It feels like a dream when I rest in her arms. There's no way that I should have this fortune and every second I fear that I'll wake up and the fantasy will disappear. By all rights she should hate me. Everyone should hate me. I'm twisted inside and if even I can see it, everyone else surely can. Especially her. I may have tried to play political games and seize what power I could, but I've always abided by my own moral code. No matter what I could have gained, I never used bloodbending. I truly believed that what I was doing might help the city, and the realization that all I did was perpetuate the Equalist revolution was what gave me the first glimpse into my own sick heart.
What made it worse was what I did to her. When she came into the city she was painfully naive. It was like watching a child stumble through the life of an adult. Her motives and intentions were painfully pure and it was incredibly easy to manipulate her. But the more our lives overlapped, the more she fascinated me. This was a prodigy bender who grew up without a demon as their parent. She grew up lavished with care, encouragement, affection. With loving parents... with anyone but my own father, my brother and I could have been something like this.
This made no difference to my actions at the time. I watched her move through the city, using her for my own purposes as I could. Thinking of her innocence brought a little half-smile to my face. My whole life was seeing the darker motives and hidden intentions of others, and I had been well-trained since childhood to do so. The twists and turns of political dealing were completely suited to me and I could take some pride in my skill, since I refused to take pride in bloodbending. The sheer transparency of her every word and action as she blundered through the city first made me wonder if it was all just a clever act, but I realized that it was simply who she was.
That night when she confronted me... I can make no excuse for my actions. I was confident that I was a skilled enough bender to take her out, but I underestimated her. As inexperienced as she might have been in other aspects of life, she was a marvelous bender. In a moment of fear and fury, I did what had been drilled into me in earliest childhood. All those painful lessons were as fresh in my mind as ever and my hands moved to bend her with barely a conscious thought. The look in her eyes as she watched me was awful. I was horrified afterwards. Nauseous. I'm sure she couldn't hear me, but I cried as I drove the Satomobile from the city.
After that point, there was no going back. I hadn't changed. I was no different from my father. I helped drive Republic City to the brink of destruction, I attacked the Avatar, and I had hurt this beautiful, innocent creature. I was twisted, twisted beyond all hope of repair. Why not bloodbend further? What good had my morals and resolution done. I was just as warped without my bending as with it. The problem was never bloodbending. The problem was me.
Everything fell apart around me. In less than a day all my secrets were out and my only hope was to run away, so far that nobody could know who I was or what I could do. But he came for me. I don't know why it was such a surprise to me, really. Whatever complaints non-benders might have had, I knew no person with as much reason to hate bending as Noatak and I. It was almost a relief to have the choice taken from my hands. But losing the water was much more painful than I could have ever seen. It felt like I was drowning, twisting my hands with desperation and clutching for the water I could see but no longer touch.
By the time she came to me I was convinced that I deserved everything. I'm still convinced. I thought I hated my father with every fiber of my being, but it's now clear to me that he completely shaped who I am. As much as I loathe what I've done to her, she still finds it in her heart to care about me. After I told her of our childhood, her eyes brimmed with tears. She pressed my hand to her cheek for a short second, then reached out and pulled my head to her chest. As she stroked my hair, for the first time since I was a child I was able to cry.
It still feels like it cannot be real. After what I have done to her and everything she cares about, there should be no reason she should speak to me, let alone love me. When our lips touch, I close my eyes and savor the sensation as a memory against when things must end. I see clearly how sick and twisted I am inside, but she refuses to agree with me. I am ashamed of the role I played in destroying that innocence that I first came to love in her, but that strange innocence has persisted even through everything she has endured. She trusts me completely, and I have poured out my soul to show her why she should stop wasting her time on me, but she will not listen. Every time I try to show her what's wrong with me, she has the perfect word or look to cut through my words and touch me to the core. I could never leave her. She is everything beautiful that I have ever known and I would never be able to voluntarily walk away from what she offers me. As long as she wishes to stay, I will gladly take anything she is willing to give me.