The Same Deep Water

by Swallow, Lisa

  “I lost it.” He stands in the kitchen doorway, lips pursed.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Paper. A print out.” He waves his hands around and scans the room.

  “In there?” I suggest and point at the cupboard.

  Guy smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course!” He roots around inside and produces two pieces of paper. “Here. I got a copy for you.”

  Guy passes me a booking confirmation for flights to England in July. “Guy!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t do this! I need to check if I can take the time off work. I told you that.”

  “Well, now you have the dates.”

  “I can’t say yes!”

  “Why? Phe, I need to go soon.” He perches on the coffee table opposite me, shoulders slumping.

  I reach out and touch his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit... agitated.”

  “Do I? Sorry. I become too focused on things sometimes.”

  “Your love for life,” I say with a smile.

  “Making the most. Sometimes there aren’t enough hours in the day so I make more.” Guy picks at the yellow paint stuck beneath his nail.

  “By not sleeping?”

  “Occasionally.” He points at the sheet. “Go on, take that, and give the date to HR at work. Say yes.”

  I look carefully at the flight times – and cost. “Have you paid for this?”

  “Yes. I want to. Don’t pay me back.”

  “I can’t do that! That’s your money!”

  “Can’t take all this with me, Phe.” He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “I thought maybe you could have my house too.”

  “Wow. Guy. Can we stick to one topic of conversation?” And not that one.

  “Fine. Take it.” He points at the paper. “Book your holidays from work then we’ll plan more of what to do.”

  I carefully fold the sheet and push the paper into my pocket. “Maybe you should rest, Guy. Settle a bit.”

  He scrunches his face. “Am I too much? There’s so much I want to do before they... before I run out of time.”

  I stand. “How about I go home and you come over to mine later?”

  His face dimples. “You mean when I’ve calmed down?”

  “You’re exhausting! I’m tired from last night. This was supposed to be a quick visit to see if you were alright.”

  “I am absolutely fine.” He kisses me briefly on the mouth.

  “If we’re going out, I need to change too.” I indicate my scruffy black track pants and loose grey top.

  “No worries, I’ll come over later. I guess I should have some breakfast.”

  “Lunch.”

  He grins. “Lunch.”

  Guy disappears into the kitchen leaving me with an uncertainty I can’t place my finger on, and a certainty there’s something going on with him he’s choosing to hide.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Guy appears at my house a couple of hours later, bringing with him energy I swear he shouldn’t have. A thought strikes and I study him. Does Guy do drugs? If he’s living life to the fullest and staying up all night, that could be how he manages.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, searching my face in return.

  “I am. Have you slept yet?”

  “No. I wanted to see you.” He slips his hand behind me and grabs my ass. “I was going to suggest we stay home, but I really want to go into the city.”

  “You do? Last night you didn’t!” I bristle.

  “I have something to show you, too! Hurry up!” He points at my handbag. “Got everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s go!”

  When we head out of the house, Guy stops next to a black sports car I don’t recognise. The lights flash as he hits the remote and I stare.

  “You have a new car?”

  “Yeah. Like it?”

  “Very nice. Expensive.”

  Without replying, Guy climbs inside. I join him, perching onto the cool cream leather seat. The weird combination of new car scent mingles with Guy’s familiar cologne.

  A car isn’t needed for the length of the journey we’re taking; a bus would be as good. Strange that Guy wanted to flaunt this; recently he’s chosen to drive his Jeep over his flashier cars. “You must have a lot of money,” I say.

  “You know I do. You’re funny that you never ask why.”

  “I didn’t think it was my business.” I smooth my short dress. So many questions I haven’t asked because I choose not to. “Where’s your money from if you don’t work?”

  “I inherited a lot. My father was one of the original Silicon Valley millionaires. He was part of the team who invented the internet.” He glances at me. “Impressive, huh?”

  “I guess. Yes. He was American?” My scalp prickles, and the voice asking why I’ve chosen not to pry grows louder. “You’re not American, are you?”

  “No, Aussie. My mum was, and I was born here. My father died last year. He’d split with my step-mother and, as the only surviving kid, I inherited a lot of the money.”

  Another ignored question pushes up. “Right. So you have no family?”

  “Not really. Not close by, anyway.”

  “Don’t you feel isolated going through all this on your own?”

  “I was always isolated, Phe,” he says quietly. “Put some music on!”

  The volume of the sound system assaults my ears as he hits a control and I grab at the dial in front of me. “Guy! Turn that down!”

  “Sorry!” The music quiets and he gestures at the LCD screen listing radio stations. “Your choice.”

