Post by tingrin on Sept 19, 2006 13:54:07 GMT -5
After crying herself to a fitful sleep, Sibyl woke with an awful headache. Greatly disappointed that what she remembered so clearly wasn't a dream, she brushed her hair with slow, laborious strokes until each snag was freed. Then she sat by her window and looked out on the lawn, feeling cracked in two from within.
What was it that haunted her so. Was it that he had slept with another woman? That in itself made her throat tighten. But it hadn't been his fault, and she was just as much angry for him than anything. The thought of someone else in his arms... perhaps she did love him. She'd certainly never felt anything like it before. Hadn't really the opportunity. And she knew, both from his mind and her own vision, that their crossed paths were no stroke of luck. They would be intertwined, and there was little she could do to stop it. Not that she wanted to.
Most difficult of all was the idea that he had made love to her, but it was not her. There was a modesty that had her shrinking back, wanting to cover her face. An exposure that seemed so much more difficult when he was not near had her, simply, embarrassed. It was as if he had watched her undress without her knowledge. And yet, it wasn't his doing. Then why was she angry with him?
Sibyl rubbed her hands over her face slowly, wanting to cry all over again. Instead she took slow breaths, trying to put her thoughts in some logical order.
Piotr hadn't slept at all.
He had gone for a walk to clear his head, but that hadn't helped. He had tried getting out his frustrations and anger in the Danger Room, but that had just left him with an empty, hollowness in the pit of his stomach.
The big man had spent the rest of the night sitting in the conservatory, a glass of water in his hand, just staring out into middle space.
So many emotions. So much heartache. So much cold reality to absorb. Not only had the girl he had made love with the other night not been who he had thought it was - but he had also suddenly made the very damning realisation that she was also under age - at least in this country.
She was barely older than Illyana, his beloved little sister. How would he feel if some twenty three year old man...
Piotr closed his eyes and repressed a shudder.
"I am a monster," he murmured.
Sibyl found a balcony overlooking the garden at the end of the dormitory's long hall. She shut the doors behind her and took a gulping breath of cool night air, leaning onto the railing.
It had been too much to think they could be together as it was. He was an X-Man; she was a student. It was surprising to her no one had mentioned it to them already. And so he said he loved her- but was that because he remembered conversations with someone else- a woman, not a girl? That thought horrified her. And then made her angry all over again.
She was beginning to believe there was no way out of getting her heart broken. Piotr didn't love her; he loved someone else entirely. Only pieces of the true her were there in his memory. He shouldn't have loved her in the first place.
And she was just a stupid girl with a crush.
At some point, Piotr got up from his seat in the conservatory and exited through the patio doors to walk outside in the moonlight. It was a three-quarter moon and very bright. He walked to the edge of the lake and sat down on the bench, his head in his hands.
First thing tomorrow he would have to speak with Storm, or Nightcrawler: tell them what he had done. He would take whatever punishment was due. He was suffering already, but he still did not think that was anywhere near enough.
He cried for a time.
It helped, in a strange way. It made him realise the true depth of his feelings, but then that made him feel guilty all over again.
And only a few hours ago, she'd been so happy.
Stepping back into the mansion, she made her way downstairs towards the kitchen for a glass of water. All the things she'd been told love was about- walking on air, not a care in the world, that feeling like you want to sing out loud- all those things had been there. Now she couldn't imagine opening her mouth without wailing, or screaming, or sobbing.
What choice did she have now but to go home? She couldn't stay here, with a man who'd fallen for a her that wasn't her, that she could not deny she was in love with, who was seven years old than her as it was... did it matter that in their home country, their age difference would have been as natural as anything? That it was acceptable, even common for a man to establish himself in the world before taking a wife?
Sibyl stopped, and shudder. What was the thinking?! This had nothing to do with anything. Maybe she was just trying to put pieces together, any pieces, whatever she could grasp.
As she turned at the bottom of the staircase, her heart sank, beginning the long chore of shutting itself away from Piotr and all that had happened.
All the current tears spent, Piotr had walked back indoors through the conservatory and was taking his own glass back to the kitchen, staring down at the floor as he did so. He had thought he was above the base instincts that drove people like Bobby Drake, whose idea of a 'relationship' seemed to feature sex very importantly. In Sibylinka, Piotr had found a soul mate, a kindred spirit who had unlocked his potential and set it free.
Because of her he had found the confidence to go out and try his hand at street artistry.
Because of her he had discovered what it was to feel free again, to be the young man he had been back in Russia.
Because of her he had been building up the courage to ask Storm about teaching - like that was going to happen now.
