the path. The road is busy with cars and people strolling along the pavement in the autumn sunshine, living their ordinary lives. No Guy. Unable to know which direction he went, shaken by the encounter, I step away.

Guy took hold of me and shoved me hard, backwards. I don’t allow myself close to people because I can’t open up, frightened they won’t understand what lies beneath my facade. Look what happens the first time I let somebody into my world.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Guy doesn’t answer my calls or texts. Nothing. Ordinarily, I’d take this as meaning something is over; if a friend stops replying, I take the hint. In my limited experience with men, this is clearly ‘leave me alone’.

But my sixth sense won’t let me. This is a man, whose mask slipped and revealed somebody torn by pain, lashing out to push me away. This is the man who I’m starting to care deeply for, and he’s drowning.

Two days later, unable to stop thinking and worrying, I push away my pride and head to Guy’s house. Maybe he’s embarrassed, and doesn’t know how to contact me.

Maybe he doesn’t want to.

A woman answers the door, and the surprise on her face matches mine. Worry etches her delicate features, but all I notice is how stunning she is. Tall, graceful with dark auburn hair tied back, accentuating her sculpted face. She looks a few years older than me, but not much.

“Um. I’m Phe. I’m wondering...” I trail off as she scrutinises me. “I’m looking for Guy.”

The lady’s hand rests on the door, a large diamond ring above a wedding band.
Oh, God, please, no.
“Guy?”

“Guy Drew. He lives here.”

She frowns. “You know Noah?”

“Noah?”

“Noah. The man who lives here.”

The locked gate holding back all the minor suspicions I’ve held about him is unlocked by her words and the hidden doubts rush out.

“He said his name was Guy,” I say and hate how pathetic and stupid that sounds.

The woman steps back and opens the door wider. “He is Guy, but he’s Noah too.”

“Are you his...” I wave my hand at her rings. “Am I a complete idiot?”

She smiles. “I’m Lottie. Noah’s cousin.”

Noah.
What the hell is going on?

“So he’s not here?”

“Are you involved with him?”

Her quaint expression confuses me further. “We’re friends. More than. It’s complicated. I was worried about him, we had an argument a couple of days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“He’s not here, Noah’s back in hospital and I’ve come to collect some of his things.”

“Oh. Right.”

“He has told you he’s ill, hasn’t he?” I nod, and she watches me warily. “He doesn’t like to see people when he’s in hospital. If you like, I’ll ask if he wants to see you.”

“He’d phone if he wanted to see me,” I say defeated. He could’ve called me. I’d have helped. “He will be back out of hospital again, won’t he?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how long until he is. I’ll tell Noah you were looking for him.”

“No, it’s fine. Probably best leave things.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m rude, but I’m inclined to agree with you.”

Yes, rude, but I fix on a smile I don’t feel like giving.

That evening the encounter cycles around in my head, and I convince myself Lottie lied. Then I conclude I’ve been lying to myself. By the end of the evening, I’ve come to the conclusion Guy is married to Lottie and they both lied to me: about his name, his situation, and who he is. The hospital is the missing link. If this is the one truth, other parts could be too. But if Guy doesn’t want to see me, what difference does the truth make?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I’m kinda glad he’s gone,” says Jen.

Her out of the blue comment surprises me, interrupting my half-hearted viewing of the news as we sit together in our lounge room. “Guy?”

“Yeah. Something about him was off.”

“I expect so, since he’s dying.” I look at my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes, waiting for a response from Erica.

Jen’s silence doesn’t last long. “He looked fine to me.”

“Doesn’t mean he is.”

No message.

“So where is he?”

“In hospital?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t say?”

I look at Jen with an expression that tells her to shut up. “No. I haven’t seen him since that night two weeks ago. Like you said, he’s gone.”

The seed of doubt planted by Lottie germinates. Guy lied about his name. What else?

“Phe, I think you have a romantic notion about Guy that stops you seeing the truth.”

“What truth?”

Jen cradles her mug of coffee and sips. “You haven’t told me much about him and I understand why, because I don’t like him. How did you meet?”

“Weird story.”

She sighs. “Right. Do you know his friends?”

“Some of them. He’s a bit of a loner.”

“And what’s wrong with him?”

“Brain tumour.”

“Hmm.” Jen drains the rest of her coffee. “Tell me, if he cares about your relationship, why would he go to hospital and not tell you where?”

“I told you, we had an argument and maybe he was too sick to tell me.”

“Two weeks ago. And he hasn’t been in touch? No, Phe. Get out, now.”

“I care about him,” I whisper.

“He obviously doesn’t care about you.”

I don’t hear anything else Jen says to me, her words echo the voice in my head telling me the same, but the one in my head goes further. He told you he loved you and lied. Don’t trust him.

But I allowed myself to love him; to open my heart to a man I knew would leave me eventually. Although I never expected us to end like this.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The work pressure lessened when I spent time with Guy, pushing that side of my life into a compartment instead of being my focus. Now Guy’s disappeared, I’m aware that our relationship was my new focus. Instead of obsessing about every word I wrote at work, I’d obsess about everything I did with Guy.