  I swallow down the feeling something definitely isn’t right with Guy and choose the first station saved to his device. Has he had bad news about his condition and chosen to live harder and faster?

  * * *

  The club Guy chooses is on the outskirts of the popular areas; and immediately, I’m on edge. The clientele are a world away from the club I spent the night in with Erica last night. Opening straight onto the street, steps lead down from the unmanned entrance and into a dim room. I adjust my eyes and hover at the edge of the doorway, against dark painted walls covered in classic movie posters and badly printed flyers for local bands. A tall man with a ponytail stands at the bar. With him is a girl in jeans and a black t-shirt with the sleeves roughly cut away. She looks at me with disdain. I thought I was going somewhere me and Guy usually visit and chose a dress I bought last week – light pink and feminine. Nobody else in this venue is light pink and feminine.

  Guy doesn’t speak to anybody, which confuses me further. If he’s going to bring me somewhere like this, I’d presume he knew people. Even for a Sunday, the small room is filled.

  I sit with Guy at the bar on a tall stool beneath the neon lights. “Why have we come here?” I ask.

  “Because I don’t want anybody to know I’m in the city,” he says without looking at me, and raises his hand to call over the bar man.

  I ask for a Coke and Guy laughs, then buys me one with vodka in. I’m not a big drinker; and since the disastrous night in Dunsborough, I haven’t seen Guy drink much. Tonight he lines up shots, encouraging me to join in. I take one but retch at the sour tasting tequila.

  “Get me another vodka instead,” I whisper in his ear over the music. “With Coke, Guy.”

  “Ah.” I watch as Guy calls the barman back over, and taps his wallet on the bar. The edginess remains, but his eyes are bright.

  The scruffy barman looks at me with disinterest, as he places a glass on the bar in front of me, and several more shots in front of Guy.

  I sit on the stool, tense, wanting nothing but to leave. How can I persuade Guy to go home before he gets wasted? Guy chatters exuberantly, as he does sometimes, talking about his plans for England. I attempt to interrupt a couple of times with my own suggestions, but he talks over me. I look into his eyes, and they’re distant, as if he’s recounting a film he’s watching in his mind. No
rmally on days like these, I love his gregariousness and the light this brings to my life; but this evening he worries me.

  “Are you sure everything is alright?” I ask Guy, witnessing his tenth shot.

  “Yes!”

  “You don’t seem yourself.”

  “Phe! I’m just having fun! What’s wrong with that?” He leans from his stool so his mouth meets mine, a hard, sudden kiss before he turns back and downs another shot with a wink at me.

  “Some of us have to work tomorrow!” I protest.

  “Ah, crap, sorry.” He slides a hand along my leg, fingers disappearing under my dress. “Staying with me tonight?”

  “I don’t know. You’re freaking me out a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re intense today.”

  Guy holds both his hands up, palms out. “I’ll stop. No more drinks.”

  “I think I want to leave.” I climb down from the high barstool.

  He runs a hand through his hair and watches me, remaining seated. “Some days, I want to forget.”

  I sigh and put a hand on his leg. “I understand that, but this isn’t like you. I thought you went for natural highs.”

  Guy climbs down from the stool. “Do you think I’m high?” he asks, tugged brow showing disbelief.

  “I don’t know, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t do drugs anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “Come on, everybody smoked a bit of weed when they were a teen. That’s all I mean.”

  “I didn’t!”

  He snorts. “Fine. Well, nothing illegal. Promise.”

  I eye the line of empty shot glasses. “I don’t think you can drive home.”

  “No worries, you can.” He pulls his keys from a pocket and tosses them to me.

  I catch them. I haven’t had much to drink, but I’m not keen on driving his car. “Can we call a taxi?”

  “Phe! Come on, I’m not leaving that car in the city overnight. It won’t be there when I come back tomorrow.” He grabs my hand. “Let’s go back to mine.”

  I’m dubious about driving; I’m unused to cars this powerful. I attempt to drive and Guy giggles drunkenly at my second tyre screech in as many minutes until I get a handle on the car’s performance and drive us to his house.

  “We should go somewhere next weekend,” he announces as I navigate the street through his suburb.

  “Something on the bucket list?”

  “Nope. Had enough of that for now.”

  But that’s what we are. Who we are. Take that from the equation and we lose the one excuse that we’re not one hundred percent a real couple. “What do you mean?”

  “This.”

  “This?”

  I wait for a reply; but Guy’s now flicking through the radio stations, the jarring of each track change confusing me. “Turn the music down.”

  He does. Then says nothing. With the amount of alcohol Guy’s had, I’m surprised the journey hasn’t lulled him to sleep.