Thus it was that he was deeply engrossed in his own self-flagellation as he rounded the same corner heading in the opposite direction to Sibyl.
As Sibyl collided with the wall of man that was Piotr, she let out a soft yelp and stepped back, stumbling a little. When she lifted her pink eyes to his the expression on her face for a moment was almost horror- he was the last person she wanted to see, the last she needed to see if she expected to get over him, and yet, here he was. And it brought everything to the surface faster than she could handle.
So she stood in fidgety, stunned awkwardness, too confused to speak.
"I am sorry," apologised Piotr before he checked to see who it was.
Blue eyes met pink.
"I am sorry," he said, after a neolithic pause. "Sibyl."
He stood there in his own state of awkwardness for a few moments, before he moved sideways, out of her way. He simply did not know how to deal with this situation, and by the look on her face, neither did she.
"I am sorry," he said, for a third time.
Oh heavens, did she ever not want to move.
What she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and have him make it better. But he couldn't, could he? He'd only made things worse by making love to... that woman. Mystique. The name made her head ache.
Turning a bit as if to slip past him, it really only pivoted her to face him a bit more. Her hands grabbed at one another. She turned her head to look down the hall, her mouth opening to speak... but what could she say.
Sibyl looked back up at him. Her throat was dry, she wanted to be sick. There was no fight she could present against how she was feeling now that he was in front of her.
"It's okay," she whispered, the two words heavily laced with meaning.
He swivelled round to look at her, and the spark of hope flared briefly in his eyes. "You should rest," he said. "We will...talk. Tomorrow."
Another pause.
"If you wish it."
She was so very beautiful, so fragile and lovely standing there. His heart ached with love, sorrow and that terrible, terrible guilt.
"Only if you wish it, Sibylinka."
I love you. I DO!
It should have been a glorious revelation, something to shout happily. Instead it screamed through her painfully, making her breath rush between her lips a bit more quickly than she meant for it to.
Only if she wished it. She didn't a moment before, but now, she would be counting the minutes until 'tomorrow' came.
Looking down, she nodded dumbly, pushing hair out of her eyes. "I do," she whispered again, wondering where her voice had gone.
Sibyl wanted to reach out and touch him- just a brush on the arm, some comforting gesture. She dared not. She really didn't know what would happen if she did.
Meeting his eyes once more, she hesitated, then turned and went back the way she'd come, feet flying her up the stairs as fast as they could take her.
What was it that haunted her so. Was it that he had slept with another woman? That in itself made her throat tighten. But it hadn't been his fault, and she was just as much angry for him than anything. The thought of someone else in his arms... perhaps she did love him. She'd certainly never felt anything like it before. Hadn't really the opportunity. And she knew, both from his mind and her own vision, that their crossed paths were no stroke of luck. They would be intertwined, and there was little she could do to stop it. Not that she wanted to.
Most difficult of all was the idea that he had made love to her, but it was not her. There was a modesty that had her shrinking back, wanting to cover her face. An exposure that seemed so much more difficult when he was not near had her, simply, embarrassed. It was as if he had watched her undress without her knowledge. And yet, it wasn't his doing. Then why was she angry with him?
Sibyl rubbed her hands over her face slowly, wanting to cry all over again. Instead she took slow breaths, trying to put her thoughts in some logical order.
* * *
Piotr hadn't slept at all.
He had gone for a walk to clear his head, but that hadn't helped. He had tried getting out his frustrations and anger in the Danger Room, but that had just left him with an empty, hollowness in the pit of his stomach.
The big man had spent the rest of the night sitting in the conservatory, a glass of water in his hand, just staring out into middle space.
So many emotions. So much heartache. So much cold reality to absorb. Not only had the girl he had made love with the other night not been who he had thought it was - but he had also suddenly made the very damning realisation that she was also under age - at least in this country.
She was barely older than Illyana, his beloved little sister. How would he feel if some twenty three year old man...
Piotr closed his eyes and repressed a shudder.
"I am a monster," he murmured.
* * *
Sibyl found a balcony overlooking the garden at the end of the dormitory's long hall. She shut the doors behind her and took a gulping breath of cool night air, leaning onto the railing.
It had been too much to think they could be together as it was. He was an X-Man; she was a student. It was surprising to her no one had mentioned it to them already. And so he said he loved her- but was that because he remembered conversations with someone else- a woman, not a girl? That thought horrified her. And then made her angry all over again.
She was beginning to believe there was no way out of getting her heart broken. Piotr didn't love her; he loved someone else entirely. Only pieces of the true her were there in his memory. He shouldn't have loved her in the first place.
