Page 17 of The Girl and the Cobra

An invisible hand wraps itself around my throat, and all I can do is stare, wide-eyed, at the face I know more than my own.

I don’t see the big gun. I’m too busy staring into his eyes—a more bluish gray than mine—and at the blood splatter on his lower right cheek.

“Jordan?” I can barely say his name thanks to the pressure around my throat. Out of everyone in this school, my brother was the last person I ever thought would…

I can’t even finish the thought, because Jordan gives me a slow smile and raises that big gun. And then, finger on the trigger, he gives that big gun another workout.Bang, bang, bang.Sounds I would hear every time I close my eyes.

I wasn’t the first in the room to die that day, because the shooter would never have pointed that gun at me. I survived, and everyone hated me for it. No one trusted me. No one liked me. Jordan was my brother, my twin, and only one of us died that day.

My skin itches, and I want to tear it all off. Cut it off, gut myself of the memories that refuse to go away. Cut deep enough that I’ll become a different person and be better.

But that’s impossible, isn’t it?

One of the groups leave the shop, and the door slams again—and just like before, it’s like a gunshot. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand straight up. My chest feels like it has bricks on it. My mind spins. Everything feels topsy-turvy and I can’t quite get ahold of anything. I want to be sick, and at the same time I want to pass out.

I can’t be here. I need air. I need… I need to go back in time and change everything.

I get up, barely able to gather my stuff. I practically stumble to the nearest garbage can, and I dump my stuff in before hurrying out, tripping on nothing as I go. I’m far enough away from the door that the bang that accompanies it as it closes doesn’t reach me. Fumbling for the keys to my dad’s car, I get in and turn it on. My hands shake as I try to steady them on the steering wheel.

Though I don’t know my way home, I don’t stop and type in my new address on my phone. I just go.

My head spins. Every time I swallow it’s like knives in my throat. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to go on like this, how I’m supposed to pretend everything is fine when it’s not. Why bother living when living feels like this?

I turn the car away from the main street in town and within a few minutes I’m surrounded by trees and the falling darkness of night.

Intrusive thoughts find their way into my head as I drive aimlessly: it’d be so easy to jerk the steering wheel to the right and hit any one of the big pine trees lining the road. So easy to unbuckle my seatbelt and let it all go. My dad would get over it eventually, wouldn’t he?

My hands tighten around the wheel as my foot presses down harder on the pedal. It wouldn’t take much. Just a quick jerk of my muscles, and then, just like that, it would all be over. The pain, the misery, the regret and the guilt; I wouldn’t feel any of it anymore.

It’s tempting. God, it’s so tempting. I want to do it more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything. The urge is almost impossible to ignore.

I don’t know how, but I manage to do just that: ignore it. My foot slams on the brake, and the car skids to a halt. It’s a goodthing no car’s behind me for that. I pull out my phone and search for an address.

Not home. I can’t go home right now.

So, because of that, I go to the only other place I can: Dr. Wolf’s.

Chapter Nine – Tristan

A result of me being trained to be an assassin from a very young age is my hearing tends to be better than most people’s. It’s why I hear a car driving up to the mansion before Wolf—also why I make it to the front door before he does. In fact, the man is nowhere to be seen, which I take to mean he’s hidden away, doing whatever the fuck he does when he’s not dealing with me or in a session with Mabel.

I hear the car shut off as I stand there in front of the door. There are windows all around the door, but not on the door, so it isn’t like whoever it is will be able to see me standing there.

I should go get Wolf. He’ll be pissed if I answer the door first… but then again, do I give a shit? I saw the car with a quick glance out of the window; I know it’s the car Mabel comes in. Showing up this late… if Mabel’s in there, it can’t be good.

A soft knocking bounces off the door, and my chest constricts in a way I can’t describe. Out of concern for Mabel? It’s an odd thing for me; I never gave a shit about anyone other than my sister before.

The logical voice in my head tells me to go fetch Wolf, but the illogical part of me wins out and I open the door mere seconds after the knocking to find it is, indeed, Mabel standing there in the darkness of the early night. Her lips are drawn together, thin, and she looks completely out of sorts.

She must’ve been expecting Wolf, because it takes her a moment to realize it’s me. She blinks at me, and then her eyes widen. “Tristan.” Even now, when she says my name so breathlessly… it makes me forget why I’m here in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” The question is out in a millisecond; anyone with eyes and a crude sense of human emotion would be able to sense it.

Mabel breathes hard all of a sudden, and she glances back at the car. “I…” Her voice cracks, breaking on the lone word, and I do something I probably shouldn’t.

I reach for her.

Just her hand as it dangles there by her side. It’s tentative at first, but when she doesn’t yank her hand away, I slide my hand around hers and pull her inside the house.

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