I’d swapped using one thing to try to complete me to another. The fear of failure followed me, as with everything else in my life; but the idea I’ve been fooled beyond anything I could’ve predicted drags me down. After my third late night phone call in as many days seeking solace from the gathering clouds, Erica insists I return to the doctors. I’m angry, not only with Guy; but at how easily I can slip back toward the depression. The insidious darkness isn’t the worst, but the fear. Fear this will always control me.

My psychiatrist refuses to touch my medication until I’ve spoken to a psychologist again. This is a typical pattern too, a visit to a psychologist equals somebody attempting to tell me my thinking is all wrong. They don’t understand it’s easier to protect myself than open up. Unless I unlock the padlock to the chain that’s dragging me under I won’t move on.

Guy’s right. I’m terrified of life and I’m hiding. But look what happened when I put my trust into somebody who could show me life wasn’t the way I thought. He lied.

I leave an initial meeting with the psychologist where I attempted to field attempts to talk about my past, and head out to the grounds of the hospital where the clinic is located. As I have twenty minutes until my bus arrives, I check work emails and wander through the leafy grounds. I smile at the message from Erica on screen wishing me good luck but the smile freezes when there’s one from Guy underneath.

The emotions of the last four weeks hit with a deluge and I sink onto a low wall next to the clinic entrance. Cars pass by, circling and searching for parking spaces as I stare at the name. Guy.
Not Guy
. My first instinct is to ignore him, bury him back under, but my anger takes over.

The cool autumn breeze picks at the edge of my skirt as I remain seated, phone in hand, debating what to do. My head hurts after the session with the psych, as exhausted as if I’d run a marathon and Guy’s contact pushes me further to hiding back in my house.

My stomach fills with acid as I stare at the words I want to yell at him instead reduced to letters on a phone screen. How do they sound in his head when he reads them? Does he hear anger? Hurt?

he replies.

I expected silence or a ducking away from the topic, not an agreement. The world around retreats as I’m locked into the conversation on my phone screen, mind tumbling with questions I want to ask.

I ask.

I tip my head to the blue Perth sky, the one that stretches forever, rarely cloudy. How can I trust him?

****

I refuse Guy’s offer and take a taxi to his house. He offered to come to mine instead, but this is on my terms. I want his explanation and then I can draw a line. Move on. When I arrive, a shirtless Guy opens the door. If I weren’t so angry, I’d be distracted by the memory of his body against mine. His dark denim jeans mould his lithe figure but his eyes are again circled by dark shadows, blond hair grown longer and mussed.

“Hello, Phe,” he says, voice soft.

Colour covers the fingertips of his hand resting on the door, a rainbow from the pictures he never shows me. I don’t respond and he opens the door wider so I can walk inside.

The house is as pristine as ever, and I follow him into his large lounge. We stand awkwardly and I cross my arms over my chest in case he attempts to hug me. Guy grabs a grey t-shirt with a faded logo and drags it over his head.

“Who are you?” I demand. “Why did your cousin say you were Noah? Why did you lie about your name?”

“I
am
Guy.” He drags a wallet from his back pocket and flicks open before pulling out his driver’s licence. “Noah is my first name, but I don’t use it anymore.”

I stare at the licence. Noah Guy Drew. “Anymore?”

“I didn’t lie. My family calls me Noah still, but Guy means nothing to them.” We stand close but further apart than we’ve ever been.

“The name or the person means nothing?”

“Both. When I moved to Perth last year, I left everything behind that I could. I couldn’t have them controlling me anymore. I think being around them caused me to do the bad things.”

“What bad things? You keep mentioning them, but never explaining properly.”

“My mother, my sister... other people. If I stay away, I can’t cause any problems.”

I cross my arms tighter, and keep my distance. “But don’t they care you’re dying? Don’t they want to help you?”

“Lottie does, she understands and I can ask her for help.” He smiles. “She checks up on me anyway. Takes me to the hospital if things go downhill. I don’t mind when she’s in my head.”

The room is empty of photographs or signs of life. Even show homes have fake pictures of smiling people, taken from the stock photo sites I spend time combing at work. Why did I never notice?

Wrong
.

I noticed a lot, but never allowed myself to pay attention.

One thing has changed in the room. A huge canvas artwork spans the previously bare lounge wall. An ocean landscape, dark blue, the sky powdered by rainbows reflecting on the water like an oil slick. Drawn in by the vibrancy, I walk over until the picture encompasses my vision.

“That’s you,” Guy says from behind me. “And me.”

Despite the vivid combination of primary colours, the rainbow sky holds a chaos at odds with the still water. The dark ocean looks safer, somehow. I turn back to Guy and stare at his coloured fingers.

“What do you mean?”

“When I look at you, I see a girl who’s a world away from the one who almost took her own life. But I also see she’s hovering around you again. The colour radiating from you recently is fading. I wanted to capture my memory of you. Us. You’re hurting, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m not hurt. I’m angry with you,” I lie.

“I understand. I disappeared, never got in touch and –”

“No, that isn’t why.” What I denied when we were together can’t be ignored anymore. Why was I willing to look naïve and stupid when I figured this out long ago?

