a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY YODEL! anyway, this was written for chimneyswept, her birthday is tomorrow, and i uploaded today. first time writing litbel = awful but i hope you enoy and such.
(the world was infatuated with young, pretty female killers for a reason)
(no more dreaming like a girl, so in love, so in love / no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world)
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Toris Lorinaitis had known Nataliya Arlovskaya for a grand sum of two years.
In reality, Toris could not quite recall those two years when the Braginsky's had lived in St. Petersburg very well nor how old he was at the time, yet he remembered perfectly every conversation he had with Nataliya - those half-understood, brief comments held were the only reason he believed that he actually had met a Nataliya Arlovskaya, and that it was not just some dream.
("Do you even know my name?")
.
It had been cold that day, a brisk cold wind that came from the Baltic Sea. Toris had something to do - something that involved books and calling Feliks - perhaps homework? - when he bumped into someone.
"My bad. I wasn't looking, I…" Toris froze, realising the depth of his mistake. He had bumped into a pretty girl.
She had long platinum hair that seemed very, very real and an ivory coloured bow in her hair, with large eyes that were either blue or indigo or perhaps even cerulean, if he squinted.
"Yes," was her only reply, rendering Toris speechless. Yes what?
He nodded foolishly, going with anything she says, and added, almost hesitantly, "I'm Toris. Toris Lorinaitis. A-and you?"
The girl, radiating beauty, cocked her head to the side. "What do introductions have to do with this?"
He swallows and crosses his fingers
"Anyway, I'm Nataliya Arlovskaya."
"Nataliya. Have…have a nice day, Nataliya!"
("I met a girl today. Nataliya. I think I like her."
"Ohmygawd, like Liet, you totally suck at, like, wooing girls."
"W-who said I was wooing, Feliks?")
.
Toris hummed a tune as he waited on the long line to buy himself some tea. A girl at the front of the line with an American accent was…
"— taking forever to buy coffee. Doesn't she know I have to buy some vodka for Brother Dear?" a slightly frustrated voice said from behind him.
Toris wheeled around to face a black bow.
"Nataliya?"
"Oh. You. Hello, again."
Toris nodded, feeling ecstatic and wonderful and happy and complete.
"I'll buy the vodka for you - err, your brother. What brand?"
The girl stayed mute, arms suddenly akimbo, and glowered at the brunet. "I am capable of doing it myself."
"I know, but it'll be…ah, faster."
Nataliya shrugged. "But it comes from me."
Toris raises an eyebrow - why was she so intent on being the one to give the vodka? - but agreed nonetheless.
.
"Brother Dear, I bought you vodka."
A tall, good-looking young man with sandy hair and bluish-purple eyes smiled, a small curling of the lips that give his round face a sinister look as he takes the bottle of the alcoholic beverage.
"Thank you, Natasha." His eyes fell on Toris, who was standing awkwardly in the midst of Nataliya, her brother, and another beautiful girl with a short bob of yellow that must have been her sister. "And you are…?"
"He's…" Nataliya began, but it was Toris who finished.
"Toris Lorinaitis." He felt as if that name was starting to get worn out.
The man's smile widened. "I am Ivan Braginsky. Nataliya's brother. It is wonderful to hear that my dear Natasha is already making friends!"
Toris gulped. He and Nataliya…friends?
"Brother dear, we are not friends."
"Y-yes, she's right," Toris found himself saying, "We just met. We're just acquaintances."
The girl with the bob smiled, and said, "I'm Yekaterina, but call me Katyusha. It's a pleasure in meeting you, Toris."
She's lovely, Toris thought, and more friendly than the other siblings by far, yet he knew Nataliya was somehow better, because Nataliya was real and her sister had an air of falseness to her.
("I'm sure you'll become a family friend quickly.")
.
Yekaterina's predication came true: Toris spent most of his days at the Braginsky's, yet he was no friend. Ivan liked to order him and Katyusha made simple, plain, and utterly insignificant conversation. Despite his expectations, Toris hardly ever saw Nataliya.
"Katyusha?"
"Hm?"
"What are all these Swiss Army knives doing here?"
"Oh!" Katyusha said, turning around with a 'boing!' coming from her chest. "That's Natasha's. She has plenty. Always carries one around." The elder girl's tone was melancholy, as if she didn't like Nataliya's collection.
Toris bit his lip, wondering why a pretty girl like Nataliya had such things.
"Why?"
"Nataliya is…her own situation. Nothing big though. L-lovely girl." Katyusha smiled; the edges of her lips were turned down, however. "Lovely."
