The Same Deep Water (18 page)

“Let me explain.”

I grab the list scrunched in his hand and stare through blurring eyes. His tenth item is scrawled out. ‘Fall in love’. “Why did you cross that one off?”

“I told you. I love you.”

I screw the list in my hand as I attempt to control my anger. “No! You don’t! You’re ill.” My heart pounds, a black sickness overcoming me. “How could you do this knowing my history?”

“Phe. I don’t want to anymore. I never want to finish my list!” He curls a hand around mine and grips, but I yank my fingers away.

“I can’t trust you. Months and you didn’t breathe a word. Lied, told me you had a brain tumour.”

“I do have something in here!” He taps his head. “Pushing out my life. My illness may as well be a tumour. Nothing can cut this out of my head.”

“I don’t want to listen to any more of this craziness! I should never have let you into my life!” Mouth dry and heart pounding so hard that Guy’s words fade into the background, I move into the hallway and to his front door.

“Don’t leave!”

I pause and look back. “Please don’t contact me again.”

“Phe! I’m trying to explain to you why things are different now!”

A man covered in colour is the darkest I’ve seen him the whole time we’ve been together. Lost, confused, unhappy; but I’m numb from his words, desperately holding back from breaking down because I’m unsure if anger will be the first and unhelpful reaction. My hands shake and I tuck them beneath my arms.

“Things are very different now,” I say hoarsely. “You’re right.”

“Please, don’t leave, Phe,” he says, standing in the kitchen doorway, shoulders slumped. “Don’t let me destroy you too.”

“You haven’t destroyed me! I won’t let you! So don’t you dare add me to your deranged list of things you deserve to die for!” I snap.

Guy blinks several times.
Oh, my God, he believes he has
. “Okay.”

“I’m a stronger person since I met you!” I jab myself in the chest. “Yes, you’ve torn away something that I believed in, that made me happy, but you’re not tearing down who I am!” My heart twists with more pain than I’m willing to show. How can this man be the one I’ve held in there? “You need help. I can’t help you.”

“I can change. I am changing, just like you are.”

“No! I don’t even know you, Guy or Noah or whoever the hell you are!”

I startle as Guy’s doorbell rings and he shoves his hands in his pockets, backing up. The shrill sound of Guy’s ringtone interrupts me and he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Lottie.” He listens for a few moments, staring at the floor. “Yes, I am at home.” I faintly hear her voice from the phone. “I know. I’m fine now. I needed to speak to Phe.”

Somebody bangs on the door. I turn and open it. Lottie looks in surprise at me, phone to her ear then ends the call and tucks the phone in her bag as she steps past.

“I said I’m fine! I’m not leaving with you again!” says Guy, turning back to the kitchen. “The hospital wouldn’t have let me leave if they didn’t think I’m okay!” he calls back.

Lottie rubs her eyebrow with delicate fingers as she turns her dark green eyes to me. “I thought you must be Phe. He mentioned you, and I put two and two together.”

“Will he be alright?” I ask indicating the direction he headed.

“He’s not dangerous, not to himself or others, despite what he thinks.” She gently closes the front door. “He’s back on his medication and heading in the right direction, maybe it’s a good thing he saw you today, to explain. Although, I was trying to persuade him not to.”

“Why?” I frown at her interference.

“In case you weren’t coping, the last thing he needs is an hysterical ex.”

I swallow.
Ex
. “Well, as you can see I’m not. He just told me his plans though. About wanting to kill himself.”

“At least he’s told people now.” She rests against the wall and glances in Guy’s direction.

“I really didn’t know him, did I?” I whisper.

“He’s not a bad person. Noah’s experienced a lot of tragedy in his life, but I’m sure he can get through. He’s stronger than he thinks.”

An echo of Guy telling me the same runs across my mind. “I hope so. He seems good just… Unwell.”

“Yes. I’m hoping now he’s seen you he can accept that he hasn’t repeated the past.”

“What do you mean?”

