“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!”
“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.”
The Same Deep Water Page 17