Accused

Korra couldn’t remember the last time she had slept peacefully. Night after night, her dreams were interrupted by the bite of cold creeping through her ill fitting clothes, the gnawing ache of hunger from being underfed, or the heavy sound of her father stumbling home, reeking of alcohol, and tonight was no different.

The first thing she heard was the pounding on the door. It wasn’t the gentle knock of someone needing her; it was brutal, angry, and relentless.

“Korra!” Her father’s raw, hoarse voice dripped with fury. “Open this damn door!”

She jerked awake, her heart hammering. For a moment, she was disoriented, caught in that foggy space between dream and reality.  She tried to focus, and slowly, the tiny room came into focus: the peeling wallpaper, a lumpy mattress shoved against one wall, a single cracked window that leaked the thin gray light of dawn. Her throat was dry and her stomach cramped violently as she swallowed down the lump rising in her throat.

“I know you are in there, you cursed brat!” His voice slurred with drink. “You think you can hide from me? Open this damn door before I put you through it!”

Korra pressed her palms against her knees to still the trembling. He had been drinking all night again; she could hear it in his voice. If he was already this furious before breakfast, the day would be a long and terrible one.

She stood slowly, her legs shaking from overwork and hunger. Her stomach growled audibly. The ache had become a familiar companion, a dull gnawing that never left. The last thing she had eaten was half a crust of stale bread; her father had taken the rest for himself, sadly, he always did that.

The pounding grew louder, rattling the door on its hinges.

“I’m coming,” she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear.

Her bare feet touched the cold floorboards as she slid off the cot.  Her fingers fumbled at the thin iron latch; she hesitated briefly, her mind screaming to stay silent, stay small. If she were quiet enough, maybe he would forget her, maybe he would stumble back to his own room and sleep it off. But this wasn’t one of those mornings. She turned the handle, and as soon as she did, the door slammed inward so violently that it struck the wall and splintered plaster.

Her father filled the doorway, his shadow spilling across the tiny room. Once, he had been imposing for different reasons with broad shoulders, fierce eyes, and a presence that commanded respect. Now he was a husk of that man. His bloodshot eyes burned above sunken cheeks; greasy tufts of hair clung to his skull. The smell hit first, cheap whiskey and sweat, sharp enough to sting her nose.

He clutched a nearly empty bottle in one hand. In the other, his fist twitched, itching for someone to take his rage.

“There you are,” he sneered. “Lazy, good for nothing girl. Sleeping while I have been out fighting wolves with my bare hands.”

Korra didn’t argue; instead, she lowered her eyes. “What… what do you need, Father?” Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it.

“What do I need?” He barked a bitter laugh, spittle flying. “I need you to stop breathing my air and wasting what little I have left.”

He shoved past her into the room, his eyes darting over the bare walls, the corner where she kept her few belongings, the salvaged bedframe.

“Where is it?” he demanded suddenly.

“Where is what?”

“The money.” His gaze snapped to hers, wild and feverish. “Don’t play dumb with me, Korra. The little scraps you make at that filthy job, do you think I don’t know? Hand it over.”

“Father, please,” she whispered, clutching her hands together. “That’s all I have for food.”

“You don’t need food!” he roared, jabbing the neck of the bottle toward her like a weapon. “You think I don’t feed you? You think I don’t bleed every day to keep this roof over your head?”

“You spend it all on drink!” The words slipped out before she could stop them. The moment they left her mouth, her blood ran cold.

He froze, eyes narrowing to slits, chest rising in heavy, uneven breaths. “What did you just say?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“I… I didn’t mean,” she stammered.

It was too late because he lunged and grabbed her wrist in a crushing grip. Pain shot up her arm, and she cried out, begging him to let go.

“You ungrateful brat,” he spat, his face inches from hers. His sour breath burned her nostrils. “After everything I have given you, you dare talk back?”

Tears stung her eyes, but she forced them down. Crying only fed his rage; she had learned that long ago.

He released her suddenly and turned to the bed. His gaze dropped to the mattress, where its edge sagged slightly over the hidden jar.

“No…” Her heart plummeted. “Please, don’t”

He ripped the mattress aside, yanked out the jar, and smashed it against the wall. Coins scattered across the floor.

“There!” he shouted triumphantly, scooping the coins into his palm. “All along you have been keeping secrets from me, just like her.”

Hot tears blurred Korra’s vision. “That was all I had!” she sobbed. “I will starve!”

“You should starve!” he bellowed. “Would serve you right.”

He pocketed the coins, then raised the bottle high. For one terrifying heartbeat, she thought he would strike her with it. She flinched, her arms flying up to shield her head.

But instead of swinging, he froze. His chest heaved and his face twisted, not with rage this time but with something deeper, and darker.

“You killed her,” he whispered hoarsely.

Korra’s breath caught. “What?”

“You killed your mother!” His roar shook the room as venom filled every word. “If it weren’t for you, she would still be here. She wouldn’t have developed a heart condition, wouldn’t have…” His voice broke, and he turned away, swiping a sleeve roughly across his face. “She died because of you.”

Korra’s world tilted; she could feel the air vanish from her lungs. Her knees gave way, and she sank onto the bed, clutching the thin blanket as if it could hold her together.

“No…” Her voice was a broken whisper. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “That’s not true. She loved me. She sang to me every night, she…”

“Don’t you dare speak her name!” His voice cracked like a whip, slicing through her sobs. “You don’t deserve to remember her. You don’t deserve anything.”

Korra pressed her palms to her ears, desperate to block the words, but they burrowed in. You killed her. You killed her.

The hunger in her belly was nothing compared to the hollow ache splitting her heart. She had always felt invisible to the pack, to the world, even to her father. But this, this was worse. This was what being unwanted and cursed meant.

She looked up at him through blurred vision. “If you hate me so much,” she whispered, barely able to form the words, “why not just let me go?”

He didn’t answer. He stumbled to the doorway, the stolen coins clinking in his pocket. The bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor, whiskey spilling out. He swore…

“Because,” he muttered without turning back, “you are all I have left to blame.”

And then he was gone, leaving her in silence, the shards of glass glittering across the floor.

Korra curled in on herself, clutching her stomach as hunger and grief twisted together until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.