Chapter Fifteen – Mabel
Dr. Wolf stares at me from behind his glasses. His legs are crossed, a notepad resting on his lap. He holds a pen, though he doesn’t write anything down with it; he mostly just fiddles with it. “How is your ankle doing, Mabel?”
“It’s still a little sore, but better. I don’t think I twisted it as bad as I thought,” I answer him. I sit on the same chair as always in his downstairs office. It’s our first session since I hurt myself. Honestly? There’s a lot to talk about, but I don’t know if I should.
The dream I had about Jordan. The guilt I feel. How I pretty much laid around with Tristan all day yesterday. How I can still feel the ghostly sensation of his lips on mine.
“I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself too badly,” Dr. Wolf says. He watches me for a few moments, and I must have it written on my face, because the next thing he says is “You seem to have a lot on your mind today. Care to share?”
“Um” is all I can say.
“Is it about your brother?” Dr. Wolf’s green eyes twinkle as he asks, “Or is it about Tristan? Or, perhaps, both?”
Ugh, this guy is too good. If he can read that from my face, there’s no hope of keeping anything a secret from him—including my feelings toward Tristan. “Both, I guess.”
“Elaborate.”
I bite my inner cheek. “Um, when Tristan found me in the woods, he…” I can’t look at Dr. Wolf when I say this next part; I have to stare at my empty lap. “We kissed. It was nice. It made me feel… good. Even though I was cold and my ankle hurt, it was the best I’ve felt in a long time.”
Dr. Wolf doesn’t say a word, but his disproval is written across his face—then again, he kind of always looks like that.
“I know he’s dangerous and violent, but I feel safe with him. When he carried me back here, it was like I didn’t have to worry about anything. I knew he’d take care of me. You… you probably don’t think it’s a good idea for us to—” I cough, feeling awkward. “—have feelings for each other.”
“Of course, I can’t say I approve. However, your traumas are very similar in origin. As much as some might say it’s crazy, it also makes perfect sense.”
“You’re not mad?”
Dr. Wolf’s gaze narrows somewhat. “You are both adults. This is not a hospital or a jail. I figured it was only a matter of time before you two became closer—I did not think it would happen so quickly, however.” He taps the pen on the pad of paper. “For you to say you feel safe with him, after what you experienced, is momentous. Why do you think you feel safe with someone like Tristan?”
“I don’t know.”
The way he squints at me tells me he doesn’t quite believe me.
“Maybe, in a weird way, he—” Oh, God. This next part doesn’t want to come out. “—reminds me of Jordan.” The moment I say it, I want to take it back. Jordan hid his murderous side. Tristan doesn’t bother hiding any of that from me now… although that could simply be due to the fact that we’re both here, in desperate need of psychological fixing. “Which would explain why…”
Dr. Wolf is never one to let me trail off. I should know that by now. “Why what?”
“Why a part of me feels guilty.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense, though. Just because Tristan might sort of remind me of Jordan, I feel guilty?”
“Let’s delve into this a bit more. I can understand why Tristan reminds you of your brother—not only in what he’s done, but as a whole. Tristan spent nearly his entire life hiding his darkness from those around him, just as Jordan did to you and the world. A part of you must recognize that. Perhaps it’s why you feel so instinctively comfortable and safe near him. Jordan would never have hurt you, and so Tristan won’t.”
A part of me kind of wants to argue with him. Logically, that makes hardly any sense, but I also can’t deny how right he is.
“You loved your brother, didn’t you? A part of you loves him still.”
My eyelids fall, and I sit there for a few moments as I attempt to calm my nerves, those same nerves that always act up whenever we talk about Jordan or I think about him too much. “Yes.”
“You told me before you never really had friends. Jordan was your twin. You felt more connected to him than anyone else. Is it reasonable to say he was your best friend?” When I nod, Dr. Wolf goes on, “He was your world, wasn’t he?”
I bite my bottom lip and mutter, “He was.”
“Do you think, perhaps, the guilt you feel over your connection with Tristan is not only because he reminds you of Jordan, but also because in moving on from what happened—moving on from Jordan—you feel as if you’re betraying everything you had?”
“Yes,” I hiss out the answer, having already knew this much. “But what I don’t get is why—”
“You were best friends. Twins. You shared a deep connection with your brother the majority of people will never feel in their lives, especially with a sibling. Most siblings fight, bicker, annoy each other like it’s their job, but not you two. Jordan was the only one who could get you to do things you were uncomfortable with. I’m betting you believe he was the only one who could see the real you.”
Nothing he said is wrong, which is why I don’t say a word.
Dr. Wolf leans forward, unblinking as he stares at me. “I’m going to ask you a question. Now, it’s not going to be an easy one. It might upset you. You might get mad. But we have to examine this from every angle, and I believe there is one angle you haven’t yet looked at.”
