Page 21 of The Girl and the Cobra

I nod once.

“I hate tea,” she says, and the way she says it, so seriously, makes it sound like she’s confessing something much deeper. A second passes, and then she cracks a smile and laughs.

“I can tell,” I whisper.

“I guess you and I are going to start seeing a lot more of each other.”

“I guess so.”

The smile she gives me then is sweet and gentle, and if I wasn’t already sitting down, it would’ve knocked me off my feet. “Thank you for listening, and for talking to me. You didn’t have to.”

The cold night air blows around us, and I suddenly realize I’ve been inching closer to her, leaning over the side of the chair I’m in. Our faces are about a foot away, and it still feels way too goddamned far. “I wanted to,” I tell her, meaning it—which is surprising for me, because I don’t mean much anymore.

“I wanted to, too.” As she says that, her gaze falls, or at least I think it does. It falls to my mouth. But in a matter of seconds, her eyes lock with mine once more and she forces herself to take one last sip of her tea, gagging in the process. “I guess I should meet Dr. Wolf up front. I’ll… see you later?” It comes out like a question, and it’s only thanks to the light coming from the house that I notice the slight blush on her cheeks.

Maybe her cheeks are pink because it’s a little cold out. Or maybe…

No. She’s just a sweet, gentle soul that got caught up in something dark. A girl like her would never find a man like me attractive, scars and all. An angel, broken as she was, could never fall for a monster like me.

That has to be why Wolf invited her to live here—so I would constantly torture myself with being so close to something I want but know I’ll never truly have.

Chapter Ten – Mabel

I stand in a room that’s not mine, but one that would become mine for the foreseeable future. Bags and a few small boxes with everything I’d need litter the room. The walls are a sterile white, nothing hanging on them, and the bed sheets match. The wooden furniture in the room has zero personality.

The strange thing is I feel more at home here than I did at the new house with my dad.

Speaking of…

When we got there, I could tell he was worried about me—and maybe even cried a bit while Dr. Wolf and I were on our way. I didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, but I can’t deny that going on the way I have been wouldn’t be good for me, long-term.

I can pretend I’m fine and wear the mask in front of my dad, but that’s just it: a mask. Fake. Not real. And what Dr. Wolf said just might be true: it only takes once. If you try so much, if those irrational, intrusive thoughts win… it only takes one time for it to be the last time.

I’m in the strange middle of not wanting to die and also wanting it all to end. Not a fun place to be.

I have my own bathroom, practically my own wing of the house. Tristan’s room is on the opposite side of the large house; I don’t doubt Dr. Wolf chose this room for me on purpose.

It’s weird, but I feel safe here, even though I know Tristan is violent. That he killed people. I’m not worried about my life or my safety in this house. In fact, this house is the only place I can truly be me, where I can let it all out and I don’t have to expend energy constantly pretending. I had to hand my phone over to Dr. Wolf; he has a house phone where my dad can call anytime he wants to talk to me, and my dad can visit anytime.

Cut off from the world, most people would be going out of their minds, but I’m already one step ahead of them when it comes to that, so handing over my phone was actually pretty easy. It gives me an excuse to shut everything and everyone else out and to focus on myself and the ones inside this house.

And by that, I mean Tristan. It will be interesting to see what happens here.

I don’t bother unpacking. All I do is change into some pajamas and crawl into bed. The sheets smell new, like no one has ever used them before, and I don’t doubt that’s true. It doesn’t sound like Dr. Wolf takes on many cases—I don’t know how he could have enough money to pay for a house like this and have anyone live in it. Makes me wonder if Tristan comes from money and is paying out the ass.

As I lay in the darkness, my thoughts drift to Tristan over and over. What he said he did, how he killed lots of people… what is lots? A few? Half a dozen? More than fifteen? Did he kill more people than Jordan?

I shouldn’t compare them. Jordan’s dead. Tristan isn’t. They’re not the same beast.

Totally unsurprisingly, sleep doesn’t really come. Not a solid, decent sleep, anyway. What bits I get are broken up by tossing and turning—but the silver lining is I don’t dream. I can’t complain about that when lately all I dream about is that day.

Morning comes, and strangely it’s a sunny day so the sun is bright and shining. It helps me feel not as groggy as I get up and change. I brush my teeth and throw my hair into a messy bun; don’t feel like showering just yet. After being awake most of the night, I am hungry, though, so I wander downstairs to the kitchen.

Thanks to having no phone, I don’t know what time it is, so I don’t know whether to expect anyone else in the kitchen.

When I reach the first floor, I’m instantly greeted by the smell of… bacon, I think? My dad used to make bacon every Sunday before we went food shopping as a family. Since the day everything went down, he hasn’t touched bacon at all, and as a result, neither have I.

But, memories aside, it smells good. Delicious, even, and my stomach growls in response. My bare feet take me through the main hall, towards the back of the house, where the kitchen and dining room are.

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