And she was just a stupid girl with a crush.
* * *
At some point, Piotr got up from his seat in the conservatory and exited through the patio doors to walk outside in the moonlight. It was a three-quarter moon and very bright. He walked to the edge of the lake and sat down on the bench, his head in his hands.
First thing tomorrow he would have to speak with Storm, or Nightcrawler: tell them what he had done. He would take whatever punishment was due. He was suffering already, but he still did not think that was anywhere near enough.
He cried for a time.
It helped, in a strange way. It made him realise the true depth of his feelings, but then that made him feel guilty all over again.
* * *
And only a few hours ago, she'd been so happy.
Stepping back into the mansion, she made her way downstairs towards the kitchen for a glass of water. All the things she'd been told love was about- walking on air, not a care in the world, that feeling like you want to sing out loud- all those things had been there. Now she couldn't imagine opening her mouth without wailing, or screaming, or sobbing.
What choice did she have now but to go home? She couldn't stay here, with a man who'd fallen for a her that wasn't her, that she could not deny she was in love with, who was seven years old than her as it was... did it matter that in their home country, their age difference would have been as natural as anything? That it was acceptable, even common for a man to establish himself in the world before taking a wife?
Sibyl stopped, and shudder. What was the thinking?! This had nothing to do with anything. Maybe she was just trying to put pieces together, any pieces, whatever she could grasp.
As she turned at the bottom of the staircase, her heart sank, beginning the long chore of shutting itself away from Piotr and all that had happened.
* * *
All the current tears spent, Piotr had walked back indoors through the conservatory and was taking his own glass back to the kitchen, staring down at the floor as he did so. He had thought he was above the base instincts that drove people like Bobby Drake, whose idea of a 'relationship' seemed to feature sex very importantly. In Sibylinka, Piotr had found a soul mate, a kindred spirit who had unlocked his potential and set it free.
Because of her he had found the confidence to go out and try his hand at street artistry.
Because of her he had discovered what it was to feel free again, to be the young man he had been back in Russia.
Because of her he had been building up the courage to ask Storm about teaching - like that was going to happen now.
Thus it was that he was deeply engrossed in his own self-flagellation as he rounded the same corner heading in the opposite direction to Sibyl.
As Sibyl collided with the wall of man that was Piotr, she let out a soft yelp and stepped back, stumbling a little. When she lifted her pink eyes to his the expression on her face for a moment was almost horror- he was the last person she wanted to see, the last she needed to see if she expected to get over him, and yet, here he was. And it brought everything to the surface faster than she could handle.
So she stood in fidgety, stunned awkwardness, too confused to speak.
"I am sorry," apologised Piotr before he checked to see who it was.
Blue eyes met pink.
"I am sorry," he said, after a neolithic pause. "Sibyl."
He stood there in his own state of awkwardness for a few moments, before he moved sideways, out of her way. He simply did not know how to deal with this situation, and by the look on her face, neither did she.
"I am sorry," he said, for a third time.
Oh heavens, did she ever not want to move.
What she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and have him make it better. But he couldn't, could he? He'd only made things worse by making love to... that woman. Mystique. The name made her head ache.
Turning a bit as if to slip past him, it really only pivoted her to face him a bit more. Her hands grabbed at one another. She turned her head to look down the hall, her mouth opening to speak... but what could she say.
Sibyl looked back up at him. Her throat was dry, she wanted to be sick. There was no fight she could present against how she was feeling now that he was in front of her.
"It's okay," she whispered, the two words heavily laced with meaning.
He swivelled round to look at her, and the spark of hope flared briefly in his eyes. "You should rest," he said. "We will...talk. Tomorrow."
Another pause.
"If you wish it."
She was so very beautiful, so fragile and lovely standing there. His heart ached with love, sorrow and that terrible, terrible guilt.
"Only if you wish it, Sibylinka."
I love you. I DO!
It should have been a glorious revelation, something to shout happily. Instead it screamed through her painfully, making her breath rush between her lips a bit more quickly than she meant for it to.
Only if she wished it. She didn't a moment before, but now, she would be counting the minutes until 'tomorrow' came.
Looking down, she nodded dumbly, pushing hair out of her eyes. "I do," she whispered again, wondering where her voice had gone.
Sibyl wanted to reach out and touch him- just a brush on the arm, some comforting gesture. She dared not. She really didn't know what would happen if she did.
Meeting his eyes once more, she hesitated, then turned and went back the way she'd come, feet flying her up the stairs as fast as they could take her.