Chapter Nine – Tristan
A result of me being trained to be an assassin from a very young age is my hearing tends to be better than most people’s. It’s why I hear a car driving up to the mansion before Wolf—also why I make it to the front door before he does. In fact, the man is nowhere to be seen, which I take to mean he’s hidden away, doing whatever the fuck he does when he’s not dealing with me or in a session with Mabel.
I hear the car shut off as I stand there in front of the door. There are windows all around the door, but not on the door, so it isn’t like whoever it is will be able to see me standing there.
I should go get Wolf. He’ll be pissed if I answer the door first… but then again, do I give a shit? I saw the car with a quick glance out of the window; I know it’s the car Mabel comes in. Showing up this late… if Mabel’s in there, it can’t be good.
A soft knocking bounces off the door, and my chest constricts in a way I can’t describe. Out of concern for Mabel? It’s an odd thing for me; I never gave a shit about anyone other than my sister before.
The logical voice in my head tells me to go fetch Wolf, but the illogical part of me wins out and I open the door mere seconds after the knocking to find it is, indeed, Mabel standing there in the darkness of the early night. Her lips are drawn together, thin, and she looks completely out of sorts.
She must’ve been expecting Wolf, because it takes her a moment to realize it’s me. She blinks at me, and then her eyes widen. “Tristan.” Even now, when she says my name so breathlessly… it makes me forget why I’m here in the first place.
“What’s wrong?” The question is out in a millisecond; anyone with eyes and a crude sense of human emotion would be able to sense it.
Mabel breathes hard all of a sudden, and she glances back at the car. “I…” Her voice cracks, breaking on the lone word, and I do something I probably shouldn’t.
I reach for her.
Just her hand as it dangles there by her side. It’s tentative at first, but when she doesn’t yank her hand away, I slide my hand around hers and pull her inside the house.
Having her so close… it’s an odd thing for me. Her hand feels so soft compared to my calluses, and in mine hers is so goddamn small. I can smell her, too. She carries a faint whiff of strawberries. Something fruity and sweet.
Too sweet for someone like me, and yet…
Wolf comes down the stairs from the second floor, and I react instinctively by pulling my hand out of hers and taking a step away from her to put some distance between us. I don’t want to, but it would be for the best if I don’t lose myself in this girl.
Bad, bad things happen when I get obsessive.
“Mabel,” Wolf says as he approaches us. “What are you doing here so late? Are you all right?”
My attention is solely on Mabel, which is the only reason that I watch her glance at me before telling him, “I couldn’t go home. I… I went to The Drip like you told me to, and I—the door was too loud. It was like I was back there, reliving that day.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, and what stuns me the most is the fact that a single tear falls from the corner of her eye. It trails down her cheek, moving along her jaw until it reaches her chin, where it pools, not enough density for gravity to bring it down further.
I’ve never seen anyone cry before. My parents were hard people, and Shay is far too strong-willed to ever let something hurt her so bad. This girl… she’s fragile, and that makes me want to do something strange.
Protect her.
I want to protect her, to fix whatever pushed her to this point and do whatever I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
“It’s okay,” Wolf says as he adjusts his glasses. “You—”
“I almost drove myself into a tree because,” she pauses and shrugs her thin shoulders, “because I could. Because it could be an accident. Maybe a deer jumped out in front of me or something. It’d hurt my dad less that way, I think.”
Suicide? I knew Mabel had to be fucked up to be accepted as a client of Wolf’s, but I didn’t think… it’s difficult for me to comprehend the fact that the girl standing in front of me has debated on killing herself.
It’s not right. It’s not right at all.
Wolf stares hard at Mabel, and he doesn’t say anything right away. Then those perceptive eyes of his flick in my direction, and he must see something on my face, because he says something I never would’ve guessed he’d ever say, “Tristan, why don’t you take Mabel out back? I’ll make us some tea.”
Telling me to take Mabel outside? Basically giving me the okay to be alone with her? What…
No. You know what? I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The way Mabel looks at me after Wolf suggests that is unlike any other look I’ve ever received before. I wordlessly gesture for her to come with me, and as I walk around Wolf, she walks with me, not saying a single word more.
As we walk through the house to the back, what she said earlier swirls around in my head. She nearly killed herself by driving into a tree. She wants to die. It’s a feeling I know well. I tortured myself for years—both physically and mentally—because I failed the only person that truly mattered to me. I look like a scarred monster now because that’s what I felt.
