Ch.1
disclaimer: I don't own Avatar the Last Airebender, just Rin, she's mine. I own her soul.
Title: Closet Monsters.
Word count: 1714
Rating: M (to be safe)
Tw: sexual abuse/ murder
Summary: Rin's childhood.
AN: Switches POV a lot. But I think it makes sense enough so that you get the idea of the order of things.
She went like most moms could. When I was four, it was easy then, made sense. No logical bullshit I had to think up, and I didn't even bother to try. Maybe I was just playin' dumb, but either way I hardly cried. I remember that.
That's when dad started drinkin', talked real funny too. I remember how he looked at me when we went to the funeral. Everyone wore white, including me, dumb bow in my hair and he held my hand and just—stared. Said I needed to cry for mom, she wasn't coming back, and I should be sad about that. Why be sad if she just left, ya know? She said it that morning anyway.
"Rinura, I'll see you tomorrow."
She was comin' back, no reason to cry. I guess he didn't like that when I told him. Kept goin' on about how I was a dumb kid who didn't know nothin', needed to respect my elders, shit like that. Took me a while to figure out people aren't just put in the ground for a good nights sleep.
Pretty sure he sent me to my room, and there was a bunch of noises comin' from him breakin' shit downstairs. I hid in the closet then, right in the corner where I couldn't hear, couldn't see, it was dark. Kids think the monsters live in the closets, ha. Boy, were they right.
Started school when I was five. Without mom, dad worked by himself, mechanic I guess, fixed things for the higher ups, made 'em work and got paid decent. Even then, I couldn't go to the Fire Nation Academy for Girls. Not that I wanted to go there in the first place, made enough to stay in Shit City, Caldera, guess that's all that mattered.
I had one friend, forgot her name, or never learned it, I'm not sure. She had dark hair and these big brown eyes, average if ya ask me, but I didn't mind. Her parents went off to the war, left her with her grandma in one of the lower cities…never saw her after that. People came and went, learned that fast. No one sticks around any longer than they have to, so I figured why get too close? I could dance circles around my story, hell, I can dance circles around anything if ya ask, but everyone one just acts like they owe ya somethin'.
Started ditchin' school, thought the education there was bullshit. Big bad lord of flames brainwashes everyone into thinkin' he's somethin' special. Tch, I guess I was just waitin' to watch him crash and burn.
I don't have special skills, don't get me wrong, if you rub me the wrong way I'll kick your ass easy enough, but I don't know any weapons, and I don't have any training, I ain't even a bender. Guess that's another reason I just watched everything turn to shit.
Dad didn't like that. Said I was useless, and mom wouldn't be proud, of course he was drinkin' at the time—so I guess that makes sense. Everyone's useless when you're drinkin'. I remember one night, he got real mad. I came through the door, looked like I rolled around in dirt (probably did to be honest) and he pointed that damn flask at me and started cursin'. Grabbed my hair and dragged me to my room, told me to stop actin' like those low life pigs in the lower ring.
Let's get this straight, my dad's not the bad guy here. You'll understand that soon enough. You want some sob story about how he made me the way I am, then you're better off lookin' somewhere else. I made myself this way, and I'm damn sure not lettin' you or anyone else tell me different. Now let me explain the bad parts so you get where I'm comin' from.
It went like that for months, i'd come home late, i'd get dragged to my room. Guess I got creative, and one day came through the window. He heard me making noise up in my room, so he came and checked it out like any parent would. Found me tryin' to make it look like it was before, so there went my hair again, balled up in his hands and I'm pretty sure I had about ten bruises the next morning. Don't get me wrong, six year olds shouldnt be out that late anyway.
Got worse maybe a year after that…
—
"Rin?" A man, short in stature, large beard covering every visible line of his jaw, pressed his fingertips into the desk, eyeing the dark haired girl quizzically. "Rin, look at me."
Her teeth were bared and her fingers tugged harshly at her scalp, the grey of her eyes wide with a hungry animosity he couldn't place. "Rinura?"