My stomach churns. Some psychic feeling inside me makes me nauseous as I wait for him to continue. I have the feeling I’m not going to like his question, not one bit.
“You loved your brother more than life itself. Were you, perhaps, in love with him?”
The question hits me like a physical wall, and all I can do is blink. Blink and breathe like there is a pile of rocks on my chest. A minute passes, and all I can eventually say is, “What?”
“It’s not uncommon for children to say they’re going to marry their parents or their siblings when they grow up, when they don’t really understand what that would mean… but then they go to school, have play dates, get to know other children. They grow out of it. They start having crushes on classmates or teachers or what have you. Maybe you never did.”
“Maybe I never had crushes on classmates or teachers because I was too busy being in love with my brother ?” I can hardly speak it out loud. I want to slink back into the chair I sit in and hide in the crevices; become a bug and scurry away, never to be seen again.
This can’t be what we’re talking about. There’s no way.
“I told you the question might make you upset, but I want you to think about it.”
“You’re saying I only like Tristan because he reminds me of my brother, who I was in love with? What the fuck?” First this asshole says Jordan manipulated me, and now he’s saying I was in love with my own brother?
“I’m not saying that. I’m merely suggesting the possibility.”
I get to my feet. “I need… can we be done?”
Dr. Wolf gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Sure.” I start toward the door, but he calls out to me before I can reach it: “But do me a favor. The next time you see Tristan, ask him who Shay is.”
The only thing I want to do right now is give Dr. Wolf a big middle finger—or both—but I resist. I storm out of his office, and as the door swings shut behind me, I lean on the wall in the hall to gather myself. My chest rises and falls with heavy, angry breaths, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
I push off the wall as my head spins, my goal to retreat to my bedroom. As I go, I can’t help but think of Jordan, and a memory comes to life in my mind.
It’s chicken nuggets and fries day. I don’t normally eat cafeteria food, but I always make an exception for nuggets and fries. Smother them with ketchup and you have heaven on a cheap plastic platter and Styrofoam plates.
Once I grab my food, I exit the line and make a beeline for my table. It’s off to the side, where the weirdos sit. The druggies. The ones who spend their whole lunch with their noses in a book. People whose tables aren’t full with two to a bench seat.
My table is an empty one. I don’t sit with anyone. I tried once, with the group who reads during lunch, but it was too awkward and weird and I’d just rather not.
My table is in sight, and I’m so focused on getting there that I neglect to see someone stick their foot out right in front of me. My foot latches on theirs, and I trip. I’m not coordinated enough to catch myself before I hit the ground.
My food goes everywhere, spilling on the floor. Every pair of eyes nearby is on me, and the owner of the foot is laughing the hardest. It’s a laugh I recognize; I don’t even need to look at his face to see who it is.
Robbie and his crew. One of the main culprits who’ve made the last few years of my life in this high school miserable—and since he’s a jock, everybody loves him. Teachers, fellow students, even the principal. Trying to get him to stop is a wasted effort.
“Walk much?” Robbie says, totally unoriginal, but everyone around him laughs harder.
I know I need to pick up the mess, but the longer I’m there, the longer I’m in Robbie’s crosshairs, and I’m so upset that my lunch is ruined that I can hardly think straight. The world around me spins, and I end up getting to my feet and hurrying away.
No one stops me. No one cares enough to.
It’s still early in the lunch period, so the bathroom is empty. Towards the end, it gets full of girls fixing their makeup or having a quick pee break before classes resume. I rush to the last stall and close the door, barely able to hold it in as I sit on the toilet.
I know. Gross.
I bury my face in my hands, trying not to cry. I shouldn’t care. Hell, I should be used to stupid things like this—but it gets so exhausting, being on guard all the time, not knowing what’ll be said to me or, like today, how I’ll be made a fool of. After years of it, I’m just so tired.
My phone eventually buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket and see that my brother messaged me. Jordan doesn’t have the same lunch period as I do; if he saw what Robbie did, there probably would’ve been a fight.
Everyone knows my brother fights my battles for me. It just means they wait to make fun of me until after he’s gone.
Jordan heard I fell during lunch. He wants to know if I’m okay. I know I’m supposed to tell him I’m fine, to shrug it off like I’ve been doing, but something in me breaks and I just can’t. My eyes get watery and I close them, tears slow to escape the corners and fall down my face.
I’m so tired of this. I can’t wait for high school to be over. It has to be better than this. It has to be.
I know I have to stop crying; I need to get myself under control so that when next period comes it’s not obvious I spent time crying. I don’t know how much time passes before I hear someone else come into the restroom, and I straighten up and try not to make a sound, waiting for whoever it is to leave.
The corner stall is mine, so I assume whoever it is will take the first stall, do their business, and get out—except the person doesn’t. Footsteps approach the stall where I am, and they stand so close to the stall door that I can see their shoes.
