Ruination: Part One
It's been three weeks …
It's been four months ...
It's been two years ...
I don't know how long it's been. Funny how you lose track of time when it starts to feel like an eternity.
It's been an eternity since my fight with Zaheer. Bruised, broken, helpless, I sit here, like I do every day. I sit here alone in this cold metal frame with wheels. There isn't much that interests me anymore. I'm given to staring out the window and loathing the world outside, despising how easily Nature commands the elements when I hardly have command over my own body anymore.
I'm often left to stew in my despair, but that's no one's fault but mine. I haven't felt ready to talk to anyone or even look at anyone yet. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. Sometimes when I pass, I accidentally get a glimpse of a pathetic, useless shell of a person. Sometimes, she'll stare back at me, and I can see the dull pain in her eyes. Other times, I'll see nothing at all. It'll just be the empty stare of an empty woman who lost her spirit an eternity ago.
The only thing worse than festering in my dark moods is when my friends try to brighten them. Every day, every hour, it seems, they gather at my door. They seem to have some schedule. I suppose because he knew me the longest, Mako is first at my door. It's a little amusing the way he tries to talk to me and coax me out of my depression. He's a great speaker when it comes to factual things, but he stumbles when it comes to anything emotional. I suppose his stumbling does give me a brief reprieve from my depressive state.
Then comes Bolin with his usual line of half-terrible jokes. He always tries his best to make others laugh, and he usually succeeds, even if only because of his pitiful attempts and the sweet heart behind them. But these days, even Bolin can't do anything.
It's hardest to hear the voices of my friends as they pleadingly try to make me feel better. Whenever I hear them, I'm immediately transported to better times, when I was not a shell but a somebody. I remember what it was like to hang out with them, fight with them...
...and I remember what I was like, what I used to be, what I will never be again. I used to be a warrior, a hero. What am I now? I'm nobody's hero. What is my purpose now but to sit here and seethe for the rest of my days?
A knock comes before the voice. "Korra?"
I used to delight in hearing that voice, especially when it held my name. But now, there is no delight, no joy to be found. There's only anguish, longing, regret. I can't help but imagine myself being swallowed by quicksand as she cries my name from afar, searching for someone who's already gone.
Silence comes from the door as Asami runs through lines in her mind, trying to find one she hasn't used yet. She sighs, her hand sliding down the door as she admits defeat and begins simply with, "Please."
I close my eyes, hoping to be able to close out her voice and the heartache it brings.
"Korra, it's been months," she says. "I know healing takes time, but we're worried about you. If you would just say something, anything, to let us know that you'll be okay..."
She doesn't know how badly I've wanted to be able to say something. She doesn't know how badly I've wanted to say that I'm okay, I'm healing. But nothing can be farther from the truth. I'm not anywhere near "okay". I don't know whether I could ever be "okay" again. I'm devoid of any trace of my former self. I can't get out of bed most mornings. I can't eat. I can't even bring myself to open my mouth and whisper the words, "I'm still here."
Asami speaks again, though I don't hear most of what she says. A cloud of static sits on my mind, and I stumble back into my despair and self-loathing. As her voice goes on, I imagine her beautiful face wrinkled with concern, those glistening peridot eyes brimming with tears of desperation and fear. I would give anything to be able to open the door and welcome her into my heart, but I can't. I'm not even welcome into my own heart anymore. I've become the scourge of my own existence—whatever existence I still have. My mind is scarcely present these days. My spirit has long since fled like a frightened pigeon. All that exists is that empty, wretched girl in the mirror.
"Korra?" asks Asami after a long silence. "Are you still there?"
I lock eyes with the hollow wretch in my reflection.
I'm not here, Asami.
I'm not here.