Page 22 of The Girl and the Cobra

I come into the kitchen and find Dr. Wolf near the stove. For the first time, he’s not wearing a suit; he wears simple dark pants and a long-sleeved, button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Not exactly a pajama outfit, although I can’t really imagine the man in any sort of pajamas.

Dr. Wolf must hear me, because he glances over his shoulder at me and gestures to the table on the far side of the room. “Good morning. Sit.” He leaves no room to argue with him—though arguing with him is the last thing I’d ever do in this circumstance. I really do just want that bacon.

It’s only after I sit that I ask, “Do you always cook?”

“No, but I wanted to welcome you to the house.” Dr. Wolf brings me a glass of orange juice and a plate with two pancakes on it, perfectly cooked. The last thing he brings over is the bacon. I look around. “What about Tristan?”

“Tristan never comes down for breakfast. Typically he sticks to himself throughout the day.” Dr. Wolf comes over to me and sits beside me, the expression on his face a serious one. “I do believe being here will be good for you, Mabel, and I know you are very curious about Tristan, but—”

He’s trying to warn me, telling me that Tristan is no good for me and I shouldn’t bother with him. In truth, Dr. Wolf is probably right: it’d be better for me if I ignore Tristan’s presence here, if I focus on myself.

I don’t know if I can do that.

“I know,” I say softly. “I’ll be careful.” After all, I’m no stranger to murderous, dangerous guys. If anyone can handle Tristan, it’s me.

Dr. Wolf gives me a small smile. “Good. Now, eat up. I’d like to have our first appointment today at ten-thirty. Don’t be late.”

I watch as he leaves the room, and I’m suddenly alone. Maybe it’s where I am, but all those times I spent alone at home, I let the dark thoughts take me. Here? I have other things to think about, such as what Dr. Wolf and I are going to talk about… and, of course, Tristan. Let’s not forget him.

Truth be told, I have lost a bit of weight since the shooting. Sometimes eating just feels like a chore. No foods really taste good anymore. Sometimes eating doesn’t feel like it’s worth the hassle. But this morning, with the smell of bacon in my nostrils and a plate of perfect pancakes staring up at me, I know I’m about to demolish everything that’s in front of me.

I go for the pancakes first. They really are evenly cooked. No super crispy parts, no section undercooked. I can’t remember the last time I had pancakes that looked like this. Dr. Wolf might not cook every day, but when he does, he’s damn good at it.

It’s delicious. I cut huge bites and stuff my mouth full, only pausing to have a sip of orange juice every now and then. I thought I was given an ungodly amount of food, but I put it away like nobody’s business. The pancakes, then the bacon.

And the bacon… God, the bacon takes me back in time to when things were better, simpler. To a time in my life when I was oblivious to the depths of my brother’s rage.

His rage. His depravity. His darkness. It’s a better thing to think than the fact that when he came around that corner, before he lifted that huge ass gun and fired it at the students behind me, he smiled at me.

He smiled. Like it was no big deal. Like he was just pranking everyone and not killing them. I’d rather think of my brother as being secretly pissed off than a closet psychopath—because if he was a psychopath, that means he was always one. It means he hid it from me our entire lives.

And since we’re twins… what if I have a part of that same darkness?

I push those thoughts away. Now would really be a perfect time for Tristan to make an appearance, but I’m not so fortunate this morning. I eat in silence, alone, and after I finish I clean up my dirty plates and head back upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes. By ten-thirty, I’m in Dr. Wolf’s office, waiting for him to join me.

It’s our first session with me living here. I do wonder if it’s going to be different than the others we’ve had, if we’re going to dive into some really uncomfortable things immediately.

Since I have no shoes on, I can tuck my feet under my butt on the chair as I wait. I’m picking at my nails when Dr. Wolf strolls in. He takes the chair beside mine and gives me a short nod before he says, “You’re on time.”

“Of course,” I say. “Don’t really have much else to do, so.” I shrug.

“Tristan was late to our first appointment together. I did not know if you would follow in his footsteps—although I did have the feeling you wouldn’t. You and Tristan share a certain kind of trauma, but you are two different people. Even if you know someone well, there’s no guarantee you can predict their actions.”

I don’t know where he’s going with this, so I don’t say anything.

“Let’s discuss the reason your father wanted you to get some help.”

Ah, there it is.

“Walk me through the day he found you with a knife.”

My stomach coils as I listen to Dr. Wolf say it aloud. I don’t want to relive that day—there are so many other horrible days in the recent past that haunt me, all vying for the top position as the worst day in my life. This particular day is definitely one of them.

My dad was at work. It’s funny how your life could be falling apart at the seams and you’re still expected to go to work and pay your bills like everything is fine. But that’s the thing—nothing is fine. The house is burning around you. Everything is falling apart. The very foundation of your life is crumbling and you’re supposed to grin and bear it because, hey, it could always be worse, right?

I don’t see how it could be worse. Mom is gone. Jordan is gone. It’s just Dad and I left, and it seems not a day goes by when we don’t either get hate mail or messages spray-painted on our garage door.

We’re not welcome here. Everyone hates us because of what Jordan did… because of the way Jordan smiled at me before he started shooting—and what he said after.

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