I wanted to die, yes, but I wanted to make myself hurt. Pain is preferable when the other choice is nothing at all. I’d rather have pain than nothing.
Once we’re outside on the back patio, Mabel doesn’t go to sit on a wicker chair. She goes to the edge of the stamped concrete and sits down, cross-legged. I stand behind her for only a moment; I hesitate only because comfort is not something I’m used to. Not used to receiving or giving.
I’m slow in lowering down to her level, though I don’t sit like she does; I extend my legs off the edge, onto the grass. I don’t wear shoes, nor do I wear socks. My feet are bare beneath the bottom hem of my pants. I set my arms on my knees and lean slightly forward, staring straight ahead, as she does.
She’s the one who breaks the silence: “Did you do all of that to yourself?”
The only thing I can do is nod.
“Why? I… I know it’s none of my business, but… there are easier ways to kill yourself.”
Long sleeves cover most of the scars on my arm, including the one I carved time and time again in my sister’s name. I’m sure the rising moon in the dark sky highlights the scars on my face well enough. “I didn’t want to kill myself,” I whisper. “I wanted to die.”
I’m measured in meeting her stare, and I can tell by the look she gives me she doesn’t understand the difference.
“I wanted pain, not for the pain to end,” I say, struggling to find the right words. I’m not good at putting words to feelings, or feelings to words. I’m a loner. One severely fucked-up individual.
Mabel is quiet for a few moments. “Dr. Wolf said you’re violent. Are you?”
Yes . But perhaps that’s not something to say to someone like her, so I settle for saying, “I was.”
“He said you did terrible things.”
All I can do is nod, knowing what question is coming next.
“What did you do?” She then quickly adds, “You don’t have to tell me. I know it’s private. You don’t know me at all, but I…” She swallows hard. “I want to know.”
This is the girl that saw past my scars. The girl who smiled at me. The girl who shed a tear in front of me. So fragile; she really shouldn’t be curious about me at all. And yet here we are, side by side, and it feels so natural.
Maybe telling her will make her want to put distance between us, make her stop being so curious about me. Maybe she’ll look at me with disgust.
That would make things easier.
I heave a sigh as I stare into her eyes, unable to look away. Not when I’m about to confess something as monstrous as my past. “I killed people.” Surely she’d scoot away, get up and leave me here. Something. Anything.
But she doesn’t. All she does is ask, “Who?”
My past was never something I regretted. I only regretted the fact that I got caught, that I failed in my machinations… until now. Something about the look on her face makes my stomach coil up in an uncomfortable way. It’s why the urge to turn my face away from her takes hold, and I mumble my answer: “Lots.”
Mabel doesn’t shy away, but she must accept that answer because she asks another question: “Why?”
I don’t want to tell her why. Instead I act like I’m getting to my feet—the conversation is too damn uncomfortable for me now, for whatever reason—but she grabs my arm and stops me. Mabel doesn’t physically stop me; it’s more that her mere touch through my shirt sleeve does.
I swallow hard, sluggish in once again bringing my stare to hers. I don’t relax; how can I when this girl is asking questions like that? These are questions I only thought I’d hear from Wolf when he puts on his therapist hat, not anyone else.
She must sense how uncomfortable I am with that question in particular, because as she lets her hand slide off my arm, she whispers, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but I—I think I might understand more than most people. Sixteen people are dead because of me, so…” Mabel bites her inner cheek as she looks away.
Sixteen people are dead because of her? I don’t believe that. She might, but that can’t be the truth.
I want to ask what happened, but she’d probably have the same reaction I did when she asked of my past. It’s why we’re so fucked up, why we need someone like Wolf in our lives, to help us deal with the severity of it all. Of course I’m curious about her. So damned curious. I’d give anything to know what plagues her so.
The way she sighs tells me she’s as broken as I am, only in a different way. “I just don’t get how we’re supposed to go on like nothing happened. Some things you just can’t forget.” Mabel shakes her head. “I’m the one who should be dead, not any of them.”
“I’m glad you’re not.” The words come out of me before I can stop them, before I realize just how they might come across: too empathetic. Too emotional. Too caring. None of which are me. Somehow this girl brings it out of me and I don’t know how.
Though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted to it, and I see the corners of her mouth quirk upward in a slight smile. A soft one, one that you might not even notice if you aren’t paying attention, but I see it. I see it, and it makes me feel… well, for lack of a better word, good .
