New Fiction #8

This one is quite old and was inspired by Princess Tutu, love that show. I had no real desire to finish it in the least.


Clarissa stared at the tip of her own feet once gnarled and bloodied with the hard work of her craft, dancing ballet but that had all stopped due to the child growing in her womb. She rubbed her left hand on top of her puffed out belly feeling the tears sting her eyes. She lived to dance, loved it, it was her one true calling, her one happiness ripped from her by the growing baby that she did not want.  The child and its wretched father.  
Seighart, a tall man with the typical lean body of a dancer, entered the room. His hair was the only thing darker than his black heart. He was an attractive man nonetheless despite his less than reputable start in life and bloodline. He was a mutt, a mangy dog with the grace of an elegant swan.  She never felt anything for him, not when she first met him and not now.  
"You are crying," he stated carelessly, "has your short break from the stage broken your heart so much?" He asked not truly caring for an answer. He knew it did.  
"Why did you do this to me Seighart? Allen does not even come to visit anymore." She slunk down in her seat lowering her head into her hands. She knew her mascara would run into a river of black that would reflect like mud on her white skin but what else could she do?  She couldn't escape.
Seighart didn't like to hear the names of other men on her lips, especially her former dance partner Allen. He sighed though before saying, "I do not want you to belong to other men. No one else. Only I can possess you. Just me." He finished sternly unwavering in his decision.  
"I hate you," she cried. "You ruined my -"
"Why did you sleep with me then?" He asked adding a bit of a growl to his voice to make himself sound more threatening.  
"I didn't!" She wailed loudly, luckily there was no one around. Her parents could do nothing about Seighart, they were afraid of the street dog and of all the terrible tales that followed him. She had shallowly fooled her parents into believing that he was the love of her life and that she had wanted to start a family with him, those words were lies forced upon her tongue by the gun he kept close by. Always close by.
"You did," he told her, distorting the truth.
"I did not." She told him again.  
"You did." He paused then asked, "you do not want my child? Clarissa?"
"I do not!" She stood up stomping her foot that she couldn't bare to look at, all of her years of practice and training wasted, thrown away by the whims of a spoiled man.  
"I do not," she repeated more sternly, firmly as she glared at the other dancer, he wasn't bad, in fact he was an excellent dancer but was still just a joke in their circle, their world of ballet.  "You've ruined my career and my life. I wish you to be murdered by your own family." She then stomped out of her bedroom and down the hall in her family's house.  
Seighart sat on the edge of her bed, it wasn't the first time she had said such things and it would not be the last. He was a determined man and this display of harsh feelings was not going to deter him at all. He wanted what he wanted and he got what he wanted by any means necessary. He sighed then pulled on his jacket, exiting the room also.  
Seighart walked down the rain drenched streets, he kept his eyes forward, the lit cigarette in his mouth and his gun on him. He needed more bullets, he had bought a P-08 Luger from a theif who claimed to have stolen it from a soldier who had been arrested for embezzling funds. He used up all the clips last night helping out an old friend. That's what he got for being friendly now he had to buy more.  
He didn't buy weapons in stores that sat on sidewalks facing the streets. He knew better.  He'd been in prison enough times to know who the snitches were. He entered a side alley stopping at a door hidden behind a couple of trash cans. He knocked lightly with the back of his hand while singing the Swiss national anthem. When the door opened, he came in. He entered several other rooms until he reached Ricardo, the friend he helped last night. He sat with his fedora off on the table and his hands paused on several playing cards that hid his face from view.
"Siggy, pull up a chair and play a hand with us," Ricardo called out as he lifted the cigar from the glass ashtray.  
"No thanks Ric. I do hope that you've procured bullets for me."  
"Mein freund, you didn't think I forgot about you, ja?"  He asked using German from Germany rather than Swiss German.  
"Yo, e bitz." He answered in proper Swiss German.   
Ricardo waved his hand to dismiss the topic then pulled out the box of bullets that Seighart looked through immediately then filled the magazine. He didn't stay to play, the physician gave him hope to look foward to having a little girl so he had mostly bought all feminine items, mostly all hidden within the closet of his own home.  
Clarissa was so upset about the sudden pregnancy that he felt that if he showed her the clothes and toys he had bought, finalizing it for her, that she would do something drastic, not that she had ever said she would. He feared the possibility.
His home was actually located out of the city, he lived in the old abandoned orphanege that he had grown up in after his mother had dropped him off with promises to come back in a few days.  He never saw her again but he did see his brother from time to time although last he heard, he was being held in a prison somewhere in Venice and as long as he stayed there, he didn't care what happened to his brother. 
He took the train finding it peaceful as he always had. The rain hadn't stopped when he reached the front door, it took him over ten years to fix and restore the place. He could reopen it as an orphanage but all the kids had grown up and gone out on their own, or were dead. He never believed that any of the kids were going to come back. Why would they? He only came back for refuge for a single night but never left.  
It was here that he lived as he worked odd jobs and illegal ones to pay for continuing the dance lessons he had started as a child. He learned the waltz of neighboring Austria and of the vulgar dances of Spain. Ballet was the last frontier for him. Working as a dancer was difficult in the beginning when he was unknown but when he had first danced with Clarissa when Allen had injured his ankle and the producer threw out his name to fill the spot, he knew then.  
