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|By Katherine Rebekah||Genre||Rating||Reviews||Updates|
|More from Katherine Rebekah||Drama||PG||none||none|
|Love Those Who Hate You|
Morning again. A new day. A fresh start. A rebirth. Morning was a promise, a promise that today could be better than yesterday. But this was Monday morning and Monday morning was a whole different animal all together.
The sun shone in bright and obnoxious through Katara's bedroom window, a rude awakening from her thick, dreamless sleep. She rolled over to read the time on her alarm. It was 9 am. Everyone should be gone by now, but she could still hear a distant clamoring around in the kitchen and the muffled sound of Sokka and Suki arguing again, probably about the military thing. Katara pulled the sheets over her head.
From inside her protective cocoon she didn't hear them anymore, didn't see the harsh sunbeams, and didn't care to come out any time soon. The cocoon was soft and warm and secure. There was no reason to leave it.
However, as blanket cocoons go, it soon become unbearably hot, the condensation of her breath almost suffocating her, and Katara emerged, flopping the covers off onto the floor, more like a slimy fish out of water then a butterfly. She lie there for a while, sweating in her tank top and flannel pajama bottoms, tasting her own breath, and generally hating the world.
For some reason Katara found a small pleasure in hating and so she subjected herself to lying in the hot sun just so she could enjoy the hatred of it. In fact, the hating became so enjoyable that she started listing things off in her head. Monday was first on the list to be hated, then there were jay walkers, how Sokka loaded the dishwasher, internet comments, idiots at the emergency room, stubbing her toe in the dark, fruit cake, and other stupid stuff like that.
Of course, there was that one person she hated, always lurking at the back of her mind, but she knew if she called him to the front for hatred she would get no pleasure out of it and it would only take the fun out of hating the small things. So instead she focused on cursing the insignificant annoyances, hoping that in some round about way it would cursing him.
Katara continued her game through the day. When she got up, she hated how the coffee took so long to brew. She hated having to flip through a billion channels on the TV to find something that wasn't Christmas related. She hated getting on the internet and not knowing what to look up. She hated how the shower faucet squeaked when she turned it on. She hated stepping into a cold shower because everyone had used up the hot water. She hated the way the hair brush jerked at her scalp. She hated every minor annoyance that had used to seem so small. She hated until she grew weary of the hating, but found that she couldn't stop.
At this stage, while Katara was muttering under her breath as she yanked the brush through her hair, she realized something. For a brief moment she stopped the yanking and looked at her self in the mirror.
Why are you getting mad at the brush? A voice that didn't seem to be her own bombarded her thoughts. You are the one yanking it through your own hair. You are the one causing all the problems for yourself. Face it, you don't hate any of this stuff. You hate yourself.
Then the voice was silent, leaving her to contemplate its words. Did she really hate herself? Her reflection stared back at her in the bathroom mirror, the damp strands of hair clinging to her hollow face. Did she hate that person in the mirror?
Yes, the voice hissed. There is no need to question it. You know it. You hate yourself.
From then on the hating became the voices game instead of Katara's. If hurled insults at her the remainder of the day, only affirming what it had said because, of course, the voice was hers and it really did seem to hate her.
What are you doing now, Katara? Watching a little TV? What a waste of time.
Stop doing your hair. You look like an idiot either way.
Another cup of coffee, huh? Don't you think you're acting a little addicted?
You want to order Chinese? Go ahead then. Pick up the phone. It's not like you're over your head in debt. You can afford some fried rice.''
Katara slammed the receiver down.
"Shut up!" She screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
I'll shut up, the voice said. But only if you stop talking to yourself.
This only served to make her feel all the more idiotic and so the vicious cycle continued.
Katara glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall as she poured her fifth cup of coffee that day. It wasn't even noon yet.
You know, normally by this time of day you would have saved someones life. What are you doing now? Wasting your time.
She looked around the kitchen and down at the coffee in her mug, which was still unsweetened. She contemplated putting sugar and milk in it, but then decided it would be too much work.
Katara didn't move from that spot, just slowly sipped the bitter black liquid and slumped onto the floor. There was not much else she could do accept feel like an utter failure. The girl who was supposed to have it all together was spending her vacation days doing nothing but lying around in her home in pajamas, hating herself. It was pathetic, and she knew it.
The kitchen floor scene seemed, to Katara, very dramatic. And since there were reasons for her to be feeling this way, for a moment she indulged in some self-pity. She imagined herself as a heroine in some epic drama movie. For a while this made her feel a bit better. After all, movies like that always had a happy ending, and the main characters lowest point was always fallowed by some lovely resolution. Unfortunately, the feeling didn't last long. The voice in her head came back to remind her that this wasn't in a movie and she was no heroine, she was just a sad little girl who lost her mommy, and could do nothing to stop Yon Rha from having his freedom.
Upon this realization the idea of self-hatred, that had been so mercilessly hammered into her skull all morning, actually became a real feeling. Katara hated herself. The voice was no longer needed to inform her of the fact, and it remained silent, but still seemed to hover in the back of her mind, a dark angle waring the satisfied smirk of "I told you so."
There were many things she hated about herself in that moment, but the thing that stuck out the most to her, the thing that made her the most repulsive to herself, was the fact that Kya's death had been her own fault.
No song for this one, maybe I'll get about to it... eventually. FYI for all of you this is an updated version of this chapter. It's shorter than the others because ... reasons. So, yeah, I'm sleepy right now if you can't tell. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. :)
For the collective works of the author, go here.