I recognize the shoes the same moment the person outside the stall says, “Mabel, it’s me.”
Eyebrows creasing, I get off the toilet and unlock the stall, and when I open the door I stare at my brother’s concerned face. “Jordan? How did you—this is the girls’ restroom. You shouldn’t be in here.”
He shakes his head, but his gaze never leaves my face. “Who cares about that? Are you all right?”
He’s so worried about me, and yet all I can think about is how he shouldn’t be here. “You should be in class.”
“Screw them. It isn’t like Mrs. Hannahan could stop me from walking out. I had to come make sure you were okay.” He lifts a hand and reaches for my face, and before I can turn away, he wipes a fresh tear away. “Are you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer me before.”
I nod, but it’s halfhearted. “Yeah. I just… I just wish I could go home.”
Jordan takes my hand in his and pulls me out of the stall. “Then let’s go.”
I jerk us to a halt in front of the sinks. “What? Jordan, we can’t just leave school. They won’t let us—”
“It’s lunch. Seniors are allowed to go out. We just won’t come back.” His shoulders rise and fall with a nonchalant shrug. “Again, I say: they can’t stop us.” He must sense I’m hesitant, because he flashes one of his million-dollar smiles at me. “Come on. It’ll be fun. We can grab some food on the way home and watch a movie or something.”
Jordan is the only person in this world who could get me, a goody-too-shoes, to ditch multiple afternoon classes. Can’t say it’s something I ever thought I’d do, but my brother has this way about him. He just makes me bend, makes me melt. He can pretty much get me to do whatever he wants, and he knows it.
It’s a good thing he doesn’t use his powers for evil—except for, you know, right now, but can it even be considered evil if he’s doing this to make me feel better? Jury’s out.
I bite my bottom lip and whisper, “Okay.”
Jordan and I leave the school after that, and I’m not going to lie, my heart feels fluttery in my chest, like I know I’m doing something bad but it’s kind of fun at the same time. There aren’t any fast food restaurants on the way home, so we have to go out of our way to grab something. We end up with a bag of deep-fried goodness as we sit on the couch, trying to find something to watch while we chow down.
Our parents have a big sectional, but Jordan and I sit side by side. He lets me pick the movie, and I end up on one of my comfort watches, Tangled . The songs, the story, Eugene; I honestly love it all. Can’t be sad or upset when Tangled is on in the background.
Jordan watches me for a few moments, a soft smile on his face. “I wish I could make things better for you. All the time, I mean. I wish I could do something that would make all those assholes stop.”
A sigh escapes me. “I don’t think they’ll ever stop. As long as they’re breathing, they’re going to make my life miserable.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans in to jokingly whisper, “Then maybe they should stop breathing.”
“Yeah, if only.” I laugh softly as I meet Jordan’s gaze. His eyes are bluer than mine, a deeper, prettier color if you ask me. Easy to get lost in if you stare too hard. My brother or not, I can see why girls go crazy for him.
Plus he’s got that aloof thing going on for him. He’ll take girls to dances and go out once or twice with them, but he always ends up breaking things off relatively quickly. His excuse is always that he just didn’t feel it with them. I asked him once what he looks for in a girl, and all he did was grin and shrug.
With his arm still around my shoulder, I lean my cheek on him and close my eyes. Being here with him, just us, it’s like what happened in the lunchroom took place years ago, like we’re so far removed it’s easy to forget.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you,” I murmur, and I feel Jordan move his head, so I open my eyes and find him staring down at me with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on his face.
His arm around my shoulder tightens. “It’s you and me,” he whispers. “Us against the world. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.”
The way he’s looking down at me, I believe it. I genuinely believe it’s us against everyone else, that the only person I can ever count on in this world is him. He’s my brother, my best friend, my everything, and I know I’m all that to him, too.
His arm falls away and I sit straighter and reach for a fry as I turn my attention to the TV and the movie. Out of my peripherals, I can tell Jordan still watches me, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but if it’s anything close to what I’m thinking about, we’re good.
As long as I have Jordan, I can take anything life throws at me.
That’s what I used to think, anyway, until Jordan decided to go on a rampage and target certain students that made my life miserable. Anyone who says it’s not my fault doesn’t see the full picture; Jordan would’ve done anything for me, including kill.
And in the end, he did exactly that.
Only now, as I walk through the house, my destination my room, I can’t help but look back at memories like that in a new light thanks to what Dr. Wolf asked me.
I’m insulted in every possible way. My gut instinct is denial, denial, denial, but as I walk up the main staircase, I can’t help but start to wonder if, in a tiny way, it might’ve been true. Siblings fight. Siblings bicker. They don’t always get along—it wasn’t the case for Jordan and me, though. We were always on the same wavelength, right up until the end.
Life is like TV. Unfortunately, no matter how great the beginning seasons were, if the ending sucks, it’s what sticks with you.