Lottie chews her lip as she studies me. “Maybe one day he’ll tell you about that himself.”

“I don’t think so. I can’t see him again.” I push down the Phe who wants to walk after Guy, take hold of him, and pull him from the edge the way he helped me. She’s resurfacing from where I’ve submerged her in the confused, angry sadness of the last few weeks.

I came here expecting him to tell me where he’d been and why he’d lied, but this is beyond comprehension. “I have to go. Tell Guy – Noah – I hope things work out. I can’t face him right now.”

I pull open the door and step out of Guy’s life. The cool air hits me, filling my lungs as I gasp in air. On the verge of a panic attack, I close my eyes and focus on slow, deep breaths.

Leave.

Guilt follows me to the bus stop, and I’m angry that the emotion even gets a look in. Why do I feel guilty when Guy’s the one that caused the damage? If he had disappeared and never contacted me again, things would be easier than to find out he’d betrayed me so spectacularly. On the bus, I stare out of the window, lost at the edge of the deep water again, listening to the inhale and exhale of my breath.

In the last week, I’d moved away from him, accepted I wouldn’t see Guy again; and now he emerges again and does this. My mind anaesthetised by the shock, I watch the world travelling past the window. But in my mind’s eye is Guy and the anguish on his face when he spoke about his illness, when he told me how hurting me, hurt him.

I don’t have the capacity to help somebody who deceived me for so long.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The days that follow Guy’s confession pass in a deadened haze. I spend the time carefully picking at the painful cord wrapped around my heart, furious with myself for feeling how I do. I swore I wouldn’t fall in love because the fallout would blow my life to pieces again, but I did. Yet, I surprise myself. With the aching emptiness comes the acceptance that this is not my fault. I did nothing wrong apart from tangle myself with a deceitful person. A sick mind. With my history, I’m aware how mental illness can create behaviour which well people would never consider, but I never dragged anybody down with me.

I understand little about the condition Guy told me about and I look at support sites. My heart tore again as I read other sufferers’ stories, of their lifelong battle. This doesn’t change my mind about Guy. He knew we were growing close, was aware I’d discover the truth eventually, but he didn’t stop. Did Guy intend to carry out his plans? That one thought alone sickens and confuses me the most.

Who did I fall in love with? Guy. A man who doesn’t exist.

Over the next couple of weeks, Guy attempts to call, his number flashing on my phone screen every couple of days. He doesn’t leave voice or text messages. I don’t call back, but send a message asking him not to contact me. A clean slice through the past we share makes sense. Is this wrong of me? Possibly, but the only way I can cope is to gather everything that I let spill out and push the emotions back inside myself. Guy returns an ‘I understand’ message and tells me he’s in hospital.

A week later, Lottie calls me. I don’t recognise the number and, thinking the call is work related, I answer.

“Hello, Phe?”

“Who’s this?”

“Lottie. I’m calling on behalf of Noah.”

Noah.
I blink away the last images I have of him, confused and lost. “What do you mean on behalf of him?”

“He’s worried about you. I told him to leave this, that your relationship’s over and he understands. But I think it would help if I could tell him you’re okay.”

“Tell Guy I’m fine and to worry about himself.”

I consider ending the call. I don’t want to snap back to thoughts of Guy again.

“Noah stopped taking his medication a couple of months ago, that’s what happened,” Lottie explains.

“No, what happened is he told me his name is Guy and that he’s dying,” I snap back. “I have no idea about his motivation behind doing this but I hope that helps you understand why I don’t want to see or hear from him again.” I pause, aware how cold I sound. “Sorry, I hope he’s going okay but I’ve been unwell too. I’m too fragile to deal with what has happened between us.”

“I do understand,” she says softly. “Noah’s better than he was now he’s back in hospital. Once his medication is stable again, he’ll be good. I hope you can see this was what caused his behaviour.”

