Page 21

Keahi

I’m focused on my task when I hear someone approaching on heavy feet.

I turn around to see an out-of-breath-looking Malia.

Unsolicited excitement fills me at the sight of her, and my lips tug into a teasing smile. "It’s only been like thirty minutes, Princess, how are you already out of breath?"

Instead of a snappy retort, the only reaction I get is her heavy breathing.

My brows draw together on my forehead at her weird behavior.

She shouldn’t even be here and it’s unlike Malia to go against the rules of one of our tasks.

I take a closer look at her, confusion snaking its way through my body.

She’s leaning heavily against a tree to steady herself, so unlike the usual graceful way she carries herself.

Dreadful foreboding thickens the air. I notice how pale she is. Even worse, my heart goes into a free fall when I scan her body.

She is clutching her left side desperately, her hand stained red with blood.

Oh fuck.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I didn’t know there was a second one.

You need to help the boy," Malia mumbles.

She is swaying slightly on her feet, and my stupor ends, sending me rushing toward her. I reach her just in time to catch her when she collapses.

"I got you.

Just keep your eyes open, Princess," I speak desperately.

Her body is almost fully limp in my arms, and I lay her down, urgently racking my brain for my next step. "It’s going to be fine; I’ll get you to Kaz."

I’m not sure if I’m trying to calm her or myself.

She seems half-delirious as it is, and I doubt she can hear my words at all.

A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck at the thought, and my eyes flick back to her wound. Fuck, that’s a lot of blood. I’m about to pick her up when she speaks softly.

"No.

The boy." Her eyes are drooping, hardly focusing on me.

"Help the boy!" she wheezes.

"What boy?" My mind is spinning, hands shaking with the need to pick her up and get her to help.

"The little boy.

The men are trying to get him.

Help him!" I don’t know what to do, she’s speaking nonsense. "Keahi, please!" Her voice cracks and, she takes another shallow breath.

"I don’t know what you want me to do.

I’m sorry, Princess," I whisper before scooping her up.

Even if there really is a boy in danger, I’m selfish enough to prioritize the injured girl in my arms.

I run toward the academy as fast as I can with her in my arms, my source of fire blazing wildly inside of me.

Though for once, it’s not demanding a fight.

No, it’s reacting to my worry, not my rage.

I look down at Malia.

Her eyes are fluttering shut again, her chest rising with uneven heaves.

A wave of panic slams into me. “Eyes on me, Princess. We’re almost there, but I need you to keep your eyes open. I’ll take care of the rest, okay? You just have to hold on for a bit longer.”

"No.

Please." I don’t know what she’s begging for, but her eyes close.

I speed up even more.

"Kaz!" I scream at the top of my lungs when I see him in the far.

"Kaz, Help!" I almost crash into him, eager to keep moving.

He looks at me and then at the unconscious Malia.

"Give her to me and get the others!" he orders, nearly ripping her from my arms.

I let her go, and despite knowing she’s in better hands with him, a part of me protests at the thought of letting her out of my sight and care.

When my trainer starts running to the doors we came out of, I follow him, ignoring the stitch in my side and my trainer’s orders to get the other students.

Everything next happens in a blur, Kaz bringing Malia to the infirmary, the nurse rushing around her bed, and me standing in the middle of it.

"Is she going to be okay?" My voice is still laced with panic, and my heart is racing painfully.

For once, I don’t give a single shit about how pathetic I sound.

I promised her she’d be okay. She has to be.

Kaz is standing behind me and pulls me back from the bed, squeezing my shoulder for comfort.

He doesn’t reply, and a new kind of fear grips me.

Why wouldn’t Kaz say she’ll be okay? I helplessly keep my eyes on Malia, clinging to the idea that if I don’t look away, she can’t slip away. If I don’t look away, she’ll have to be fine.

Right?

My gaze stays locked on the gory scene as the nurse treats her wound.

A gunshot wound.

It must really hurt to have someone dig through a gaping wound looking for a piece of metal among your intestines, yet Malia lies as still as a statue.

I can barely watch, cringing at the sight of it.

For all that’s holy, why isn’t Malia moving?

"Will she be okay?" I demand again, and again, I get no answer.

I turn around to look at Kaz, whose face is just as pale as Malia’s.

Why is no one answering me?

I don’t know how much time passes until the hole in my nemesis is completely healed and the nurse steps back with a deep sigh.

It felt like forever to me.

Kaz left the room at some point to retrieve my classmates but is back in the infirmary now.

Malia is all cleaned up and laying on a fresh bed, stable but still unconscious.

The nurse had to cut her uniform open and she is now wearing a white, loose shirt. It’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear something that wasn’t form-fitting. She’s dwarfed by the size of it. I take it in with a weird detachedness.

Some of the color has returned to the resting girl’s face, and her breaths come evenly now.

Ten breaths per minute.

I’m counting, staring obsessively at her moving chest to reassure myself that she’s really still alive. That all that blood and gore didn’t kill her.

I shudder.

"She’ll be fine," Kaz finally says now that she’s stable.

He gives my shoulder another squeeze, and I nod.

More time passes, the heavy silence never lifted by anyone until Malia’s eyes start to flutter.

My anxiety ripples, and the urge to stand by her bed and encourage her to wake up is nearly too strong for me to suppress.

I just need to see her eyes. Maybe once she opens those baby blue eyes and looks at me, the unbearable knot in my chest will loosen.

I stay in the corner of the room despite my urges.

We’re not friends.

I’m not the first thing she wants to see after nearly dying. I’d just make her uncomfortable.

This is torture.

Malia is still barely twitching, struggling to wake up.

My nerves are acting up and the undeniable need to go closer, to help her, grows. I never want to help people. I don’t know why I’m feeling all these uncharacteristic impulses so intensely, but maybe when a person you’ve known for over five years almost dies in your arms, it takes a toll on you.

