Page 50 of The Girl and the Cobra

Mabel blinks. “I have a what?”

“They’ve been looking for a part-timer for a while. You’ve been doing better, so I put in an application on your behalf. I think it would be good for you to get out there, rejoin society. Baby steps.”

She opens her mouth, probably about to tell him she doesn’t know if she’s ready, but Wolf adds in a stern tone, “Tristan and I will come inside shortly after you walk in. We’ll be nearby, should anything happen and you need us, but I really would likefor you to try your hardest to get the job. Your father agrees with me.”

With a flick of his wrist, he checks his watch. “Your interview technically begins in seven minutes, but it might behoove you to be a tad early. I would go in now if I were you. Head to the counter and say you’re here for an interview.”

Mabel looks at me, her brows drawn slightly together in a look of anxiety. I’m not someone who is used to giving comfort, but I try my best. I tell her, “You’ll do great. Don’t overthink it.” If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she tends to overthink just about everything—I’d know, because I do the same damn thing.

When you’re used to being alone, it’s easy to get trapped inside your own head.

She gets out of the car, takes a moment to straighten herself out, and then heads to the front door of The Drip. I watch her as she goes, wishing I could go with her, sit by her, be her moral support. She can do this. Out of the two of us, she’s way more normal than me. A job interview for a small-town coffee shop? She’s got this.

The coffee shop has full floor-to-ceiling windows on the entire front side of the shop, right where we’re parked, so it’s easy to see inside and watch as Mabel heads right to the front counter. There’s a girl working, near Mabel’s age, if I have to guess, and she lights up when she sees Mabel. There’s no line, so she gestures for Mabel to come with her. Soon enough they’re seated at one of the tall, circular tables nearest the counter. The interviewer, I assume.

Wolf’s voice cuts into my concentration: “She’s doing well so far.”

“Yeah.” Though, of course, it’s hard to say since we’re not inside, hearing the actual conversation. With the lackluster amount of people in The Drip right now, I bet we’d hear it all. I’mitching to get in there, to watch over her, to be closer to her; for obvious reasons, I don’t like all the barriers between us.

“Does it bother you that she fits more easily into the world than you do?”

Just for a quick second, I look at Wolf and find he’s staring at me, studying my reaction, my body language, reading me like he’s read me ever since we first met. “No,” I hiss out. “Why would it?”

Wolf shrugs. “Perhaps you’re scared she’ll decide she’s better than you and she’ll leave you behind.”

I grind my jaw. I didn’t think that at all… until now, when I heard him say it, and now that it’s in my head, the thought refuses to go away.

What if Mabel does decide just that? We fit so well together, things are so easy between us, but that doesn’t mean things can’t change. I know better than most people how easily time changes everything; there’s no way to know for sure whether or not Mabel will stay with me.

A cute guy with no scars on his skin could walk in when she’s working, chat her up. Smile at her. Flirt. Be normal. After all this, that might be exactly what she wants. It might come naturally to her.

I don’t say anything to that, but I do return my gaze to Mabel through the windows. At the mere thought of losing her, every nerve in my body silently screams in defiance, and I know what my first instinct would be.

To stop her. To not let her go. To refuse to let her slip through my fingers. She made me feel alive again. She took me in those soft hands and unlocked a secret part of me, breathed life into my dead, decaying lungs. She put technicolor in my black soul.

I can’t lose her. I can’t go back to the way things were. I need her.

A minute passes before Wolf says, “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

I follow Wolf’s lead even though I’m not accustomed to being the follower. We head inside, and Wolf orders us two black coffees. A second employee comes out from the backroom to fulfill our order before disappearing into that same room after. Coffee in hand, we head to the table in the corner farthest away from where Mabel and her interviewer sit. Both Wolf and I move our chairs so we can watch over Mabel.

Low music plays on the speakers in the shop, so it’s not as quiet inside as I thought it would be. Still, we can hear the muffled interview.

Mabel looks a little anxious, yes, but I can tell she appears more comfortable now than she did at the start. She’s easing herself into it. If a stranger were to walk by, they’d think she’s normal. They wouldn’t know how damaged she is, how she nearly killed herself because of her past.

And maybe that’s the point.

She’s not like me. It’s something I knew from the beginning, something I started to overlook due to the overwhelming need that grew inside of me anytime she was near. She’s damaged, yes, but she isn’t as damaged as me. No one is.

Beside me, Wolf quietly speaks, “The real question is, Tristan, if she wants to leave, will you let her?”

So far, Wolf has assumed the worst in me—for good reason, of course. I’m a killer. An animal. A monster. The scars on my body prove it. He thought I’d kill her when we were alone in the woods, thought I’d run off with her when he went into the corner store. He’s waiting for me to snap, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

The old me would never have let her go. He would have fought tooth and nail to keep her close, even gone so far as to keep her under lock and key so no one else could steal her away. The Cobra would have done all that and more—and becauseof that, the Cobra would never have been worthy of Mabel’s affections.

I don’t answer Wolf. I can’t, not with my mind spinning as it is. Of course I don’t want to let her go. Of course I still want to fight tooth and nail for her—but this isn’t Cypress. Who would I be fighting? Only Mabel and what she wants, and what kind of man would I be if I refuse to listen?

The interview doesn’t last much longer, and by the time Mabel approaches us in the corner of the shop, she wears a small, shy smile. “I got the job,” she tells us.

---