“Not all of his behaviour. Guy was unwell but he wasn’t totally irrational, he was functioning enough to keep the truth hidden. He had many chances to explain, but he carried on lying to me. I could’ve helped him. Has he told you our full story?”

“No. He won’t tell me much about you but he says he’s talking to his psychologist about why he behaved as he did.”

“I’m sorry, Lottie. I don’t have the strength to risk becoming close to Guy again. I need to forget about him.”

“I think he understands that.”

I close my eyes and inhale. “He’s alright though?”

“He’ll be fine. This is the worst he’s been for years. I think his father’s death last year compounded the situation he was in a couple of years before and he never grieved properly. I’m confident he’ll get back to normal again.”

Normal? What is normal? To him or to anybody? Lottie speaks with such conviction and holds the key to unlocking the box holding more of Guy’s secrets. I waver. I could ask to speak to him, but then what?

No. I may have lost my travelling companion, but my road ahead is clearer.

Chapter Thirty

My sessions with the psychologist delve deeper than before. My past conversations with Guy dug into the buried fears and thoughts, and pushed them to the surface. For the first time in therapy, I let go of the guilt about my family’s deaths, frame my life with what I want and need, instead of what is expected. I never appreciated how my confidence at work increased recently, or how my ability to stand up for myself and not accept unfounded criticism improved. Talking to the psychologist painted a picture of the person I’m becoming.

My response to Guy’s betrayal, my refusal to let this pull me into a black hole, demonstrates the strength Guy gave me, and that confuses me a hell of a lot.

I join Jen on nights out, become part of her social circle but this is the one place I hover on the edge. Guy has nipped in the bud any desire to start a relationship. I want to spend time dictating my own life. Finally, I’m in control but in a different way; the need to micromanage my life slips into an ability to trust myself.

My latest session with a psychologist at the clinic passes in conversation rather than analysis, and she suggests we cut the sessions to monthly – then less. Several months of therapy and I’m finally coming to the end. I hope one day I might even be free of the medication. Whatever happens, I can’t imagine being back where I was seven months ago.

Outside, much needed rain deluges the carpark. When I arrived earlier the clouds in the sky were sparse, and as I look up the irony hits. In the quiet room with Cathy, my dark clouds lifted but out here, I step back into them. Life moves on as fast as the clouds travel above me and I will live that life to the fullest.

Rain bounces off the tarmac and as I have no jacket or umbrella, I head to find the small hospital cafe to wait for the storm to pass. The bright lobby holds two elevators and several large signs listing the doctors and departments in the large private hospital. A couple pass, the woman heavily pregnant, her shoes squelching while her partner fusses over her. I smile at them and step out of the way, as I continue to look for the direction I need to go.

I’m about to head to the low wooden reception desk when a nearby figure catches my attention. A tall man with blond hair heads down the carpeted hallway in my direction.

Guy stops when he sees me. A man weaves past, Guy’s sudden stop almost tripping him.

My mouth dries at the sight of him. This is the first time I’ve seen him in almost six weeks. He approaches with a wary smile, the dimples digging into his cheeks. Guy’s face has lost the pallor of last time I saw him, his hair growing back to the length of the night we met.

“Hello, Phe,” he says quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Looking for the cafe.” The words come from my mouth, but I’m unaware of anything but my heart whooshing blood into my ears. The Guy I’ve held in my mind is the sick man who told me his horrific secret, in turn indicating how little I meant to him. The one in front of me now is the old Guy. The one I loved.

He wrinkles his nose. “Don’t. The coffee is bad. You’re better off finding a place nearby.”

We regard each other warily as the rain bounces off the forecourt to the hospital and I incline my head. “I’m killing time until that stops.”

“Good idea.”

A woman holding a small child’s hand and pushing a stroller appears, wrangling the child into the elevator. I step out of the way, aware we’re obstructing the doors but Guy stays and holds the heavy metal door open, ensuring they don’t close on the little boy heading in after her.

“Thank you,” she says and gives Guy a smile.

“No worries,” he replies.