  We arrive and head into his darkened house. Guy strides ahead, flicking switches until every downstairs room is brightly lit. I follow him into the kitchen, squinting.

  The paper and pastels are back, strewn across the table; the kitchen sink filled with empty mugs and glasses. “Drink?” he asks, taking a couple of glasses from the glass-fronted cupboard.

  “No.” He pulls a bottle of wine from the rack anyway. “Can you stop now, please?”

  For a few moments, he watches me. “Okay. Something else?”

  Before I register what’s happening, the kitchen door slams closed behind me and I’m pinned against the wood, my head held firmly by Guy as his mouth crashes onto mine. My mind protests but my body yields immediately, the need in his kiss snatching my breath. Guy lifts me against his hips, hand sliding under my ass beneath my dress, and digs his fingers into the skin. I pull my mouth away and Guy moves to my neck nipping along the soft skin until he reaches my collarbone. Pinioning me, he pulls my dress away from my shoulder, the material straining as the straps are stretched downwards.

  Nothing is said, he doesn’t look at me, then focuses on his exploration of my exposed breasts, his breath speeding. Do I stop him or go with the moment? Guy shifts my weight then drags my panties to one side, and I take a sharp intake of breath as he thrusts a finger into me. He murmurs something against my skin and slides a second finger in, pushing his thumb onto my clit at the same time.

  I’m stunned, but don’t stop him. This is the first time he’s physically connected with me in days, and I crave being wanted by him. I don’t want to stop. Guy’s passionate, but never unrestrained like this. The movement of his hand sparks a lust of my own and I drag his head to mine, and push my tongue into his mouth.

  He withdraws his fingers, grabs me under the ass again, and presses me into the wall. “Jesus, I’ve wanted to fuck you all night,” he breathes and sinks his teeth into my shoulder.

  I inhale sharply at his words and action. Guy’s breath comes in hard, fast pants against my neck as he returns to pressing his fingers inside me, sucking on my nipples. I didn’t expect this to turn me on so readily, but the intensity of the evening spills over and I’m lost to him.

  Guy struggles with the button on his jeans, and I help unzip him. He drops me to the floor for a moment and pulls a condom from his back pocket.

  “I would take you to bed, but I want to do this here,” he says in a low voice.

  My heart hammers against my chest. The intensity rolling from him isn’t frightening, but contagious, being desired on this level, looked at as if he wants to devour me delves to the centre of my primal self too.

  “Here?” I ask hoarsely. I fix my eyes on his, hear him open the wrapper and slide the condom onto himself.

  “Fuck, yes.” Guy pulls me up against the wall again, and the tip of him pushes against me. He pauses long enough for me to indicate if I’ve changed my mind, but I hold his waist and pull him closer.

  Green light given, Guy thrusts into me and I catch my breath. One arm on the wall above me, and the other gripping my backside, Guy continues to push, watching my expression. I shift against him, matching his shallow breaths as my body slams against the wood of the door. Guy grabs the back of my thighs and pulls my legs apart, rocking into and stretching me. I grab a handful of his hair and pull his face up, grazing my teeth against his lip. He growls and pushes harder, more frenzied than he’s ever been.

  “You’re so tight,” he gasps and plunges his tongue into my mouth again.

  One of my shoes falls, hitting the floor. The other follows but I barely notice anything but the building orgasm. I hold my breath against the wave, tightening around Guy until the shattering bliss hits. I bite into his shoulder to stop crying out; and within seconds, Guy matches my release, pushing himself to the hilt.

  For a moment, he rocks against me and my awareness of my surroundings returns, the hard wood against my back and the awkward position Guy’s holding me at. He gently releases me and steadies me as I stumble to my feet.

  “That was intense,” he murmurs and covers my face with kisses.

  I hold onto him. “You’re telling me! What the hell has got into you?”

  Guy removes the condom and ties a knot before slinging it into the kitchen bin and I adjust my clothes.

  “Living life with the girl I love,” he says as he returns, zipping up his jeans. His face is flushed, perspiration across his forehead as he looks at me with eyes filled with painful tenderness.

  “Are you really okay?” I whisper and touch his mouth.

  “Yes. Stop worrying.” He slaps my ass. “Bed. More where that came from.”

  I step back and cross my arms. “What if I don’t want to spend the night with a sex-crazed man?”

  He grins. “But that’s the exact reason you should want to stay here tonight.”

  Guy takes my hand and kisses my fingers in a romantic gesture that’s strange considering the animalistic passion of several minutes ago. My le
gs shake from the hard, fast sex as we head upstairs. I don’t know what should bother me more – Guy’s behaviour or the fact I enjoyed what he did. Every day with Guy I take another step toward being a different person.

  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.”