Chapter Nineteen

Day Ten

It hurts, not seeing him. Of course, I see him, but its not what I want to see. I want to see his eyes, his smile, hear his laughter. I want to see and hear him so badly that it hurts. But instead all I see is him lying unconscious on the bed, the symbol of the Fire Nation above him. His eyes are closed and I hear his slow breathing and see his chest rising up and down.

As I already said, it hurts.

The pain isn't from the fact that I broke some ribs or that I have burns on my back, but instead it comes mentally. I can put up with the pain the broken bones give and the burns provide. It helps me remember to keep breathing. But I want him just to wake up so badly that it brings pain mentally. I feel dizzy and sad and depressed and so much more. I feel drunk, confused, disoriented.

Sometimes I wonder how bad I would be if he had actually died.

Of course, I don't want to think like that. But I can't control my thoughts or feelings anymore. I feel so helpless, under the rule of pain and submission that I basically stumble through the days. I sit on my bed, staring at the ceiling for hours on the end, thinking about him. The thoughts will wander from him to another subject, and lately the most popular had been lightning.

I hate it.

I have to remind myself that he's alive. That he's alright. But it's hard. I have started to slip into his bedroom at night, because that's when I can talk to him. I don't talk in front of the others. I'm not really sure why - but its partly because I'm terrified of what I'll say. Terrified of what will happen.

But even sitting next to him, even if he's unconscious, I can manage to control my thoughts and talk softly to him. I tell him what has happen since he's been unconscious. I tell him how the weather has been, how everyone else is. I sit by his bed for hours, talking until my throat runs dry and raspy. Sometimes I tell him stories, whether it be ones Grandmother had told me or ones I make up. I have beginning to tell him stories - mind you, completely made up - of what I think the Air Temples look like. I almost expect him to wake up. To tell me that I've got the details wrong.

Of course, he doesn't.

Other times, I just sit there on the chair with my legs crossed and my head in my hands, thinking. I don't trust myself to think anymore. Numbness has became my best friend. So has the pain. I try to hide it. Katara thinks that I'm hurt, and physically I am, but that's not why I wince when I walk or cry at night. Not at all. I endure the looks of sympathy from the others. I hate when Sokka looks at me like that, when his father stares at me sadly. I don't need or want their sympathy. Why should I? That's why I stay in my room, staring at the ceiling.

While staring at the plain red ceiling, my feelings and thoughts loose control. I must sound crazy. I know the others sigh and bite their lips from complaining when they hear me sobbing or breaking things against the wall. I can tell they resist from telling me to stop because it's driving them crazy, that they actually want to get things done instead of listening to a girl rampage alone in her room.

Reluctantly I stop even though none of my friends actually say this to me. Instead I start airbending. Of course, I know no real moves, so I make up my own. I also tell him this while I sit with him in the middle of the night, watching him sleep. His face is in perfect peace, his eyelids shut with long lashes protruding, his lips slightly ajar as they draw in air slowly. I describe my made up airbending motions to him, silently wishing that I could actually show him.

But the thing I wish most is that he'll wake up.