“It’s weird,” she whispers, “but I like talking to you. I know Dr. Wolf isn’t supposed to judge or anything, but… it’s not the same. It’s different with you. I feel like I can talk to you about anything and you won’t judge me for any of it.”
And then Mabel adds something that damn near makes my heart do something funny in my chest: “You make me feel better.”
Parts of my body heat up in response to hearing her say that, in addition to the weird thing my heart does. You’d think I’d been pining, obsessing over this girl for years with the way my body reacts to hearing those words.
God. Living here, basically a trained dog with this collar around my neck, I am pathetic, aren’t I?
I should say something back. I should tell her… something, that I like talking to her too. But no words come out of my mouth. I think I’m too shocked at hearing I make her feel better; they are words I never thought another person would say.
All I was born to do was kill. Kill and take over the family mantle. Find a woman, make her my wife, put heirs inside her belly. Teach my sons how to become assassins to eventually take my place. I was never meant for a slow life, for someone like Mabel.
But that plan? My destiny? I fucked it all up by doing what I did, by killing who I killed and wanting what I wanted. And now I’m here, at a place that should be my prison, sitting next to a girl who is, perhaps, as broken as I am—a girl who makes me feel things I never dreamed I’d feel.
I want to say something back, something of equal magnitude. It takes me a minute to find the words, but once I do, I look into her eyes and tell her, “You make me forget.”
Mabel doesn’t look at me like I’m a violent offender. She doesn’t talk to me like she’s trying to be careful in the words she chooses. Granted, we’ve only interacted twice, so there isn’t much to go on. If I have to describe the feeling I get, though, it’d be just that: she makes me forget. She treats me normally. She doesn’t scoot away from me when I get close to her.
I don’t know how long we sit there, side by side, staring at each other, but it feels like an eternity. It’s an eternity I wouldn’t change, wouldn’t escape from. For the first time in a long, long time, I like where I am. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
And I want… fuck. I want things I shouldn’t. I want to inch closer to her, to feel her warmth seep into me. I want to take that small hand again and memorize the way it feels in mine. I want to lean in, angle her chin back and…
Kiss her. I want to kiss her. Feel her lips on mine and see if they’re as soft as her hand.
But kissing her isn’t meant to be, because shortly after those thoughts enter in my head, we’re interrupted: “Mabel, Tristan.” Wolf’s voice cuts into our staring contest, and Mabel is the first to look away, at Wolf, who stands near the furniture closer to the house. He brought out a small tray with three cups.
I hold in the groan that threatens to escape me; leave it to Wolf to interrupt at the worst possible time. I get to my feet quicker than Mabel, and as a result I offer her my hand again.
Mabel looks as though she doesn’t want to get up, but in the end she accepts the offer and sets her hand in mine. Once her hand touches mine, my fingers are slow to curl around it; this time I know to savor each and every second. I help her up, and then, hand in hand, we walk to the table where Wolf stands, watching the entire interaction.
I’ll probably never hear the end of it, but you know what? I don’t care.
I let Mabel pick her chair first, and only after she sits do I release my hold on her hand. I choose the seat next to hers, not wanting to leave just yet. Since Wolf brought out three cups of whatever tea he made, I safely assume I’m welcome to stay—for now.
Wolf sets a cup in front of Mabel, and then in front of me. He takes the last cup as he sits down, and he picks up the teabag by the string and swirls it around his cup. Both Mabel and I watch him; I know he’s got something to say, but he’s holding back, waiting for the exact right time to say it.
Mabel reaches for her cup and fiddles with it before taking a sip, and the face she makes after that sip tells me she’s not a tea person. Neither am I—which is why I don’t touch my cup or the tea inside it.
“Mabel,” Wolf starts, “the entire reason you’re a patient of mine is because you agreed to come to me. Your father was worried about you. He wants you to get better, as do I. I’m sure Tristan here agrees.” Beneath his glasses, his eyes flick to me, and all I can do is nod once.
He’s not wrong. I don’t like seeing her upset or knowing she almost drove herself into a tree to try to take her own life.
“Tonight isn’t the first time you’ve thought about taking your own life,” Wolf states, and hearing that information makes me glance at Mabel, but she’s too busy staring at Wolf over her cup of tea. “The fact that you came here is good, however, I am concerned the next time you might not. All it takes is once, and then that’s it. No second chances. No do-overs. You’d be gone.”
