Page 19 of The Girl and the Cobra

“He said you did terrible things.”

All I can do is nod, knowing what question is coming next.

“What did you do?” She then quickly adds, “You don’t have to tell me. I know it’s private. You don’t know me at all, but I…” She swallows hard. “I want to know.”

This is the girl that saw past my scars. The girl who smiled at me. The girl who shed a tear in front of me. So fragile; she really shouldn’t be curious about me at all. And yet here we are, side by side, and it feels so natural.

Maybe telling her will make her want to put distance between us, make her stop being so curious about me. Maybe she’ll look at me with disgust.

That would make things easier.

I heave a sigh as I stare into her eyes, unable to look away. Not when I’m about to confess something as monstrous as my past. “I killed people.” Surely she’d scoot away, get up and leave me here. Something. Anything.

But she doesn’t. All she does is ask, “Who?”

My past was never something I regretted. I only regretted the fact that I got caught, that I failed in my machinations… until now. Something about the look on her face makes my stomach coil up in an uncomfortable way. It’s why the urge to turn my face away from her takes hold, and I mumble my answer: “Lots.”

Mabel doesn’t shy away, but she must accept that answer because she asks another question: “Why?”

I don’t want to tell her why. Instead I act like I’m getting to my feet—the conversation is too damn uncomfortable for me now, for whatever reason—but she grabs my arm and stops me. Mabel doesn’t physically stop me; it’s more that her mere touch through my shirt sleeve does.

I swallow hard, sluggish in once again bringing my stare to hers. I don’t relax; how can I when this girl is asking questionslike that? These are questions I only thought I’d hear from Wolf when he puts on his therapist hat, not anyone else.

She must sense how uncomfortable I am with that question in particular, because as she lets her hand slide off my arm, she whispers, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but I—I think I might understand more than most people. Sixteen people are dead because of me, so…” Mabel bites her inner cheek as she looks away.

Sixteen people are dead because of her? I don’t believe that. She might, but that can’t be the truth.

I want to ask what happened, but she’d probably have the same reaction I did when she asked of my past. It’s why we’re so fucked up, why we need someone like Wolf in our lives, to help us deal with the severity of it all. Of course I’m curious about her. So damned curious. I’d give anything to know what plagues her so.

The way she sighs tells me she’s as broken as I am, only in a different way. “I just don’t get how we’re supposed to go on like nothing happened. Some things you just can’t forget.” Mabel shakes her head. “I’m the one who should be dead, not any of them.”

“I’m glad you’re not.” The words come out of me before I can stop them, before I realize just how they might come across: too empathetic. Too emotional. Too caring. None of which are me. Somehow this girl brings it out of me and I don’t know how.

Though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted to it, and I see the corners of her mouth quirk upward in a slight smile. A soft one, one that you might not even notice if you aren’t paying attention, but I see it. I see it, and it makes me feel… well, for lack of a better word,good.

“It’s weird,” she whispers, “but I like talking to you. I know Dr. Wolf isn’t supposed to judge or anything, but… it’s not thesame. It’s different with you. I feel like I can talk to you about anything and you won’t judge me for any of it.”

And then Mabel adds something that damn near makes my heart do something funny in my chest: “You make me feel better.”

Parts of my body heat up in response to hearing her say that, in addition to the weird thing my heart does. You’d think I’d been pining, obsessing over this girl for years with the way my body reacts to hearing those words.

God. Living here, basically a trained dog with this collar around my neck, I am pathetic, aren’t I?

I should say something back. I should tell her… something, that I like talking to her too. But no words come out of my mouth. I think I’m too shocked at hearing I make her feel better; they are words I never thought another person would say.

All I was born to do was kill. Kill and take over the family mantle. Find a woman, make her my wife, put heirs inside her belly. Teach my sons how to become assassins to eventually take my place. I was never meant for a slow life, for someone like Mabel.

But that plan? My destiny? I fucked it all up by doing what I did, by killing who I killed and wanting what I wanted. And now I’m here, at a place that should be my prison, sitting next to a girl who is, perhaps, as broken as I am—a girl who makes me feel things I never dreamed I’d feel.

I want to say something back, something of equal magnitude. It takes me a minute to find the words, but once I do, I look into her eyes and tell her, “You make me forget.”

Mabel doesn’t look at me like I’m a violent offender. She doesn’t talk to me like she’s trying to be careful in the words she chooses. Granted, we’ve only interacted twice, so there isn’t much to go on. If I have to describe the feeling I get, though, it’dbe just that: she makes me forget. She treats me normally. She doesn’t scoot away from me when I get close to her.

I don’t know how long we sit there, side by side, staring at each other, but it feels like an eternity. It’s an eternity I wouldn’t change, wouldn’t escape from. For the first time in a long, long time, I like where I am. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

And I want… fuck. I want things I shouldn’t. I want to inch closer to her, to feel her warmth seep into me. I want to take that small hand again and memorize the way it feels in mine. I want to lean in, angle her chin back and…

Kiss her. I want to kiss her. Feel her lips on mine and see if they’re as soft as her hand.

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