Page 34 of The Girl and the Cobra

“Are you saying you think Tristan could have been—” It’s particularly difficult for me to say the next word. “—violent toward me?”

“I’m saying he is here for a reason. Unlike you, Tristan poses an extreme risk to others. I can’t let him in public, Mabel. I can watch what he does inside this house, but the property spans just under one hundred acres. I can’t watch every inch out there. You would have been at his mercy, if that’s what he chose.”

“But he didn’t! And he—” I barely resist confessing that Tristan and I kissed. I don’t know how Dr. Wolf would react to something like that. “I just don’t think he’d hurt me.”

The look Dr. Wolf gives me after that tells me his thoughts about the subject. “I’m sure you thought that about your brother, too—and while it’s true he never hurt you, he did, in fact, hurt many others.”

My gaze falls to the tray of food. “I know it’s stupid. I know it’s dumb, but I trust Tristan.” Even if we didn’t kiss like our lives depended on it last night, I’d still trust him.

“Tristan showed you the name on his left arm. Did he tell you who Shay is?”

I meet Dr. Wolf’s stare as I shake my head and say, “No. He didn’t.”

“Perhaps you should ask him who Shay is and see what he says before you decide whether Tristan is worthy of your trust. You might just find he’s not.” Dr. Wolf stands, straightens his suit, and heads for the door. “Eat up. I’d like you to spend the day resting that ankle. We’ll resume our sessions tomorrow.” He leaves after that, after setting my thoughts aflame.

It’s like my mind is at war with itself as I finish eating. My dream of Jordan, everything Dr. Wolf said, the way Tristan’s lips felt on mine. That last one especially takes up the most room in my head.

I’ve never been a girl who daydreams. Not really. I lost that habit a long time ago, when school proved day in and day out to be miserable. But a kiss like that? It’s enough to kickstart every urge to do just that.

It was like I could feel every ounce of his need, like he couldn’t breathe for himself and because of that had to pull the air out of my lungs for himself. That kiss was everything a kiss should have been.

My first kiss.

My first kiss was with a killer—someone who, now that I’m thinking about it, is just like Jordan. I don’t want to believe Jordan and Tristan are similar in any way, but I’m at the point where I can’t deny it any longer.

It seems I have a type, like I only feel comfortable with boys and men who are capable of wreaking deadly havoc upon other people. What does that say about me?

I finish eating and set the empty tray on my nightstand. I crawl out of bed, get some fresh clothes, and head to the bathroom to shower, all without putting too much weight on my sore ankle. I don’t rush; I take my time as I wash up underneath the hot water.

Dr. Wolf doesn’t think Tristan is good for me. He’s probably not wrong, but… I don’t know. It’s like there’s something invisible tying us together, like I just can’t help being intrigued by him. I can’t help but want him, and based on the on the urgency behind the kiss last night, I’d say he wants me, too.

But I know people like Tristan, like Jordan, can be good liars. I know from past experience that sometimes you can never know what they’re truly thinking, the darkness they hide from everyone else. It could all be a twisted game to Tristan, something to liven up his life.

The mere thought of it being a game to Tristan makes my stomach churn in the worst of ways. I don’t want to believe that. For my sanity, I can’t. If I have any hope of getting better, of being better, I need to believe in something good—otherwise what’s the point?

It becomes clear that hanging out in the hot shower isn’t doing any good for my mental health, so I end it. I get out, brush my hair, and change into clean clothes. I don’t know what I’m going to do today, but I definitely need to take some time to clear my head.

That dream… I don’t need Dr. Wolf to psychoanalyze it for me. I know I feel guilty deep down over kissing Tristan, like I betrayed Jordan by doing so—which is ridiculous because Jordan is my brother. Kissing another guy shouldn’t make me feel an ounce of guilt.

What would you know? When I return to my room, I find it’s already occupied by the very man who stirs up that weird guilty feeling inside me. I freeze the moment I see Tristan, and I suddenly wish I would have dried my hair instead of choosing to let it air-dry. Clean as I am, nobody looks good right after taking a shower.

Tristan stands on the other side of my bed, wearing all black like he usually does. Long sleeves, pulled down to his wrists.When I see him, he appears almost guilty, like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

“I,” he starts, “came to see if you were all right, and then when I saw you weren’t in here, I—” His shoulders rise and fall with a shrug, and the action reminds me of how those arms cradled me to his chest as he carried me back here last night. “—I didn’t want to leave.”

With everything that filled my mind during my shower, seeing him right now probably isn’t going to help, but it doesn’t matter. I push the door behind me, not fully closing it but giving us some semblance of privacy, and I say, “It’s okay. We should… we should talk about what happened last night, maybe.”

As I walk closer to my bed, Tristan watches me and notes how I don’t put much weight on my injured ankle. “If that’s what you want,” he says quietly.

I want to tell him I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need. I’m so confused and maybe even a little scared, but as I stare into his chocolatey brown eyes from across my bed, I don’t say a word. He has me tongue-tied. Tongue-tied and so very confused about all of the warring desires inside me.

Everything I want, everything I shouldn’t want, all of the guilt I shouldn’t feel but feel anyways. Tristan is driving me insane.

Neither one of us speaks right away. We’re locked in a staring contest, the bed the only thing between us. With the daylight, I can see every scar on his face, everything he did to himself to feel pain. With the angle of the light hitting him from the window nearby, I can see a different type of scar on his neck, near the collar fixed to it.

The things this man did, what he’s been through to get here… he really is as broken as me, if not more so. Maybe that’s why I feel so connected to him, why I’m so drawn to him even though I shouldn’t be.

Tristan is the one who breaks the silence first, “Do you…” He leans his hands flat on the edge of my bed. “…regret it?”

---