A harsh laugh came then, her eyes shooting up toward the ceiling and her hands falling back to her sides. "—-you know…how every story has it's climax?" Rin murmured, tilting her head back, and shifting smoke filled irises in the man's direction. "Then you get…the falling action, the part where everyone, is just so relieved it's over."
He nods, nerves starting to engulf his limbs as her fingertips twitch lightly and her lips pull back into a smirk.
"Well, here's your climax…"
—
She remembers hands roaming her body, starting at her chin, fingers running along her lips, and finally down her neck. She can note the way it feels when it grazes her pulse, and how it drags down her middle and just past her thighs, before back up again.
There's tears down her face, and she can see his lips moving, and he's saying something, so she just nods. The rooms spinning, and she can remember the faint taste of alcohol on his breath. The spinning is the only comfort, she can't see, so it distorts his frame. So much—touching. She remembers, uninvited caresses, invading lips, and the soft sigh of hurt that fall's from her father's lips.
You remind me so much of your mother.
She remembers that, clearly, how they drug out, like the last note in a song, no abrupt end just runs on and fades. She trembles and slides back on her bed, hitting the wall with her back, wide eyed and scared as her father follows, eyes wild and clouded. Then everything went black.
It went on for months, and every morning after he'd whisper sweet apologies, saying he'd stop. He'd stop drinking, he'd stop remembering his wife, and revive the family he lost. Until he picked up the bottle and the same night he'd come again, finding Rin backed into a corner of her closet knees to her chest. He'd coax her out and tell her to go bed but he'd follow, that's how it happened—months on end.
—
She's still standing there, fingers twitching ever so slightly and her head tilted back. The therapist makes a move and tries to place his hands on her shoulders, trying to bring her back to her chair. His fingers don't get an inch within range before she stiffens.
Her smirk fades, replaced with a snarl and her eyes shift quickly to the hand that has now made contact with her skin. At first, she allows it, keeping her mind framed on the fact that he's a claiming to be a doctor, that he's—helping. it's only when he closes his grip, adds that slightest bit of unwanted pressure, that she snaps.
She moves in flashes, her anger fueling the strength of her small frame, and the man is just too slow. Her forearm collides with his throat and he's knocked to the floor, "don't touch me! Don't ever fuckin' touch me!"
She follows, keeping the length of her arm pressed to his pulse, and cutting off air.
—
She's seven, and for once her father's just fallen asleep. Drowned himself in amber liquid and drifted off into an almost peaceful slumber. Rin cracks her door, watching for shifts in the dim light of the house and silently her steps draw her to him. She's been planning for days, a small knife in hand and a long rag.
She stands there, shaking. Tears stinging her eyes, and clouding her vision, and she unballs the cloth from her hand. She presses a tiny kiss to his cheek, and he doesn't wake, so she smiles a little at that. "I just, want you to be with mommy." She whispers pressing the white cloth of the rag to her lips to stifle her sobs. Rin bites her lip, and presses the cloth to his face, pinching his nose and keeping the other hand over his mouth.
He wakes then, eyes wide, a darker shade of gray than her own, and she moves her hands, leaving one free for the knife and presses it to the middle of his throat. He stops struggling then, and just cries, realizing what he's done to her—to them. How her small hands are still trying to keep the rag from letting in air, but they're too small and his mouth is free. "Rinura, sweetheart listen to me…I'm going to st—"
She remembers the red, how it spilled over the base of his neck and stained the end of the cloth. How she hit the floor and clapped her hand over mouth, bloodstained fingers painting the perimeter of her lips. It only took one movement and he was gone.
—-
Her teeth remain bared, her arm holding pressure and watching his mouth open close fighting for a breath.
"You said you'd stop!" She growls, feeling more hands, pulling her away, and shoving her into a wall. She let's out a scream of protest, but she can feel the sharp puncture that occurs in her arms, stopping her struggle she puts on a smirk, watching the faces fade to black. "I'll tell my pops you said hello." and for the first time in weeks she drifts back to her closet, sitting in the corner and speaking with monsters.