The Same Deep Water Read Free Page A

reality hidden from everybody but my best friend, Erica. Now she’s on the other side of the country. I moved to Perth alone and I share a house with strangers who’ve become new friends, but I’m alone without Erica.
    My working world is full of the beautiful and famous, the airbrushed faces and bodies featured in ads in the magazine beside articles about the latest diets or sexual positions. Lies pull in readers and fool them that they can achieve this reality, that this world exists, and they should emulate the life at all costs. I subscribe to the lie, too, comparing my looks and lifestyle to those around who’ve succeeded. They act as if happy and free but they are trapped in the fake world they’re part of.
    Watching the fable constructed around me has the opposite effect than I intended; instead of seeing through the transparency, I use the lies to beat myself up. I’m tall and naturally slender with what my gran constantly calls a ‘bonnie face’, but all I see are my faults. My less than symmetrical face, the kink in my long, brown hair that prevents me achieving the sleek look without straightening tongs, and I really hate my knees. Yes, my knees. I weigh myself every day, which is ridiculous because my weight hasn’t changed for years. The other day I noticed lines forming on my twenty-one year old brow, no surprise really considering the amount of worrying I do. At this rate, I’ll have Botox before I’m twenty-five.
    Nobody in my current life realises how I obsess. Nobody but Guy has seen past the magazine-print bright and glossy picture I paint of myself. The real Phe is with the memories of death and darkness, safely sealed away again.
    To distract myself from the encroaching thoughts, I check work emails on my phone. A message alert sounds and I flick across to the message:
    
    Guy texts me daily; at first it was weekly and then more frequently as time went on. Two months have passed since our weird meeting and we haven’t met since, even though we’re in the same city. Guy’s become a friend, the distant kind you never see, but who’s always there to talk to on the outside of real life. Not that we talk about much, and he never talks about himself, mostly he checks in on how I’m going.
    Guy’s pushing me to start my bucket list, as promised.
    The beginning of my list is scrawled on a note pad at home. Guy wants us to meet, compare, and see if there’re any we share, that we can do together. I’m wary. The relationship between us can’t go beyond this weird connection underlying everything. Guy’s part of a night I’d rather forget.
     I reply.
     How much time does he have?
    I glance around at the commuters, business-suited and tired even at 8.30 a.m., stuck in their rut. My future life. The bus lurches to a stop and the lady’s bag slides off her knee, spilling the contents over the floor. I shove my phone into my bag and bend to help her. She frowns, not meeting my eyes, and grabs the packet of tissues I hand her. No thanks or acknowledgement are offered.
    Climbing from the bus, I’m jostled, a guy stands on my toes, and then I’m propelled through the street in the direction of the ten-storey building I work in. On the way, I duck into the coffee shop and wait in line for my morning mocha. Ross, the barista who always has a smile for me is serving, his deep brown eyes sparkle in amusement as I stumble over my words. He has that effect on me. The minute I look into the dark brown eyes that match the chocolate he sprinkles on my morning coffee, I’m lost.
    Maybe because of my lack of recent dates, but I fantasise about his full mouth on my lips, and the slender fingers that brush mine when he hands me the cup, stroking my skin. Occasionally, I catch his scent; coffee and vanilla, with a hint of expensive cologne. Once when passing through a department store, I