Post by tingrin on Dec 8, 2006 17:43:42 GMT -5
Sibyl was just as silent on the ride home as she had been on the way into town; only this time whatever hope she had was replaced with a sort of empty ache; whatever worry she felt had been taken over by a bitter sadness. Staring out the window with more intent than before, she curled her arms around herself and felt just how truly alone she was.
Piotr glanced periodically sideways at her, concerned by her silence, frightened by the situation and actually feeling more than a little sorry for himself.
Eventually, he pulled the vehicle over and leaned forward on the steering wheel, heaving a huge, shuddering sigh.
"We must talk."
Sibyl half looked back at him, but didn't meet his eyes. She wanted to get back tot he house, back to her things, things thatbelonged to her and reminded her of home. Suddenly everything around her felt far more foreign and dangerous to her. This was no longer an adventure nor was it about accompanying the man she loved to his home; it was something different, something colder, and she couldn't seem to warm herself up again. She was beyond tears, and wasn't sure how to get back again.
"What do you wish to speak about Petya..." Her tone was hollow, meaningless, telling him she would do what he asked of her.
He didn't miss her tone and it ripped him apart.
I have lost her.
"Please understand that I was scared, frightened, anxious. I did not think." He took several deep, calming breaths. "You were so kind to me. And now your father is angry at you, and will probably like to see me strung up if I come back to America. And it is all because of me."
"My father is not angry with me, Piotr." She said it softly.
"You are in mourning. Your heart is in a different place." It made sense, but still came across as if she were blaming him. "I should not have come without his permission, he was right."
"There is no reason to stop, please. Let's go back to the house." She still would not look at him.
"Do you believe that I do not love you? That I did what I did through a moment of darkness and not because you are the light of my life? Because I do love you. Look at me, Sibylinka, please!"
He was terribly unhappy, she could hear it in his voice. Older than she was he may be, but Piotr Rasputin was almost painfully naive and vulnerable in ways that she was not.
"I have lost my father. I cannot bear to lose you too. I cannot live without you in my life."
Sibyl's heart lurched, and she lost her composure, yelling in her windy voice at him.
"And what of ME? What I need, what I want, what should be happening to ME? Petya I don't know what to do..." She put her hands to her face. "You want the solutions from me, and I don't know where they are..." Her voice fell to a soft whine.
"I will take you back," he said, his voice small and far away. "When the ticket or the money comes from your father, I will come back with you. And I will face whatever I have to face. Mother and Illyana have managed without me for four years, they can manage without me for a little longer..."
He stared out the windscreen.
"What DO you want, Sibyl?"
Sibyl shook her head. "I don't know... I don't know. I thought I did."
"I don't want you to come back with me. You wish to stay here. Our lives are not bound to each other's. Papa's right... I should be thinking about school." She took a deep breath, and looked down at her hands.
"I'm sorry I did not think." For us both, she thought. "I should not have come with you. I am..." she was going to say she was glad she came, but she wasn't sure what she felt now. Her father had put Piotr in a much harsher light. And now she wasn't sure what to believe.
"To stay here would be a cowardly act," he said, earnestly. "And I have already performed one of those by running here with you like I did. I have to prove that I am not this man your father thinks I am."
He started up the car again and drove on in silence.
He had always thought of himself as a good man, a kind, thoughtful man. He had been prepared to sacrifice his life on more than one occasion so that another may live. This moment of insanity would likely cost him dearly.
"But your family needs you," she insisted. "It may just be that our lives have to separate in order for things to be done right."
"I only hope your mother will forgive me." She sighed. "That I have brought trouble to you when you're trying to death with your father's death... I'm sorry. I am." And she was, she had wanted only for them all to be able to get through it in their own time, without so much as a peep from her. She hadn't been thinking. So it was just as much her fault as his.
"I would ask of you...not to speak to my mother of this," he said. "She will take time to get over Papa's death. She is very fragile right now. I will simply say that you needed to return home to your family for now and that everything will work out."
A sideways glance, a shaky, scared smile.
