Page 60 of The Girl and the Cobra

There is absolutely no future out there for me if Mabel isn’t by my side.

Chapter Twenty-Six – Mabel

Your life can change in the blink of an eye. All it takes is one thing, and everything else will fall like dominos. I thought my life changed permanently for the worst when Jordan brought a gun to school and killed sixteen people. I was proven right when my mom killed herself, and for the longest time I couldn’t bear to be alive. I really did want to die, and I thought nothing would ever be okay again.

But I was wrong.

That’s the thing about life. If you stick around long enough, sooner or later things are bound to get better. Some days it might get worse, but that’s what life is: the biggest ride at the amusement park with curves and loops and drops you don’t see coming.

Sometimes I still get sad. Sometimes I drown in the wistfulness and the longing; sometimes I miss Jordan so badly I cry—but I don’t want to die anymore. Tristan shows me every single day that there is more to live for, that my life doesn’t have to be lived in the past, and Dr. Wolf is always there to help guide me through my feelings.

It’s only been two weeks since I started at The Drip. Fourteen days, just eight short, four-hour shifts, and yet it really does feel like everything has changed. Like I’m a new person. Dr. Wolf drives me to my shifts, and my dad usually picks me up unless it’s a late shift and he’s already in bed. He’s dying to come in and see me at work, but I’ve begged him not to. I’m still learning the ropes, learning how to work the machines.

Let’s just say it’s not as easy as you’d think.

Strangely, I’m also getting used to the smell of coffee beans, and that’s not something I ever thought I’d say.

Tristan is doing better, too—or, at least, that’s what I thought until I go to find him one afternoon, to grab him so he can tag along with Dr. Wolf when he drops me off at The Drip. I find him in his room, sitting hunched on the edge of his bed. The way he’s sitting mirrors the first time I saw him, only now I know what he’s looking at: his sister’s name on his arm.

And there’s another addition to today: the knife in his right hand.

The moment I see that sharp blade glistening in the early afternoon light, I rush toward him and say his name, “Tristan. What are you doing?” I’m beside him in an instant, gently reaching for the knife, but he jerks his hand away, refusing to let me have it.

With his left sleeve rolled up to his elbow, Shay’s name is plain on his skin, the scars etched thick on his flesh. “I don’t want her name on me,” he whispers, slow to meet my concerned gaze. “She’s not what keeps me going anymore. You are. It should be your name.” His grip tightens around the handle of the knife, like he’s seconds from using it on himself.

I grab the wrist near the knife to stop him, and though he doesn’t release the knife, he lets me sit beside him with my fingers curled around his wrist. “I don’t want you to cut yourself for me.” I haven’t ever seen Tristan looking at a knife like he wants to use it; he’s either good at hiding his thoughts or this really did come out of the blue.

Not sure which would be worse.

“But—” he starts.

“No,” I say it firmly, and he finally lets me take the knife from him. I set the knife on my other side, away from Tristan, before I tell him, “You will not hurt yourself for me. You did all of this to yourself because you wanted to die… you don’t want to die right now, do you?”

Tristan shakes his head once and says, “No, but if anyone’s name should be written on my skin, I want it to be yours.” It’s kind of sweet, in a weird, self-destructive way.

“Well, I’m not going to let you cut yourself for me, so…” I stand, taking the knife in one hand and offering Tristan my other. “Come on. I need to go to work. Let’s put this back in the kitchen and go get Dr. Wolf.” I’m torn about whether or not I should tell Dr. Wolf about this.

He takes my hand and stands, but before we leave his room I say, “Promise me you won’t cut yourself for me.”

I can tell he doesn’t want to; a part of him still wants to etch my name over Shay’s, but in the end Tristan relents and whispers, “I promise. I won’t cut myself.” He sounds a little sad about it, but I know he means it.

I give him a soft smile. “Thank you.” And then I stand on my tiptoes and pucker my lips for a kiss, which he immediately obliges. His mouth comes down on mine, and I hope I kiss away all of his anxieties.

Even after all this time, we’re not perfect. We are a constant work in progress. We have good days and bad; it’s part of being human. It is the human condition, and I won’t fault him for it.

I don’t tell Dr. Wolf about what I walked in on, and soon enough I’m strolling into The Drip for my next shift. Tonight I’m working with Penny; out of everyone who works here, she’s probably my favorite. So talkative and happy all the time, sometimes it feels like her attitude rubs off on me.

I head straight for the back room, where I take off my jacket and grab my apron and nametag. I put it over my clothes and clock in, right on time as always. Dr. Wolf never gets me here late, and never too early, either. If I don’t know any better, I’d say the man is a perfectionist—but he can’t be, not quite, not when he has to deal with people like Tristan and me on a daily basis.

Penny waits for me behind the counter, doing something on her phone. It’s a dead zone right now, but once five o’clock hits, we get busy with people who want to grab a coffee and some pastry on their way home. Coffee really does run this country. Don’t know where we’d be without it.

Once she sees me, she slides her phone into her pocket and grins. Her brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail; mine is in a messy bun. I always put it up before I leave the house. It takes me way too long to get it to an acceptable level of messiness.

“Hey, Mabel. How are you?” she asks, the same thing she always asks when she first sees me. It’s become a little ritual.

And I do what I always do: I shrug and say, “Same as I always am. You?”

Unlike me, she always has something different to say. Penny leans on the counter near me, huffing, “I was supposed to go visit my boyfriend this weekend, but he had to cancel because his aunt got sick and him and his family are flying out to see her.”

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