The Same Deep Water Read Free

long fingers curled around the cup. “You randomly buy flowers to give to girls?”
    “Why not? The flowers are thrown away by the store if they’re not sold.” He smiles to himself. “I like to see people’s reactions.”
    “I wouldn’t expect you find many girls here.”
    “I stop here on my way home sometimes. I told you, I like the view. I bought the flowers earlier and they were in the car when I saw you.” He pauses before adding quietly, “You looked like you really needed some flowers, Phe.”
    I shiver again. The headache is joined by an exhaustion as I give in to the change in my evening. “That’s a strange thing to do.”
    “So’s jumping off rocks.”
    “True.”
    The water is cool when I drink, and I hold the water in my mouth, the fizz bubbling against my cheeks as I focus on the flavour. Strawberry? Raspberry? Something more exotic? I swallow. Side by side, we don’t look at each other. Is Guy taking glances at me the way I am at him? His fringe reaches his heavy brow and every few minutes he sweeps a strand away, a gesture he probably doesn’t realise he’s repeating.
    Despite the warmth of the evening; my body shakes with the awareness of what I almost did.
    “Maybe I should take you to the hospital,” he says.
    “No!”
    “Okay. But I have to take you somewhere, otherwise, I won’t be able to tick you off my list.” He flashes me his dimpled smile.
    “Your bucket list. Of course.”
    “Will you write one?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Will you ask somebody for help?”
    When I turn my head, he’s searching my eyes for the answer he wants. “To write my list?”
    “No. To get well. To live your life instead of giving up.” The undercurrent of his words is clear in the intensity of the look we share. His is being taken. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to touch his face, ground myself completely with human contact, and ask him what lies beneath the deep water in his eyes.
    “I’ll ask for help. Again,” I say.
    “Good.” He stands. “Start with me. Either let me drive you somewhere or call a taxi.”
    My bag lies in the scrub where I dropped it earlier and I grab the strap.
    “Let’s go, Phe.” As Guy strides away, I hesitate, watching his tall figure as he steps into the shadows. I’m not sure I can trust a man who hangs around suicide spots, with flowers, at dusk.
    But why would he save my life if he’s going to hurt me?

 
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
    Two Months Later
     
    I scrape my hair into a ponytail and snap a band around as I step onto the bus. The bus is cramped with bodies and I squeeze onto half a vacant seat, next to the large woman encroaching on the remaining space. Good thing my backside is smaller than hers. Arms wrapped around her brown leather bag, she doesn’t take her eyes of her kindle, and I shuffle to the seat edge, feet dangerously close to tripping anyone else who heads along the aisle.
    The journey into the city should be short, but is long thanks to the traffic. I’ve lived in Perth five months, moved over here from Melbourne after completing my Media degree. I’m not entirely sure how I fought off the competition and won the traineeship as a journalist at Belle de Jour , or how long I can hold onto the job without collapsing in a mess – or off a cliff. The fact the popular magazine held the traineeship open for me while I spent time in hospital, then the few weeks after as I took time out, bolsters my confidence. I must’ve impressed them somehow in the few months before my breakdown, and this vote of confidence adds to my determination to keep moving my life on.
    I shudder, casting my mind back to the day I almost became a story in the local news. Sick? Visit medical professionals, they will give you medication and fix you up. Right? Wrong. If there were a magic pill, why would they be making new ones all the time? I fought against what I now know is depression for years as a kid, teen moods darker and deeper than my friends, my