Even when it’s your nemesis and the bane of your existence.

Finally, finally, Malia opens her eyes.

I slump with relief, some of the weight finally dropping off my shoulders.

She’s responsive. She’s okay. I kept my promise.

She looks around the room in confusion until her eyes land on Kaz beside her.

With a soft groan, she makes an effort to sit up, but Kaz eases her back down with a gentle hand.

A soft, pained moan escapes her as she tries to resist, and it’s almost enough for me to step in and drag Kaz away so he can no longer hurt her. I know it’s irrational but, Skies, I’m desperate to feel useful.

"Don’t move," he says softly, obviously keeping a cool head.

She opens her mouth to speak but no sound escapes.

I have to tear my gaze away from her and swallow around the lump in my throat. Somehow, seeing her this weak tightens a knot in my stomach.

Just give me a glimpse of my feisty nemesis, I beg internally.

Kaz helps her drink a little water and she tries to talk again.

"The boy?" she asks hoarsely.

My stomach swoops, a hollow feeling replacing my insides.

She wasn’t talking nonsense. There really was a boy that needed help? Even knowing that, I wouldn’t change the past, knowing Malia only barely made it as it was.

"Malia, I’m sorry," my trainer says softly.

She straightens up in her bed, slightly shaking her head.

"What happened?" she whispers.

"I got notice of a boy that got shot in the town a little after we arrived here.

I am really sorry."

"No." She’s shaking her head more fiercely.

Then, her eyes find me in the corner, and I can see her pain.

It tears right into me. She slowly stands up, ignoring Kaz’ protests, and walks toward me.

"You," she accuses when she reaches me, her voice strained and cutting.

I stay silent and steel myself, feeling she has more to say.

"I told you to save him!” she goes on, able to hold onto her anger for only a second longer before she crumbles.

A quiet sob escapes her lips.

"Why didn’t you listen to me?" She raises her voice, and I can’t blame her for it.

If there’s anyone that understands how much better anger can feel than pain, it’s me.

The answer to her question is because I’m a selfish bastard and I couldn’t lose her.

Instead of that, I evenly say, "You would have died."

"Now he did! I told you to go after him!" She keeps yelling, even as the tears in her eyes threaten to spill over.

Her words are a punch to the gut, and a new emotion joins the sickening swirl in my veins.

Remorse for the nameless, faceless boy I couldn’t save. Is it my fault he’s dead? Could I have saved him if I went back after Malia was safe? Or if I had told someone about her words? Shit, I feel sick. I hadn’t taken Malia’s words seriously and now a child is dead. A family is grieving.

"I couldn’t let you die, Malia." I force the truth past gritted teeth, fighting an onslaught of nausea.

I am not used to this sort of situation, damn it, and certainly not to feeling so much.

Malia shoves me slightly, oblivious to the fact that she’s tearing me up.

With her tears.

With her words. I’m just glad she’s well enough to be on her feet, even if it is to yell and dig at me. I’ll take it all and say thank you if only I never have to see her on the brink of death again.

"Why not? He was just a boy!" She presses the back of her hand against her mouth to muffle another sob, and my heart breaks a little.

Helplessly, I wrap my arms around her and pull her as close as possible.

Her hands are trapped between us, pressing into my stomach, and her head is resting right over my erratically beating heart.

Just like that, she stops fighting the tears and starts crying against my chest. She clings to me as if she was falling apart and I was the only thing holding her together.

Warmth washes over me, fighting off some of the lingering dread of the last few hours, and it dawns on me that this is the first hug I got since I came here.

My first hug in eleven years.

It’s a foreign feeling, being held this way… kind of nice though.

I’m probably a horrible person for thinking that when the girl in my arms is shaking with sobs and a boy just died because of me.

"I should have saved him," she says just loud enough for me to hear.

I stroke her hair awkwardly, leaning in closer.

Is this how you do it? Comforting someone?

"You did everything you could.

If you had stayed, there would have been two bodies instead of one," I try to reassure her, but she flinches slightly at my harsh words.

I curse myself. Dammit, why can’t I be soft and empathetic just this once?

She keeps trembling in my arms, and I feel so horribly helpless.

I look at Kaz on the other side of the room, and he gives me an encouraging nod, probably reading my emotions on my face.

My walls are all down, destroyed in the face everything that happened. It makes me feel horribly vulnerable.

The nurse comes into the room a while later and takes Malia out of my arms and back to bed.

I regret the lost contact for a second before seeing the black bags underneath her eyes.

If I think these hours have taken a toll on me, I can only imagine how exhausted Malia must be. The nurse gives her something to help her go to sleep and she’s out cold within minutes, not sparing me another glance. Why would she? She hates you.

"I think it would mean a lot to her if you stayed," Kaz says when I am about to leave reluctantly.

She’s been asleep for about twenty minutes, and I think I’ve reached my limit of watching her steady breathing.

Any longer and I’ll be a certified creep.

"I think I should go." I can’t quite meet his eyes.

I’m sure he knows I’m lying, that I’d do nothing rather than stay longer, but instead of calling me out, he says, "I am proud of you." He puts a hand on my shoulder.

A lump forms in my throat, squeezing my airways tightly, and I feel tears stinging in my eyes.

No one has ever told me that.

These words in addition to everything that has happened today is officially too much. I swallow hard and look up at him.

"It’s not your fault.

You saved her," he adds, his voice sincere.

I force my gaze away again, scared he’ll see too much if I meet his attentive eyes. I nod once before heading toward the door.

"Are you going to stay?" I whisper without turning to look at him.

"I’ll make sure someone is here when she wakes up," he assures me, and I leave.