Page 41 of The Girl and the Cobra

“Mabel isn’t Shay. This is different—”

“Is it?” Wolf cuts in. “Are you different? Why don’t you tell Mabel the full truth, then, and prove it. Prove it to me, prove it to Mabel, prove it to yourself.” Wolf is baiting me, just as he baited me by bringing Mabel here in the first place.

I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Will I fall for this, too?

Wolf frowns at me. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Tristan. I can’t force you to share your darkest secret with Mabel. Whether or not you do—and, of course, whether or not you act on any impulses afterward—is completely up to you.” His tone turns a bit snide. “I am, after all, not arealtherapist. I’m only here for the show.”

“Fuck you,” I growl out the words as I get to my feet. “Fuck you and fuck all of this.”

As I storm out of Wolf’s office, I can understand how Mabel left feeling so upset. The man is an asshole through and through; he always knows just what to say to piss me off. Showing me my mask… what did he think would happen? That I’d singKumbayaand cast it into the trash?

I know I need to see Mabel. Need to talk to her, to touch her. I just need her.

But she wants some space, time to think about whatever Wolf said during their session. I can’t force my way in her room—I mean, I could, but it wouldn’t get me where I want to be. Mabel isn’t Shay; she needs her space. She needs some time to cool down before we… before I tell her anything.

So, I’ll wait. I’ll go out of my goddamned mind in the meantime, but I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.

Hours go by. I wait, yes, but when night falls and Mabel still hasn’t come to find me, I grow desperate. Needy. She keeps herself locked in her room during dinner, and I spend most of my time lingering in the rooms nearby, hoping I’ll hear her. When it’s late enough that she must be in bed, I sit outside her door.

Wolf is probably having a field day watching me go insane through his tiny little cameras everywhere, but I don’t care. I need to be close to her, and this is as close as I can be without violating her space.

And I… I don’t want to violate her. I just want her. I want to consume and to claim, to simply exist, for once. I want to know peace, and there’s not a shadow of a doubt inside me that Mabel is the closest thing to peace I will ever know.

Sometime during the night, I manage to fall asleep in the hall, just outside her door. I wake up before she does, so I make sure I’m gone before she can see me. Finding out how needy I’ve turned out to be might just scare Mabel away before I even get the chance to tell her everything.

Fuck. I still don’t know if I should. Any rational person would end things if they found out the full truth.

It’s well after lunch the next day when Mabel finally comes to me. By then, I’ve already accepted whatever outcome will be. If she wants to end things with me after hearing the whole of it, then so be it. It’ll cut me to the bone, to my very fucking soul, but if that’s what comes, I won’t stop her, and I definitely won’t kill her.

Now me, on the other hand? I make no such promises. If Mabel says she wants nothing more to do with me, I might just say goodbye to the world. Everyone in it would be better off without me.

I’m sitting outside, on the ground, my feet resting off the edge of the patio’s concrete when I hear Mabel’s voice behind me: “Tristan. Let’s go for a walk.”

Chapter Seventeen – Mabel

Sometimes avoidance is easier than its opposite. I’d be lying if I said I feel ready to talk with Tristan, but at the same time, I can’t keep putting it off. Spending all that time alone, lost in my own thoughts, reliving scenes where Jordan saved me, helped me, proved to me that I was the only person he really cared about, was driving me nuts.

But I don’t want to have the talk in the house, where Dr. Wolf could stumble upon us, so I put on my tennis shoes, tug on a heavy hoodie, and search for Tristan. I find him sitting outside, staring off into the distance, and I march right up to him and say, “Tristan. Let’s go for a walk.”

I’ve never seen a man jump up so fast. His reflexes are amazing; he’s as graceful and quick as a cat. His dark eyes study me. “Are you sure you should with your ankle?”

“If it starts hurting, we’ll stop, but I want to go for a walk.” My ankle feels better today; it really only hurts if I put my full weight on it for extended periods of time or bend it weird. I can walk just fine.

I think.

Tristan nods. “Okay. Then let’s go.”

Tristan knows the woods around the house better than me; he ends up leading the way to one of his chosen spots. It’s not too deep in the forest, though it’s far enough away the house is nothing but a memory. A small creek runs through the forest, its water crystal clear and its short shores full of pebbles and smoothed-out stones. It flows a constant, gentle current, and the sound of it fills the air and brings a sense of serenity to the surrounding area.

I watch as Tristan kneels beside the tiny stream. He divides his time between watching the water flow and looking up at me. He doesn’t say a word; the man waits for me to speak.

“Who is Shay?” The question comes out faint, soft enough it’s not easily heard. It’s something I’ve wondered since he showed me the name etched on his skin, but I only ask now because Dr. Wolf suggested it—and because of that, it must be related to this clusterfuck in some way.

Tristan tugs at his sleeve, revealing the name carved into his flesh to us both. He runs his fingers over the uppercase letters while I ready myself for what I assume will be a doozy of an admission.

“She’s the one who shot me,” he whispers. “The only one in the world who could’ve stopped me.” His hand curls into a tight fist, and the muscles beneath the name on his arm flex in response. “Everything I did… it was for her.”

The more he talks, the more I get it. This Shay person is someone he loved, someone he probably loved more than life itself. It’s something I can understand.

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