Page 14 of The Girl and the Cobra

What does Tristan see when he looks at me? A fool? A silly little girl who doesn’t know she’s looking at a monster? God, I can’t believe it.

“Now—” Dr. Wolf checks his watch with a flick of his wrist. It’s not one of those Apple watches, either. It’s old-fashioned and made of metal, clinging to his wrist so tightly it has no movement of its own. “—our session is over, but your father didsay he might be late, didn’t he? Would you like anything to eat or drink while you wait? I can—”

I stand. “No, thanks. I’m just… I’m going to wait out front.” I give him an awkward wave before hurrying out. In less than ten seconds I’m stepping outside and breathing in crisp, fresh air. The front door swings shut behind me, and I go to the first stone step and take a seat.

My earlier freak-out over Jordan primed me for another; I can hardly think straight as I sit there, alone. Tristan is violent. Obviously to himself, but he must be violent to other people, otherwise it wouldn’t be a big deal for him to go out in public.

I should’ve known better. I obviously have a blind spot when it comes to things like this. I want to believe in the best of people, that they’d never hurt anyone. I did it with Jordan, and now I’m doing it with Tristan.

What’s wrong with me?

I bury my face in my hands for a few moments. And then, I don’t know what makes me look, but I pull my hands off my face and glance over my shoulder, up at the second floor of the house, at the window I remember seeing Tristan the last time I was here.

And he’s there. I see him. Tristan is there in the window, hanging out like that’s where he’s meant to be. We meet eyes, and though there’s distance between us, not to mention an entire window, it’s like he’s right there, two feet away.

I’m staring at the face of a violent man.

But then… I stared at the face of a violent boy every single time I looked at my brother. Sixteen people lost their lives because of my brother. There’s no way Tristan has that kind of blood on his hands… is there?

Chapter Eight – Mabel

Dad got the job, which means he won’t be home to watch me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The hours are a little weird, halfway between third and first-shift, so he’ll still be around to drive me to my appointments with Dr. Wolf. He’ll crash early, which means once night falls, I won’t have him constantly looking over my shoulder, making sure I’m not doing something I shouldn’t be.

He was so excited about getting the job, and I was happy that he finally will have something else to occupy his time with, that I never told him that Dr. Wolf wanted me to go to the local coffee shop and sit there for a while, in public.

Honestly, for a few days I didn’t even think about my homework, if you want to call it that. I helped around the house, finished unpacking all the random boxes full of things we don’t use often, and every night I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner so my dad could shower and go to sleep.

I tried to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t think about Tristan and the fact that he’s not a man I should give any more thoughts to.

It’s common sense, really. Tristan is bad news. Dr. Wolf pretty much said so himself.

But it’s funny. The more you try not to think about something, the more you end up thinking about that one thing in particular. It’s like your mind doesn’t want to cooperate. You tell it no, and it smacks you upside the head and says, emphatically,yes.

The hard truth is I can’t get Tristan out of my mind. I spend a lot of my time alone wondering what he did to be labeled as violent, what kind of terrible deeds he committed. Surely if hewas that bad, he should be in prison? Or in a mental hospital of some sort? But he’s not, so surely he can’t be that bad.

Curiosity killed the cat. At this rate it’ll kill me.

Or Tristan will. He’ll be Jordan’s hand extended beyond the grave.

Soon enough, my next session with Dr. Wolf looms overhead, less than twenty-four hours away. It’s that very same night that I finally decide I should just do it. Maybe it’ll help me realize that Dr. Wolf is right and I can push myself a bit—and that I shouldn’t pay Tristan a single thought more.

After dinner, while my dad is helping me clean up, I ask, “Can I take the car into town?”

My dad nearly drops the plate he’s currently scraping off into the garbage when he looks at me. In fact, he does a double-take, as if he has to make sure I’m still his daughter. “You want to go into town? For what? Are you feeling all right?” The last question is spoken in jest, but I can tell he kind of meant it.

I open the dishwasher and load our stuff in, and my dad hands me his plate while giving me the side-eye. “It’s just something Dr. Wolf wanted me to do before our next session. He wants me to go to a place called The Drip, order a coffee, and sit there while I drink it. I thought it was stupid, but…”

“No, it’s not stupid,” my dad quickly says. “Take the car. Go. See the town for yourself. It’s a quaint little place. I think you’ll like it.” Over the weekend, he did try getting me to go out with him, but I just couldn’t.

Literally I’ve been to Dr. Wolf’s house and that pizza place after our first session—and that’s it.

“Just be careful,” my dad says. “And text me when you get there. And when you leave—”

I roll my eyes. “Dad, I’ll be fine.” That reassurance means nothing, but it’s all I can do. We have to learn to trust each other, I guess, otherwise nothing will ever change. Unlike Tristan, I stillhave my own freewill. If I want to leave the house, I can. Nothing my dad can do or say could stop me, if I really wanted to go.

In fact, the only reason I’m still alive is because of him.Forhim, I should say. If I didn’t have him, I don’t think I would’ve cared enough to resist the urge to end it all—and as bad as it is, that urge still lingers in the back of my mind sometimes.

It would be so much easier to end my story now.

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