He knew that he would have to control her life as she controlled his steps.
It was a fair trade, no?
He sat on the chair then got up to check the closet for the items. Still there. He looked through them hoping he hadn't missed anything. The clothes were mostly white with some pinks and yellows. Mostly dresses. He hoped they were having a girl.    
The next day he had training at the ballet school with Mr. Schlossel. He stretched against the railing then practiced alone. The female dancers all eyed him like they did any other day and he didn't expect them to change. "Are you getting married?" Asked Cynthia, his usual partner. He accepted the water bottle from her hand as he sat on the floor taking a break from his routine. "I never congratulated you and Clarissa about the baby. Has it been born yet?"
He smiled kindly at her, "thank you but it hasn't. I'm hoping for a girl."
She placed her hand on his shoulder, "I hope it works for you and Clarissa. Your relationship with her was always.......strained at best." She tried to be polite but it had been hard to watch Seighart struggle with the high maintenance woman. He was a nice guy who tried his best to make her happy but nothing seemed to be good enough.  
He nodded, "I know." He removed her hand, kissing the skin lightly as he always did. They both stood and began their new routine.
It was late night when Clarissa felt someone creep into her bed. She didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was. He felt like he owned her. She couldn't stand him. He leaned over her arm to peer down at her profile. "Do you hate me so much? What can I do?" She rolled her eyes as she pushed him away. He always pretended to be a nice person but she knew the evil that lurked behind those eyes. "I love you," he started.
She sighed heavily, "I need you," he continued.
"Lies." She spat.
  "I want you." He ended his tales of lies.  
"That's the truth." She scolded, finally.
He nodded his head against her shoulder then fell asleep.  
He returned each and every day to the dance studio for the next show he was to be part of.  That's when he noticed Allen who strolled in like a rooster puffing out his chest. Just because she couldn't dance didn't mean that he couldn't, and he did. He was in the midst of changing partners until he found one that could match his step for step. Seighart watched the man with a fierceness in his eyes.  
Allen.  
The man Clarissa loved who he feared's love was unrequited. Why couldn't she see that? He hated Allen. He strided over to the man, did he not care about what happened to his partner for over seven years? Was she so replaceable? Ever since he first danced with her, he couldn't get her out of his mind. How could Allen when he's known her longer?  
He grabbed the front of the man's shirt then pushed him away violently. He grabbed him again then punched Allen in the face but the man didn't fight back, good Allen, kind Allen. Allen stared at him, "what do you want? Seighart?" He asked calmly, clearly, did the man feel anything at all? Feeling as if he was being mocked, Seighart rushed at him but a clear shout rang throughout the hall.  
"Seighart! Start another fight and consider yourself banned for life."  
He stopped, turned away from Allen and left.  
Allen restarted as if nothing ever happened.  
Seighart found himself slinging back some schnapps at a local bar alone with only the bartender for company. "What's eating you?" The barkeep asked.  
"My girl's ex. It's like he doesn't care that I stole her away from him." He blabbered loudly chugging down another schnapp.  
"That's usually a good thing buddy." The Barkeep said, inserting logic.  
"Yeah but.....she loved this guy, still loves him but he doesn't care."
"Now that's rough, your girl doesn't love you."
"We're having a baby together but she still thinks of him. When I saw him, I just kinda lost it, slugged him in the face."  
The barkeep placed a lager on the counter. "That's on the house. Just what a man needs."  
"Dangge."  
He returned to her house in a drunken stupor, he bumped into the wall several times and said some rather unpleasant things to her parents which she then hastefully apologized for him.  "Mein mann, what are you doing coming here drunk?" She asked hooking his arm around her neck to help him stand.
"I got in a fight then went to get a drink." He admitted.  
She sighed dropping him, allowing him to hit the floor where he then vomited. The lager wasn't the last drink he had. As his story circulated around the bar, more patrons began to buy him drinks. "You're impossible." She told him.  
"At least I told you the truth." He said in his own defense then vomited again.  
"One truth out of thousands. You did this to yourself so help me clean it up."  
He tried as best he could to help her clean but ended up running to the bathroom to finish vomiting. "If you can't hold your liquor why do you drink?"  She asked as she kicked open the door, finding a scary calm in his pain.  
I can so hold it," he managed to say and that was it.  
He passed out on the floor where she left him, if luck was on her side, he'd die.  
What she got was an early delivery. One night while sleeping, she felt a great calamity in her stomach followed by a wetness that followed that drenched her body and sheets. She awoke with a scream as her mind tried to decipher what was happening to her body. Seighart woke with a start then called throughout the house for someone to get a doctor.  
The doctor arrived as soon as he could, something had happened which caused her to go into labor sooner than usual. Her parents held him back out of the room while she was birthing.  
When the doctor emerged from the room it was only to congratulate the family. Seighart rushed into the room first to her side. Her parents were always wary of the man, always afraid of him but he suddenly seemed genuine. His hands spread out beside her before he climbed onto the bed asking if she was okay then to see the sex of the baby. She gazed up at him, too tired to hate him for what he had done.  
Without a word she looked at the child sleeping in her arms. He removed the blanket that was wrapped tightly around the infant to sneak a peek. No penis. Girl? It was a girl! What to call her, had he thought of a name? He wasn't married to the mother, did she take his surname or her mother's maiden name?