Guy steps away again and my heart leaps a little at the man who’s naturally a gentleman, not missing the subtle second glance the mother gives him.

“You’re not ill again are you?” he asks, frowning.

“Psychologist.”

“Oh. Helping?”

“Yes. Immensely.” I pause. “You?”

“Psychiatrist.”

“All the psychs,” I say with a weak smile.

Guy digs his hand into his black jacket pockets. “We always meet in the strangest of places.”

“Right.” I rub my cheek, unsure what happens next. A voice inside urges me to run, but a different voice whispers to stay and talk. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Showing me the way to travel.”

A muscle twitches in Guy’s cheek. “It was a fun journey with you. I’m glad you carried on and didn’t fall off the path.”

I laugh. “You love your metaphors, don’t you?”

“Life is one big metaphor.” He grins. “How’s the bucket list?”

I stiffen. “Fine. How’s yours?”

“I tore the list up, Phe,” he says softly. “So, thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You showed me a new direction.”

How can an ordinary moment hold so much? We’re in public, in reality, but all I feel is the rope tightening around us again. I battle against reaching out to Guy; annoyed I want his touch too. Look at us. We would never have worked.

“You mean you’ve changed your mind about your lack of future?” I ask.

“I’ve decided to follow your example and not run from what the future holds.” He sighs. “I’m accepting that I
have
this... illness and not that I
am
this.”

“And working through the issues with your past?”

“Are you?”

I laugh. “What a weird conversation and strange place to have it.”

Guy takes my elbow, the way he did at the masquerade ball and guides me to a seating area. Two upholstered armchairs and a low round table are situated near the window at the front of the hospital. His touch triggers the past, sweeping away the last few weeks. When he sits, I join him. Guy leans forward, elbows on his knees, cupping his chin in both hands.

“I am very sorry about what I did,” he says. “About the lies.”

I’m caught in the swell again, Guy’s presence the real reason I’ve stayed away. He is more than his illness, as I’m more than mine. But this strange sensation that seeing him again has reconnected me with a missing piece of my soul is washed away by the doubt I could ever trust him again.

“I would say it’s fine, but it’s not, Guy. But thank you for apologising.”

“I tried to talk to you and explain, but you wouldn’t answer my calls.”

I sit on my hands. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know you. You weren’t the man I loved.”

The rain pelts the outside world; cool air blasts my back as the nearby glass entrance doors slide open. I keep my eyes fixed on the window, convincing myself the blurring is the rain and not my eyes.

“I understand.” His voice is loaded with sincerity and sorrow. “I missed you,” he says, the words barely audible. “I regret not telling you the truth every minute of every day since you walked away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me at the beginning?”

“I thought you’d run. You had your own mental health issues. I didn’t think you’d want a relationship with a man who has his own.”

“Wrong, I didn’t want a relationship with a man who lied to me. When I think about what you hid and what you planned to do, I feel sick.” I look into his deep-water eyes. “What hurts the most is you couldn’t ask me for help.”

“I did the wrong thing. I stopped taking my meds because I felt better around you. I thought I could be well and then I’d deserve you.”

“I would’ve accepted you. Everything about you, apart from the plan to end your life.”

“I think I’d already changed my mind about that,” he says with a small smile. “A few weeks with you and the plans began to unravel. Until the voices came back to remind me.”

“And now?”

“The voices ruined everything and then they left. I should never have stopped the meds.” The low round table between us is a barrier against the possibility of physical contact. Am I relieved or unhappy about that? What would I do if he reached out? “But I don’t know if I’ll be Noah again, even if he isn’t the bad guy anymore.”

“I prefer when you’re just some guy. I like him.”

Guy laughs, eyes lighting up. “Guy was happier, until I fucked up.” His phone beeps and he pulls it from his jacket. He glances at the text. “Crap. Sorry. I have to go.”

“Oh. Right.”

He stands. “You need a ride somewhere? I can drop you on the way.”