Mabel quietly says, “I know.”
“Let me ask you this: do you feel comfortable here?”
All she does is nod.
“Perhaps we should try something else,” Wolf suggests. “You know Tristan lives here. How would you feel if you did the same?”
“What?” Wolf’s words must catch Mabel off-guard, because that’s the only thing she says.
“You must feel comfortable with yourself and the things you feel before you can face them and overcome them. Living here, I would be available to you whenever you need me, and you wouldn’t have to stress about acting like everything is fine in front of your father. Of course, your father would be free to visit you whenever he wishes.”
“Um, I don’t think we have the money for that—”
Wolf says, “It would cost no more than what your father is already paying. Consider it a gift, if you must. I want to see you make progress, and it seems to me, you and Tristan have much in common. It’s not often I’m wrong, but I’m starting to believe perhaps I was wrong to keep you two apart. I believe you could help each other.”
My first instinct is to narrow my eyes at Wolf and wonder what kind of game he’s playing. Such a quick one-eighty, considering how he drilled it into my head that Mabel’s off-limits to me in every way.
A man like him doesn’t change his mind so easily. No, there has to be more to it. But Mabel seems to trust him, so it isn’t a question I can ask him right now… and whenever I do, I doubt he’ll tell me the full truth.
But then, as I think about it, the more I can’t complain. If Mabel’s living here, she’ll be close, and if she’s close…
There are a lot of ways that sentence could finish, not all of them good. What if I end up hurting her? What if whatever spell she’s under right now when she talks to me fades, and she starts to treat me like the monster I am?
A thousand what-ifs. I guess the only thing we can do is wait and see what happens.
“How…” Mabel pauses. “How would it work? I mean, how would I tell my dad I want to stay here?”
“Well, for starters, I believe that’s his car out front, so I would follow you there. We would tell him what happened tonight, and how I believe you need more care than our current sessions. Your father wants what’s best for you, as all good parents do. You would pack what you need, and then you would come home with me.”
Listening to him speak, it doesn’t sound real. Mabel’s going to move in. She’s going to live here. It’s surreal.
Am I dreaming? Because that’s what this has to be: a fantasy. A dream that would in reality never come true. It’s the only way I can explain away Wolf’s sudden switch tonight. There is absolutely no way this is just about Mabel.
She thinks on it as she toys with the teabag. For a split second she appears sad, soul-crushingly sad, and then she looks at Wolf and says, “Okay.”
Wolf stands and sets his cup on the tray while his other hand slides into his pocket. He pulls out his phone. “Let me call your father and inform him we’re on our way over. Finish your tea. I’ll meet you out front.” With a tight-lipped smile, Wolf disappears inside the house.
Mabel picks up her cup and takes another sip, and when she pulls the cup away I see the frown on her lips. Finally, those eyes land on me. “Can I tell you a secret?” she whispers as she leans toward me.
I nod once.
“I hate tea,” she says, and the way she says it, so seriously, makes it sound like she’s confessing something much deeper. A second passes, and then she cracks a smile and laughs.
“I can tell,” I whisper.
“I guess you and I are going to start seeing a lot more of each other.”
“I guess so.”
The smile she gives me then is sweet and gentle, and if I wasn’t already sitting down, it would’ve knocked me off my feet. “Thank you for listening, and for talking to me. You didn’t have to.”
The cold night air blows around us, and I suddenly realize I’ve been inching closer to her, leaning over the side of the chair I’m in. Our faces are about a foot away, and it still feels way too goddamned far. “I wanted to,” I tell her, meaning it—which is surprising for me, because I don’t mean much anymore.
“I wanted to, too.” As she says that, her gaze falls, or at least I think it does. It falls to my mouth. But in a matter of seconds, her eyes lock with mine once more and she forces herself to take one last sip of her tea, gagging in the process. “I guess I should meet Dr. Wolf up front. I’ll… see you later?” It comes out like a question, and it’s only thanks to the light coming from the house that I notice the slight blush on her cheeks.
Maybe her cheeks are pink because it’s a little cold out. Or maybe…
No. She’s just a sweet, gentle soul that got caught up in something dark. A girl like her would never find a man like me attractive, scars and all. An angel, broken as she was, could never fall for a monster like me.
That has to be why Wolf invited her to live here—so I would constantly torture myself with being so close to something I want but know I’ll never truly have.