The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer #1)(60)
“They’re not just words,” Jaren argued. “They’re mean, untrue slanderings said by disrespectful bullies, and you don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’re losing sleep trying to help all these people, including Cresta. The least they can do is not publicly insult you.”
Finishing with the gel, Kiva stepped back and said, “Shouldn’t that be for me to decide?”
Jaren frowned. “What?”
Kiva pointed a finger to her chest. “They’re saying those things about me. Shouldn’t I get to decide whether or not to punish them? Or do you think I’d have chosen to have you slam your fist into their faces just to prove an object lesson?”
The gold in Jaren’s eyes blazed angrily against the blue. “You weren’t there.”
“And you weren’t there for the last ten years of this happening,” Kiva snapped back at him. “You think I don’t know how to handle this by now? You think I haven’t tried retaliating and learned firsthand just how much worse that makes it?”
Jaren had the decency to look ashamed, so Kiva made an effort to gentle her tone as she went on, “I’m touched that you were upset by what you heard, but I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. I’ve been here long enough to know that the best thing I can do is ignore it and act like it doesn’t affect me. They can say whatever they want—and nine times out of ten, they end up apologizing anyway, usually when they’re sick or hurt and realize I’m the only one who can help them. Not,” she added with emphasis, “that I would withhold treatment if they didn’t show remorse. Just that when they experience for themselves that I actually do care about them, they no longer take out their anger on me. Because that’s all it is, Jaren. They’re angry and upset and frustrated and helpless, like all of us in here. They just vent their emotions in the wrong ways.”
Jaren said nothing for a long moment, but then jumped down from the bench as he asked, “I’m guessing Cresta isn’t one of the nine in ten?”
Kiva didn’t need to confirm, though she did warn, “She’s dangerous. If you value anything I say, stay away from her.”
“I value everything you say, Kiva.”
The words were quiet, serious, and they caused Kiva’s eyes to lock on his, finding him looking back at her steadily, solemnly.
Silence descended upon them as they stared at each other, both processing what the other had said. It was Jaren who broke it first, his voice filled with apology.
“I’m sorry I acted like such a brute. It won’t happen again.” He didn’t break their locked gazes as he went on, “And just so you know, I don’t see you as some kind of damsel who needs rescuing. I’ve never met anyone stronger than you—not just because you’ve survived a decade in this gods-awful place, but because you’ve sacrificed your own needs over and over again to serve those around you, even—and especially—those who don’t want your help. So you’re right, you don’t need me fighting your battles.” He moved a step closer, his tone husky as he finished, “But . . . if you’ll let me, I’d like to be standing beside you as you fight them.”
Kiva’s pulse was thrumming loudly in her ears. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, bolts of electricity tingled her flesh. She didn’t know how to respond, could barely think over her physical reaction to his declaration.
Careful. Careful. Careful.
The words weren’t her father’s or her mother’s or anyone else’s. They weren’t from a memory; they were from Kiva to herself. Her one and only rule at Zalindov was to not make any friends, because she would almost always lose them. With Jaren . . . she wasn’t sure if it was friendship he was asking for or more than that, but either way, it was a line she could not—and would not—cross. No matter how her heart was beating, no matter how he was looking at her right now, waiting for her response, she couldn’t make any exceptions.
“I—”
I’m sorry, I can’t was what she’d been about to say, the words already forming on her lips. But before she could utter them, Tipp bounced back into the infirmary, followed closely by Naari, and Kiva lurched away from Jaren, dragging trembling fingers through her hair as she walked on wobbly legs toward the workbench.
She didn’t dare look back at Jaren, not as Tipp asked for his help reconstructing the rat pen, not as Jaren quietly agreed and asked what supplies they had to work with. Kiva’s mind was racing, racing, racing, until she felt a feather-light touch on her hand and jumped, spinning to find that Naari had stepped up silently beside her.
“You all right?” the guard mouthed, as if aware that Kiva didn’t want any attention drawn to her right now.
Kiva was about to nod, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to Naari after having spent all day with her. She instead gave an honest, quick shake of her head and held her breath, waiting to see what the guard would do. But Naari only looked between her and Jaren, then turned back with a small, compassionate smile before mouthing, “You will be.”
And Kiva believed her—mostly because she decided that, for her own peace of mind, she would act like her conversation with Jaren had never happened.
Chapter Eighteen
Kiva had intended to head back outside the prison with Naari the next morning to collect samples from the farms, but not only was the guard absent from the infirmary, something else more urgent took Kiva’s attention.