"It will work out, babushka, I promise you."
Sibyl nodded. "That's likely better."
So he was getting rid of her like a problem not to be mentioned in sensitive company. Resting her head back on the seat, Sibyl closed her eyes.
It took another mile or so of driving before she began to cry softly to herself.
The sound of Sibyl's crying ripped into Piotr's heart and the little seed of self-loathing that he had plant began to flourish and bloom. He was a monster. He had taken advantage of her affection for him in the worst possible way.
He did not have the words to say, so he said nothing, not knowing how to deal with the situation.
He, too, wanted to cry, but he could not.
Dusk was falling by the time he pulled the car into the farm's main communal area.
Sibyl opened the door and sat with her legs outside the door for a moment, wiping her eyes and watching the sun set. A few deep breaths calmed her, and she pulled together her resolve not to disturb Alexandra and Illyana.
Piotr got out of the car and turned towards the house. IN spite of how she was beginning to feel about the situation, she called for him. "Petya." When he turned to look at her, she held out her hand, beckoning him closer.
He turned to her and looked at her hand. Almost shyly, tentatively, he approached her.
"Yes, my Sibylinka?" he asked, softly.
Around them, there were sounds of people coming and going; young people gathering as young people were wont to do, sounds of the older farmers coming back from their long day in the fields. The smells of cooking fires filled the air, the scents of freshly baking bread and casseroles, stewed for most of the day and no doubt rich and tasty.
This place, so remote, so very backwards and behind the times was an absolute haven of simple delight.
She wanted it all the be true. That this idyllic place, and Piotr's family, and most importantly his love were exactly as she thought they were a few hours ago. That someone could be flawed and still love. She wanted that more than anything.
Standing as he approached, she drew to him and put her long arms around his waist, pressing her face to his chest. She didn't say anything, as there wasn't much more to say. She just wanted him to know that no matter whether he had meant her ill or not, she loved him.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. In his own silent way, he was letting her know exactly what she was telling him.
There was an uneven, rocky road ahead for them both and well he knew it. But somehow, her gesture of love made him feel that he could fight any battle life threw at him and come out the other side unscathed.
"My beautiful Sibyl," he whispered.
Piotr glanced periodically sideways at her, concerned by her silence, frightened by the situation and actually feeling more than a little sorry for himself.
Eventually, he pulled the vehicle over and leaned forward on the steering wheel, heaving a huge, shuddering sigh.
"We must talk."
Sibyl half looked back at him, but didn't meet his eyes. She wanted to get back tot he house, back to her things, things thatbelonged to her and reminded her of home. Suddenly everything around her felt far more foreign and dangerous to her. This was no longer an adventure nor was it about accompanying the man she loved to his home; it was something different, something colder, and she couldn't seem to warm herself up again. She was beyond tears, and wasn't sure how to get back again.
"What do you wish to speak about Petya..." Her tone was hollow, meaningless, telling him she would do what he asked of her.
He didn't miss her tone and it ripped him apart.
I have lost her.
"Please understand that I was scared, frightened, anxious. I did not think." He took several deep, calming breaths. "You were so kind to me. And now your father is angry at you, and will probably like to see me strung up if I come back to America. And it is all because of me."
"My father is not angry with me, Piotr." She said it softly.
"You are in mourning. Your heart is in a different place." It made sense, but still came across as if she were blaming him. "I should not have come without his permission, he was right."
"There is no reason to stop, please. Let's go back to the house." She still would not look at him.
"Do you believe that I do not love you? That I did what I did through a moment of darkness and not because you are the light of my life? Because I do love you. Look at me, Sibylinka, please!"
He was terribly unhappy, she could hear it in his voice. Older than she was he may be, but Piotr Rasputin was almost painfully naive and vulnerable in ways that she was not.
"I have lost my father. I cannot bear to lose you too. I cannot live without you in my life."
Sibyl's heart lurched, and she lost her composure, yelling in her windy voice at him.
