Page 1 of Versions Of Us

Prologue

KRISTEN

“Cliff Haven helpline, you’re speaking with Kristen. How can I help?”

I cradle the receiver gently between my cheek and collarbone, tapping on the laptop keyboard in front of me. I hold back a weary sigh as the screen comes to life.

“Do you ever wish you had a different life?” A soft, timid voice comes through the line. One I recognise all too well, although it’s been weeks since she’s called.

“I think everybody does sometimes, Em.”

There’s a pause from her end before she speaks again.

“Sometimes I try to think back to a time when everything was easy, and you know what?” I don’t miss the way her voice cracks as she continues. “I don’t think it ever really was.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask cautiously. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

I already know before the question leaves my mouth that I’m not going to get an answer. Most people who call the helpline are just looking for an opportunity to vent, and right now, Em is no exception. Luckily for me, patience has always been one of my strong suits.

“I just keep waiting for better days to come,” she says. “Sometimes I feel like the universe is laughing at me. Watching and waiting for me to fail.”

“We all have bad days, Em,” I tell her. I’ve had my fair share of them lately too, but I keep that information to myself. “But we survive them. We’ve survived all of them. Every single one.”

“How do you get through yours?”

“Dum spiro spero.” This time a sigh does escape my lips as my fingertips pitter patter delicately along the laptop’s keyboard.

“Huh?”

“It’s a Latin phrase. It means ‘while I breathe, I hope.’”

I don’t tell her that I learned this definition by googling it after seeing it scrawled across a brick wall in colourful graffiti.

She pauses for so long that if it wasn’t for the quiet murmur of her shallow breaths, I’d begin to think she’d opted out of this conversation.

“Em? Are you still there?”

“Did you ever think you knew someone? Like really knew them, only to find out they’re not at all the person you thought they were?”

I let out another long breath. Her words are like a slap to the face, and I have to fight to maintain my professionalism.

You’re preaching to the choir here, sister.

I want to tell her I know exactly what she’s talking about, that I fully sympathise with that notion, but this isn’t about me. “Do you want to tell me more about this person?”

“My whole life is a lie,” she spits, her voice suddenly like acid.

She does this sometimes. Goes off on some sort of cryptic tangent. She feeds me fragments of information in the hopes that I can offer her some inspiring words in reply. I don’t think I have any left in me tonight.

“Maybe I’m no better than any of them,” she continues. “Maybe I’ve been deceiving myself.”

“Tell me something about yourself,” I say, attempting to pull her out of this downward spiral I sense she’s falling into.

“I can’t. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Her voice rises with emotion, and I know I have to step up my game here.

Be the light she needs in her dark moment.

“Sure, you do,” I say encouragingly.

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