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: fine or school 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. I didn’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—”
“Right,” Tristan finally breaks his silence as he glares at Dr. Wolf. “Because you really want us to get better.”
“Why would I want anything else?” Dr. Wolf asks him as he cocks his head in a very clinical manner. “Your time here has been… unconventional, sure, but why would I bring you here if the goal isn’t to help you master your past?”
A muscle in Tristan’s jaw clenches, and I feel like there’s so much more he wants to say. Maybe he’s holding himself back because I’m beside him and he doesn’t feel as comfortable talking his mind.
Dr. Wolf continues, “Moving on isn’t something that simply happens. It only comes about when you make a conscious decision to do so. It will always require work on your part. You both have very similar traumas—they go hand-in-hand, in a way. It’s quite possible that you can help each other move on.”
“Or,” Tristan mutters, “we can help each other crash and burn. Let me guess: the choice is ours.” He takes on a darkly serious tone as he says that last part, mocking Dr. Wolf.
“The choice is indeed yours. No one can force either of you to choose to move on,” Dr. Wolf says, immune to Tristan’s antics. Actually, he seems to be immune to quite a lot. Can’t say I’ve ever seen much emotion on the guy’s face.
My next words come out so quietly neither of the men near me hear it, and it’s Tristan who says, “What?”
“I said,” I speak a bit louder this time, “I want to move on. I want it more than anything.” I rub my hands together. “I just… never thought I could. I thought what my brother did would always control me.”
Dr. Wolf declares, “Only you control your fate, Mabel.”
My eyes flick to Tristan when he says that, and I study his scarred face. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach for his chair. I can’t quite touch him, so my hand hangs there, in midair, as I say it again, “I want to move on.”
A heavy sigh comes from Tristan before he slowly reaches for my extended hand. He slips his fingers around mine, moving so measuredly I feel each brush of skin on skin in my soul. He nods, never breaking eye contact with me as he says, “I want that, too.”
The intensity between us smolders. It’s enough to make me forget Dr. Wolf is in the room, watching the interaction. I want to move on, yes. I don’t want to die. I don’t want any of this to end. Not once did I think I’d ever want more in my life, but I do.
I want Tristan. I want him in every way. I want to see every single scar on his body and help him move on from the pain in his past and everything that made him hurt himself time and time again.
“I can see we’re making progress,” Dr. Wolf says. “How would you two feel if we went on a little… field trip?”
Both Tristan’s and my head snap in his direction. I’m not sure what Tristan is thinking, but I’m wondering what the heck he means by a field trip. I know Tristan hasn’t been off the grounds of this house and the surrounding area since he got here. To be able to leave the property… his thoughts must be racing.
“Friday, four o’clock. Dress nicely.” Dr. Wolf cracks a smile, although a part of me tells me that smile is hollow. “And be on your best behavior. We’ll be in public.”