Suddenly, a door was slammed open and Nataliya entered the room.
"What are you doing here?"
Katyusha gave some innocent response, then left. Toris noticed that Nataliya's bow was indigo that day.
("Is your favourite colour blue?"
"No.")
.
He never considered himself observational, but Toris found himself noticing that never once did Nataliya wear a white bow again. And it had been about a year since the day he met her.
Toris had attempted to ask her about it, but it always came out wrong, wrong, wrong.
"What happened to your hair ribbon, Nataliya?"
She stopped cleaning her Swiss Army knife and glanced up at him.
"What about it?"
("So…you like knives, huh?"
"Yes, they're quite elegant."
"E-elegant?"
"And Brother Dear likes them."
"On you?"
"He says ladies shouldn't use knives. I don't use them."
"But you like them."
"Yes.")
.
Toris dangled his feet from the swing. "Parks are nice," he mused aloud.
Nataliya gave a soft shrug and remained silent.
"Say, let's talk."
"You are already speaking," Nataliya observed, fixing her hair in order to impress Ivan. She put it up in a bun, held up with her black bow, so her bare neck would show and her face would look angular.
"You never wear your hair up," observed Toris.
"Brother Dear likes it."
"Do you?"
Nataliya did not hesitate to reply, as if the answer was ingrained in her mind. "Whatever Brother likes, I like."
"But it isn't you."
"Excuse me?"
Toris turned his head to face the open sky, light blue and soft cotton sprayed all over it. A bird far away chirped.
"I…" his voice fell to a low whisper, then regained strength and continued. "You always pretend to be someone you're not for Ivan."
"I would do anything for him." Again with the standard reply.
"You should never pretend for a person you love."
Nataliya leaned in closer to him, her face a mask of confusion.
"But, then how do you show you love them?"
("You wouldn't have to pretend for me."
"You are not Brother Dear."
"I…")
.
Nataliya began to take ballet, and it fell to Toris to accompany her. Katyusha had taken to always crying near Nataliya, and Ivan simply had said no.
"Do you like ballet?" asked Toris, pressing with his theory that Nataliya, who had been so real when they had met, had fallen into a world of falseness. All because of stupid Ivan.
"Yes." Nataliya said, smoothing her blue dress. Matching blue bow in her hair.
Another one of those Ivan-implanted obsessions, thought Toris.
"Because of Ivan?"
"Because I will look beautiful."
"Beautiful for Ivan."
("Is there a difference?"
"Ah, yes. You are pretending to be beautiful for someone else, versus being beautiful for yourself."
"Is there a difference?"
"…Forget it, Nataliya.")
.
It had taken him more than a year, but Toris had realised that Nataliya had never referred to him as "Toris". She never called Ivan "Ivan". He wondered if this was either a good thing, or a terrible one.
He decided to take the optimistic route.
("Ohmygawd, Liet, don't, like, tell me you're writing, like, a poem."
"It's a letter."
"To the, like, un-fab girl from earlier?")
.
As Toris was walking up the street to the Braginsky house, he felt a strong arm pull him back.
"Ah, hello, Toris. You could do me a favour, da?" asked Ivan, his peach-coloured scarf blowing in the wind.
"Tell Nataliya I'm gone. Make up something. Just make sure she doesn't come after me," he cried, his voice rising in pitch.
(And thus the big, bad Ivan was afraid of his little sister.)
.
"We're leaving," was all Nataliya told him that February evening.
"W-what?"
Nataliya nodded. "My family is moving."
"Where?" asked Toris, imagining his life, his world crumbling, deteriorating. She could not go.
"I do not know. But we are leaving."
Toris sighed. There was nothing he could do to prevent this.
That did not mean he could handle it.
Toris looked up - his final glance at Nataliya. She was just like he met her, and now that was how she would leave. Her long hair was down, a bow on her head, she was wearing jeans and a fur coat, and it was winter.
Although the departure attire was perfect, the moment was not. He had only known this girl through a couple of conversations - brief comments and small, philosophical points that she refused to understand and he refused to understand her and now she was leaving - he would never know her any better.
It had taken him two years to realise it, but Toris knew, if only, one thing about Nataliya Arlovskaya: she liked to kill. She had killed Ivan with her love for him, she had killed Katyusha by acting like the insane sister, she had killed herself by pretending to be someone she was not, and she had killed Toris by leaving him.
("Your bow…it's white."
"What of it?"
"It…Nataliya, I love you."
"You are not Brother Dear."
"No. I think I'm better.")
.
(and I love you so much / I'm gonna let you kill me)