Sometimes, believing the lies we tell ourselves is easier than dealing with the truth.

“You’re not sick, are you Guy? Not physically. You’ve lied.”

Guy drags his fingers through his hair and leaves his hands enmeshed, elbows sideways out as he gazes back at me. “I
am
unwell.”

“
Have
you lied to me? Are you dying?”

Guy closes his eyes. “I am.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

In a sudden movement, Guy crosses to a tall beech-coloured unit and pulls open a drawer at the bottom. He scrabbles around inside and drags out a sheet of paper. His bucket list. Guy thrusts the paper at me; extra items are scrawled out from last time he showed me.

“I have to finish this, but I don’t want to anymore.”

I don’t take the paper. “Why?”

“Because when I do, I’m going to die.” His flat tone is one of acceptance, of somebody who’s given up and won’t fight anymore. For the first time since I stepped into the house, my heart twinges pain.

“How? How can you pinpoint that?”

Guy grips the paper in his hand then slowly sits on the large leather sofa nearby. “Do you believe in euthanasia?”

His words sting. “Are you talking about yourself? Are you in pain?”

“Always. Until I met you. Now I’m too scared to finish my list. I promised myself that’s what I’d do, before I killed anybody else.”

“You’re making no sense. Promised you’d do what?”

In the following silence, the wave of truth builds, rolling forward ready to sweep us apart. “I don’t deserve to have a life when they don’t! How many more can I take? What if I take yours?”

“Guy, stop it!”

Breathing heavily, he scrunches the paper and stares at me. “When I’ve finished the last item, I’m going to end my life.”

“Because you’re in pain?” I ask, fighting the wave cresting above. “Because you don’t want to suffer?”

“Because I’m not fucking worth it!” he shouts. “Haven’t you listened? I don’t deserve a life!”

The colour surrounding my vision melds, as the realisation hits and I’m pulled under. Deep down, I knew Guy hid the truth, but I never expected this. I can hardly form the words. “You’re going to kill yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t deserve to live.”

I drag the words together as I fight for enough breath to speak. “Who told you that?”

“They do.” He pushes his fingers against the side of his head. “Remember I believe in ghosts? Memories can be ghosts too, you know that. They push me to the edge, torture me, and I promised them – myself – I’d end everything before I destroyed anything else I loved.”

An image of myself in the dusk on the edge of the rocks jumps into my mind. “No! You stopped me! You don’t agree with running from life!” He doesn’t respond. “You’re lying! Saying this to make me leave! Can’t you end our relationship like a normal person?”

“I
am
sick. The times I said I was in hospital I was, with people claiming they can save my life and make me better. I have a death sentence, Phe, people with my condition die all the time.”

“What condition?”

Guy leaves the room, heading into the kitchen. He opens a cupboard and drags out white boxes with prescription labels attached. “When I was a teenager, they thought I was schizophrenic. Then they decided no, I was bipolar. Now they say I’ve got two for the price of one! But what the fuck does it matter what label they give me?” He slams the packets on the table in front of me. “I take all this and still the crap happens to people around me. Every time life goes okay, everything turns to shit again and somebody gets hurt. The things that happen to and around me aren’t because I’m mentally ill. This is something I do! I’m not living the rest of my life in fear.”

“Fear of what?”

Guy’s stance and tone prickle the back of my neck. Is he dangerous? Is Guy saying he’s going to hurt me? I grip my handbag, ensuring I’m close to the door.

“Aren’t you listening?” he shouts. “Bad enough I can’t have a normal life, but there’re things controlling me. The doctors say they can control them, but the forces are bigger than that!”

The man in front of me maintains his sense of defeat, slumped against the kitchen counter as he looks at the floor with a down-turned mouth. Guy believes what he’s saying, but his lucidity isn’t matched by his sick rationality.

“Guy. I don’t think you’re well still.”

“Of course I’m fucking not!”

“No, I mean you should be in hospital. Do you want me to call your cousin?” I ask gently.

“No point.”

“There is! You can get better!”

“Bullshit, Phe!” he snaps his head up.

I take a deep breath. “You let me fall in love with you even though you were planning this?”

“I did something worse than that,” he says hoarsely, moving toward me. “I fell in love with you.”

I back away. “You’re lying! You don’t love me! Otherwise, you wouldn’t stand there and tell me you want to kill yourself!”

“I don’t want to, but I have to!”

“Why?” I shout back.

“So I don’t hurt you!” He steps closer and reaches out before hesitating and lowering his hands.

“How mad does that sound, Guy? Can you understand how hurtful this is? The man who’s spent months showing me how to live my life wants to fill it with unhappiness again by choosing to die. You’re a fucking hypocrite!”

Guy’s eyes widen. “Swearing. That’s new.”

“Don’t fucking tease me!” I yell and push his chest. “You don’t say things like this and then joke around!”

“I’m not.” He seizes my arms. “Phe, I’m confused.”

“
You’re
confused? The man I love just told me his life isn’t worth living, a life I thought I was part of.”

“That’s the issue.” He drags me closer by the arms, short rapid breaths matching mine. “I’ve found somebody who makes life worth living.”

“But you want to kill yourself! Let me go!”