"And what of ME? What I need, what I want, what should be happening to ME? Petya I don't know what to do..." She put her hands to her face. "You want the solutions from me, and I don't know where they are..." Her voice fell to a soft whine.
"I will take you back," he said, his voice small and far away. "When the ticket or the money comes from your father, I will come back with you. And I will face whatever I have to face. Mother and Illyana have managed without me for four years, they can manage without me for a little longer..."
He stared out the windscreen.
"What DO you want, Sibyl?"
Sibyl shook her head. "I don't know... I don't know. I thought I did."
"I don't want you to come back with me. You wish to stay here. Our lives are not bound to each other's. Papa's right... I should be thinking about school." She took a deep breath, and looked down at her hands.
"I'm sorry I did not think." For us both, she thought. "I should not have come with you. I am..." she was going to say she was glad she came, but she wasn't sure what she felt now. Her father had put Piotr in a much harsher light. And now she wasn't sure what to believe.
"To stay here would be a cowardly act," he said, earnestly. "And I have already performed one of those by running here with you like I did. I have to prove that I am not this man your father thinks I am."
He started up the car again and drove on in silence.
He had always thought of himself as a good man, a kind, thoughtful man. He had been prepared to sacrifice his life on more than one occasion so that another may live. This moment of insanity would likely cost him dearly.
"But your family needs you," she insisted. "It may just be that our lives have to separate in order for things to be done right."
"I only hope your mother will forgive me." She sighed. "That I have brought trouble to you when you're trying to death with your father's death... I'm sorry. I am." And she was, she had wanted only for them all to be able to get through it in their own time, without so much as a peep from her. She hadn't been thinking. So it was just as much her fault as his.
"I would ask of you...not to speak to my mother of this," he said. "She will take time to get over Papa's death. She is very fragile right now. I will simply say that you needed to return home to your family for now and that everything will work out."
A sideways glance, a shaky, scared smile.
"It will work out, babushka, I promise you."
Sibyl nodded. "That's likely better."
So he was getting rid of her like a problem not to be mentioned in sensitive company. Resting her head back on the seat, Sibyl closed her eyes.
It took another mile or so of driving before she began to cry softly to herself.
The sound of Sibyl's crying ripped into Piotr's heart and the little seed of self-loathing that he had plant began to flourish and bloom. He was a monster. He had taken advantage of her affection for him in the worst possible way.
He did not have the words to say, so he said nothing, not knowing how to deal with the situation.
He, too, wanted to cry, but he could not.
Dusk was falling by the time he pulled the car into the farm's main communal area.
Sibyl opened the door and sat with her legs outside the door for a moment, wiping her eyes and watching the sun set. A few deep breaths calmed her, and she pulled together her resolve not to disturb Alexandra and Illyana.
Piotr got out of the car and turned towards the house. IN spite of how she was beginning to feel about the situation, she called for him. "Petya." When he turned to look at her, she held out her hand, beckoning him closer.
He turned to her and looked at her hand. Almost shyly, tentatively, he approached her.
"Yes, my Sibylinka?" he asked, softly.
Around them, there were sounds of people coming and going; young people gathering as young people were wont to do, sounds of the older farmers coming back from their long day in the fields. The smells of cooking fires filled the air, the scents of freshly baking bread and casseroles, stewed for most of the day and no doubt rich and tasty.
This place, so remote, so very backwards and behind the times was an absolute haven of simple delight.
She wanted it all the be true. That this idyllic place, and Piotr's family, and most importantly his love were exactly as she thought they were a few hours ago. That someone could be flawed and still love. She wanted that more than anything.
Standing as he approached, she drew to him and put her long arms around his waist, pressing her face to his chest. She didn't say anything, as there wasn't much more to say. She just wanted him to know that no matter whether he had meant her ill or not, she loved him.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. In his own silent way, he was letting her know exactly what she was telling him.
There was an uneven, rocky road ahead for them both and well he knew it. But somehow, her gesture of love made him feel that he could fight any battle life threw at him and come out the other side unscathed.
"My beautiful Sibyl," he whispered.