The downpour continues, a vertical sheet of water from the sky with no sign of a break. Ten minutes to the bus, ten minutes from the bus to my house. In the rain.

But can I go with Guy and resist asking to see him again? I stand too, almost knocking into Guy and he steadies my arm. The ocean scent reaches over to me, pulling up memories of his skin against mine.

Guy zips up his black canvas jacket. “Okay?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

We step into the arched entrance, the wind blowing the water toward us and I shiver in my thin jacket. Guy’s presence sends a mix of emotions, releasing ones I don’t want.

I can’t go with him.

“I think I’ll take the bus,” I say.

He steps to one side. “Right. You sure?”

“Probably best.”

“Probably.”

I shiver as the wind pushes against my thin coat. “Are you still going to England next month?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t think so.” I’ve considered this over and over, changed my mind numerous times. Some days the idea of continuing my journey appeals, others I’m constrained by the Phe lurking beneath – the one filled with anxiety and doubt. Could I travel so far alone?

Guy nods and chews on his lip. “Going was on my bucket list. The one that doesn’t exist anymore, remember? So I can’t.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think.”

We exchange more awkward smiles, and Guy digs his hands into his jacket pockets again. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Phe.”

“Yes, we can hang out in the psych ward together.”

“I don’t think things will come to that again, will they?”

I don’t know. Will they?
“Bye, Guy. Noah.”

Why am I fighting tears? When I walked away last time, I didn’t feel the wrench I do now. The pain in Guy’s eyes from that day is replaced by hope; hope dimming as I look away again.

“Guy. For you, I’m Guy.”

Terrified the emotions will deluge me along with the rain, I step out onto the tarmac to cross the road, eyes blurring. A car screeches to a halt in front of me. At the same time, Guy yanks me by the arm and onto the pavement.

“I thought you said you’d lost your death wish?” he asks.

“Funny.”

The rain flattens my hair, dripping down my nose and Guy blinks raindrops from his long lashes. “How’s your bucket list going?”

“I went surfing. I’m having lessons.”

“Wow. That’s awesome, Phe. Well done.”

I shrug my shoulders. “You got me halfway there.”

“I did.” Guy extends a hand and wipes rain from my cheek, his cold fingers resting on my skin as he looks at me. “I’m always happy to help with your list even though I’ve ditched mine.”

“I’m amazed at how much I’ve done in just a few months.”

He grins. “Write another. Bigger challenges. Overseas.”

I pace from one foot to the other as the water splashes across my feet; we can’t talk about lists. “I should go.”

“Of course.”

I don’t want to walk away; no longer aware of anything but the possibility of reaching out to the man whose presence reminds me he stopped me sinking under.

“Number five,” he whispers.

I don’t have a chance to reply before Guy’s mouth meets my lips, a raindrop from his nose touching mine at the same time. His lips are cool and familiar, the softness becoming firm as I press mine on his in return.

I pull away before the kiss deepens. We stand, fingers on each other’s cheeks, and my heart aches because I can’t do what we both want. He’s connected to a part of myself I’m cutting away: naïve, scared, and confused. But then he’s also responsible for pulling the new Phe away from her. His face shines in the rain, the radiance in his smile not matched by the sad understanding in his eyes.

“Life’s never like the movies, is it?” he asks and shakes water from his jacket.

“No.”

A car splashes through the water nearby and a woman climbs out, onto the pavement next to us. The curious look she gives pushes back in my awareness that I’m in the rain outside a hospital with a man I never wanted to see again. A man whose kiss reunited me with a part of myself that he’ll never give back.

“Keep your head above the water, Ophelia,” he whispers and brushes his lips against my mouth, scruff scraping my cheek.

Something has filled my throat with cotton wool, absorbing the words. I have this moment to ask Guy to stay, to go somewhere and talk, but I can’t speak.

He sighs. “I understand what you’re saying by not saying anything. My number hasn’t changed if you want to meet up sometime. But I totally understand why this should be a hello and goodbye.”