I Am Who I Am
By Seniya
I am not that weak.
I am who I am; I like a wine can flow through your body and intoxicate your senses.
Her eyes are like the skies…not only in their color but in their sheer depth and the expanse of all that she holds there. A thousand emotions at any given second, ranging from pity to pride…I could allow myself to be lost in those eyes.
But I won't.
Because even though she has manufactured pride so that it shows in her soul; I have the eternal pride of a nation carved into every inch of my being.
And I refuse to want her.
I can't dare to want her.
I laugh at you fools…can't you hear my voice? Well, then look…look at what I can do to you…
I try in vain to make myself ignorant of the way that her curves would feel beneath my palms. How her body would shudder at my touch, how she'd whisper my name against my burning lips…both a plea and her way of thanking me. Yes, gratitude would be necessary from the peasant, she should be filled with thank-yous because I had chosen to lower myself to her level…pathetic.
I am not pathetic.
Watch me.
Her hair would be like silk…a river of muddy silk that curls and flows around my fingers drowning my hands in the mere sensation of it, drenching my psyche in its flowery aroma. Her skin, the flesh on her neck would be impossibly soft…and she'd beg me to lavish my attention on it…yes, she'd beg, not me…I never beg.
Say my name.
I'd never comply, because doing as she asked would be a sign of weakness. And I, Zuko, Prince of The Fire Nation am not weak.
And so the fantasy crashes down about me, it has failed to survive its collision with reality…and its all with such suddenness that I find myself reeling. Half awake in my sleeping bag with no intention of welcoming the tiredness that is knocking at my mind's door.
And I'm drowning again, this time in anger and self hatred. Because I can't bear to acknowledge the fact that I spend all of this time thinking about that girl…that lowly water tribe girl…who by all means, isn't worth my time.
She isn't so beautiful; I tell myself, I'd seen a thousand girls…no ten thousand girls who would pale her in comparison.
I don't want her. I don't care.
Call me to you, release those fears…they can't stop me, so why are you holding on?
But those eyes…those blasted eyes call me like a siren's song, and I'm following…listening to the wordless melody and humming along—I've never seen eyes like hers.
Watch me.
I hate myself for this weakness. I swear to the sun itself that I am not this weak. I hate myself for who I am…who I've been made to be.
And now I'm disgusted…because I'm thinking it, I'm actually entertaining the thought…the wish, of how things could be if I wasn't Zuko Prince of The Fire Nation, if I wasn't so proud and strong…and if there weren't at least ten thousand girls who were more attractive than her…if maybe, I could convince her to look at me with something other than pride in her eyes.
Something—softer; richer; deeper.
So that I could drown in her eyes instead…
Don't fight me…stop it…I swear that you won't win.
I don't care for the shape of her body…or the feel of hair wound between my fingers. It wouldn't matter if she never let me touch her at all, if only she'd look at me…then maybe…my heart would race, much like its doing now…and she'd smile—she'd smile at me, and all salvation would be daubed across her face, and all I'd have to do was look…and I could be saved.
And I wouldn't have to care about this…haunting arrogance that even now is raining damnation onto my brief happiness.
You need me…you want me…soon you'll come find me.
It's foolish to think that way. And I am not a fool. I was born Zuko Prince of The Fire Nation and that is how I will die.
That is what I want.
And no peasant, no lowly girl…no matter how pretty her eyes are, will make me wish that it is any another way.
Remember me…I knew that you'd return.
And the walls are up again, they're darker and colder than I recall, but the familiarity that paints them is still as taunting as ever. And I surprise myself by letting my eyes drift shut, and then once more by allowing the ignorance to take over.
And that fantasy washes over me…and I'm gone again.
Watch me.
I can already hear the way that she would gasp when I ran my hands over her stomach…she would arch her back and cry out…but I'd remain silent. She could never have such an effect on me, I am not that weak.
The End
Author: Well, the last time I had a fever, but now I have no excuse. So I'll take the full blunt of your criticism. The last time you were all very nice, so fingers crossed, because I'm hoping that you like this too. The speaker in the italics is supposed to be either lust or pride personified. Depends on who you wanna take it as, but originally, the title was meant to be 'Lust'.
I'm doing this series of drabble-esque one shots for your amusement. Enjoy yourselves.
