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Post by tingrin on Nov 25, 2006 17:36:08 GMT -5
Hotel Edem, Tomsk
It was sometime in the early hours of the following morning that Piotr and Sibyl unlocked the door of the hotel room. It wasn't particularly large, but it was beautifully decorated and less harsh and oppressive than the walls of the hospital where Piotr had dealt with the necessary paperwork to release his father's body from the mortuary to the undertakers. Due to the nature of Nikolai's death, there was no need for inquest or enquiry and the body was released almost immediately.
Piotr had an early conversation with the undertaker, a pleasant, affable man whose sympathy at least felt genuine. A funeral would be arranged, a cremation with the ashes being taken by Alexadra to the farm back in Siberia.
His mother and sister were staying at the same hotel and had returned earlier at Piotr's insistence. They were both exhausted and now that Nikolai had passed away, they could do no further good sitting at the hotel. He had ordered them a taxi and sent them on their way.
He was exhausted, but still his concern was primarily for Sibyl's comfort. He asked her if she was hungry, made her a cup of tea with the hotel room facilities and generally - well, the only word to describe it was 'bustled'.
Piotr was keeping his mind occupied. The reality of his father's death hadn't really gelled and meshed with his own reality yet and he felt faintly surreal, like he was walking around inside someone else's dream. He was in control of his body, of his words, and yet he didn't know this cool, calm stranger.
The big man sat down on the end of the bed whilst she was in the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror for a while.
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Post by oracle on Nov 25, 2006 17:52:18 GMT -5
It had been strange, and set Sibyl in an odd place as Piotr had turned his attention to her. They stumbled over one another most of the afternoon, as she insisted he not take care of her, that she should be doing so for him- he almost became frustrated with her. She finally relented.
Dressing in the bathroom after her shower, her long pale blue hair was wet and twisted up off her neck as she returned to the room.
"Now, will you eat something please?"
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Post by tingrin on Nov 25, 2006 17:55:40 GMT -5
"I am not hungry," was the honest reply. "Please, Sibyl, I do not wish to eat. I will have this packet of biscuits with my cup of coffee if it will make you feel better."
He tried to smile at her, but it wouldn't come. That same, strange feeling of not quite being fixed in this reality continued to plague him as he looked at her, her other-worldly, ethereal beauty transfixing him for just a fleeting moment.
"Come and sit here," he said, patting the end of the bed. "Please. Just a few moments where we can be alone together and then I promise I will call for sandwiches, or something. Is that a compromise?"
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Post by oracle on Nov 25, 2006 17:58:41 GMT -5
She almost wanted to cry as he snapped at her, but it wouldn't have shown on her face. Moving near him even as he asked her to come to him, she sat readily and took his hand in both of hers.
A soft laugh followed a gentle smile, more shy and scared than it would seem. Piotr wasn't dealing with his father's death, and it was beginning to show. But she couldn't prod him any more. It would have to come on its own.
"I suppose. If you become hungry enough, you'll eat, I'm sure." She kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry Petya."
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Post by tingrin on Nov 25, 2006 18:04:59 GMT -5
"Why are you sorry?" He tipped his head on one side and stared at her. "There is nothing for you to apologise for, Sibyl, do not be so foolish." Yes, he was definitely snappish and on edge. The fact that he simply could not let his grief go was putting quite the strain on him. He wanted to cry, desperately. But he somehow couldn't. Was it that the grief was so much that it had come right through into this weird emotional calm?
Or was it that he had somehow cut himself off from the feelings?
He closed his eyes. "I should apologise to you. I am tired. Perhaps if I sleep, I will not be so angry with you."
Looking across at her, he studied her face and then, quite uncharacteristically for him, he pulled her towards him for a kiss. It was a very sudden movement, nothing at all like his normal gentleness.
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Post by oracle on Nov 25, 2006 18:12:44 GMT -5
Sibyl's breath caught, and she put her thin hand on his leg to balance herself again, kissing him back.
