Page 45 of The Girl and the Cobra

I can feel the stress radiating from Mabel beside me, and I want nothing more than to grab her, pull her onto my lap, and hold her while I tell her everything is going to be okay. That she doesn’t have to worry about Jordan or what he did ever again. She’s mine now, and I’d do everything in my power to protect her.

But the past? The past is the one thing that can slip through our defenses, the one thing that refuses to be put down. The past can haunt, can hurt, can kill if you let it.

I never thought I’d be able to move on from mine, but with Mabel, it’s more than possible. However, as I sit there, watching Mabel’s face darken, I can tell she still wrestles with hers. The awful thing is there’s nothing I can do to help her face it; it’s something she must face on her own.

The only thing I can do is be by her side.

“Mabel?” Wolf speaks her name once she doesn’t elaborate. “How do you know Jordan killed those people for you?” Even he appears somewhat taken aback by what Mabel says next.

“We made a list.”

Chapter Nineteen – Mabel

I didn’t want to admit it to anybody, ever, but at this point, with everything the two men in the room already know about me, what’s one more debilitating thing? Maybe it’ll help Dr. Wolf shine a light on my survivor’s guilt or whatever he wants to call it.

“A list?” Dr. Wolf echoes, the concern plain in those two words. “What kind of list?”

As he asks for more clarification, the memory bouncing around in the back of my head pushes to the forefront of my mind, so alive and vivid, it’s as if it just happened yesterday. Funny how even small details of that conversation refuse to fade away.

Jordan trying to comfort me after a rough day at school. How I was curled on my left side, facing the wall, on my bed, clutching my pillow to my chest—and the tears balling up in the corners of my eyes. I remember thinking that there was less than three weeks until graduation, and then I wouldn’t have to see or talk to any of those assholes again.

I never told my parents anything. When they asked how school was, it was always the same automatic answer:fineorschool was school. Jordan was the only person who really knew, who saw me when I crumbled.

Jordan laid down next to me, though he laid on his back, his eyes staring at the ceiling of my room. “If you could snap your fingers and get rid of anyone at school you wanted, who would it be?”

That question, at the time, I thought was an innocent inquiry meant to get my mind off how shitty I felt. I rolled away from the wall and laid on my other side as I stared at Jordan’s face. Ididn’t really want to play this game, but… why not? I remember thinking it might be nice to imagine life without my bullies.

Jordan always did what he could, but he wasn’t with me every class, or every time I walked in the halls. He couldn’t be my savior all the time.

When I didn’t respond right away, Jordan gently nudged me with his elbow. “Come on, Mabel. Who would you get rid of?” His face turned toward mine, and it was as I stared deep into his eyes that I finally relented.

“Robbie and Davey, obviously,” I said.

“Obviously.” Jordan chuckled as he matched my serious tone. “Who else?”

I didn’t keep track of how many names I gave him. At the time, it was just another conversation between me and Jordan, a secret between best friends. I never thought… I never thought I was providing a hit list.

Back in the present, I tell Wolf, “Jordan asked me once if I could snap my fingers and get rid of anyone I wanted at school, who would disappear, and I… I made a list.” Saying it out loud makes my heart ache in the worst way, guilt and regret building up inside of me until there’s a slight pressure in my chest.

Wolf asks, “And on this list, how many of them did Jordan end up killing?”

“Twelve.” Strange how I didn’t know at the time how many names I gave him, but I know exactly how many he killed off that list. Hindsight. I swallow hard. “Everyone else probably just got in the way. If—” Nausea rises up inside me, and I fight the urge to vomit. “—he wouldn’t have been stopped, he would’ve killed a lot more. Checked off my list one by one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. The loud bang that stopped Jordan from continuing his bloody rampage lives in my memory, a sound I will never forget.

My hands feel clammy, and I rub my thumb into the opposite palm to try to calm myself down. “I never told the police about the list, or our parents. Everyone already blamed me. If the list became public knowledge…”

Dr. Wolf is smart enough to know where I’m going with this. “The authorities might’ve considered you an accomplice of some sort. I understand why you kept that list to yourself. Everything makes a bit more sense now. Perhaps, now that you’ve confessed, you’ll begin to feel a little better, too.”

“I feel fine,” I declare, even though I’m kind of lying. My eyes flick to Tristan beside me, finding he watches me with a heavy, dark stare. “Tristan makes me feel better. He helps me forget.”

Clicking his pen absentmindedly, Dr. Wolf asks, “Does he help you forget, or does he help you move on?”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No.” The word comes out of Dr. Wolf swiftly, accompanied by an explanation: “Forgetting is temporary. It’s masking the pain. Sooner or later you will remember, and the pain will return. Moving on is the healthier of the two, and it can only come if you accept the past.”

Dr. Wolf turns his head toward Tristan as he says, “Forgetting isn’t what either of you need. Moving on is. Instead of dwelling on the past and the pain that comes with it, you should both look to the future—”

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