Angry with her? Had she done something wrong? Her heart beat faster, knowing he likely needed her closeness, and willing, completely willing to provide for him anything he wished.
A part of her wondered if she'd been better off staying at home- while he'd taken strength from her presence before, now she seemed somehow to be in the way.
But he wanted this kiss. It confused her, but she wouldn't deny him. He'd never kissed her so passionately, and she gasped, putting a hand on his arm gently.
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Post by tingrin on Nov 25, 2006 18:23:34 GMT -5
The kiss excited him in a way that their innocence never had in the past. His hand came up behind her head and tangled in her hair, pulling her closer to him. He adored this girl - no, this woman. She had left and come here with him, she had been accepted by his family, she had been with him throughout the day's ordeal and she was here.
She was real, she was tangible. She was, for the displaced and deeply unhappy young man, a connection to that real world that he no longer felt a part of. Perhaps, somehow, by kissing her, by touching her, by pressing his body up against her - feeling her warmth, her presence, her realness - perhaps that could make him feel alive again.
"Sibyl," he murmured, before he lost himself in another kiss, his fingers tightening around her hair.
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Post by oracle on Nov 25, 2006 18:31:39 GMT -5
Sibyl trembled. While half of her reacted just as any girl her age might- her breath quickening, a tingling fire rolling over the surface of her skin- another half knew this for what it was. Piotr had never been this way with her; they'd only shared the sweetest, most gently loving kisses. But someone else had, a man who hadn't cared at all for the girl Sibyl was or the woman she was becoming. That sort of need and demand from a man had been tied closely to the idea of marriage in Sibyl's mind; and all the talk of family and marriage just hours before at the hospital left Sibyl with no way to reconcile Piotr's behavior as anything other than what was expected from a man, and the woman that loved him.
The tight little sound that left her throat may have been a moan or a whimper- it was difficult to tell and not even she was sure. As he tightened his hold on her she became frightened, but that fear was nothing new. Her hand gripped his arm and she threw all the trust she had in him between herself and that fear, her love a shield against anything her mind might tell her was wrong.
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Post by tingrin on Nov 25, 2006 18:39:11 GMT -5
Perhaps it was the sound she made, or perhaps the way he felt her body tense that snapped Piotr out of his moment of lust. Abruptly, he broke off the kiss and got to his feet.
"I have to go get some fresh air," he said, in a tight, angry voice. "You get some rest. I do not know how long I will be. Do not wait up for me."
A memory rose, unbidden in his mind, of the night of passion he had spent with Sibyl - no, not with Sibyl - and he felt deeply ashamed at himself for the way he had just acted. Unable to express that shame aloud, he reacted in the only way he could right now - with anger.
He didn't exactly slam the door as he left the room, but it was certainly closed with more force than was perhaps otherwise necessary.
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Post by oracle on Nov 25, 2006 18:46:04 GMT -5
Sibyl sat there in shock for a long time, her breath eventually slowing again, her hair dishevelled, her hands lying slack in her lap. She looked down at them, turned them over, wondering if they were even hers.
Lifting them to her face, she pushed her hair back, and slowly straightened it again, twisting the long strands into a single knot at the back of her neck.
Where was he going, and what had she done? Her knees shook as a creeping fear took control- that he would leave her here, in Tomsk with no way to get home. That she was somehow no longer of use to him, that he would go and be with his family. Worst of all the scenarios that ran through her mind was thinking he might send her back to the United States and stay behind.
Sibyl was beyond tears, the methods through which she had survived since she was very young stepping in to carry her along. After a while she stood, and began to slowly pick up the hotel room.
She watched a television program, occasionally going to the window to look out after him. Where had he gone? Was he going to come back?
When the sun went down and the hours stretched on without his return, Sibyl remembered what he had said. She didn't want him to be angry with her for being awake when he returned. Quietly dressing herself for sleep, she turned off the lights and drew the blankets around her, her pale eyes open in the darkness.
Where were her visions now?
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