Chapter 4

Fritz

These sounds…they’re nightmare sounds. They’re something out of a crazed dream that you awake from, feeling relieved yet childishly wrapped up in your own jealousy.

That means they can’t possibly be the sounds I’m hearing now since I am perfectly awake. It’s just what I’m afraid to find at a time like this, when I return after a letting myself be away for just a moment.

I allow her a little time for her to believe I’m gone. I agreed to step out for the time being until we can resume what I can now only presume is a life built on falsehoods and deception.

They’re nightmare sounds, and I must be hearing it wrong.

That nasal, reedy little noise of uncontrolled pleasure. That can’t be his voice, no.

I call him the Prince of Envy. He longs to have the charms and accomplishments of others. That’s the way I see it, anyway.

The way I see it, he has his own peculiar charms, which could be to his advantage if he could just learn how to use them and embrace what he has, instead of obsessing on what he lacks.

I’d keep it to myself, but I think we could get along fine, if only so he’d stop getting into my business and making his move at things he can’t have—namely, Clara.

But I hear his voice again. I hear it faintly through the door as I move towards it at what is now becoming so horribly apparent in the wrong time.

The wrong time for me, certainly the wrong time for Clara, and maybe the worst time ever for that phantom I hear behind the door.

I’m hoping it can’t be him, but I know there’s no one else in the room with Clara. That whiny register, full of pleading insecurity. I’m not meant to hear it full of quiet ecstasy. And I don’t even want to.

Not when my divine step-sister Clara, forbidden fruit that she is, is anywhere near him.

I stand outside the door. I don’t hear any more voices. They’re quiet for some time while I remain still outside.

There’s more than one body there, I’m sure of that, and the movements I hear are not innocent. They are the stuff of nightmares—or at least of what’s become my nightmare.

The more I listen, and the more I give myself a chance to be proven wrong, it just becomes more apparent that I’m right.

There’s that sickening vocal register again, clear as a bell, as clear as the wondrous scent of Clara that I can detect even from where I stand. I would give anything for that scent to be absent from this scene, to prove my suspicions wrong.

It’s too late, though. The puzzle is almost complete, just as I feared it would be after my instincts told me not to leave. At least not yet, not before I see Clara again. I only came to see her, to see if she’s alright after the way I left.

I need Clara. She’s an important part of my life. We’ve always been together, virtually inseparable. And during milestones in her life, I always make sure to give her the support she needs. Like the now, the night before her big performance. Sometimes, she gets so lost in her art, she forgets to take care of herself too.

But she doesn’t know how I really feel about her. How much I want to be the one to take care of her.

There’s her angelic voice through the door, crying out in joy and satisfaction. A sound I know well. I’ve told her once, her voice sounds so beautiful and precious, it should be recorded and preserved as treasured, undiscovered music.

Behind the closed door, there seems to be another sound that’s occurring at the same time and ruining the sound of Clara’s voice completely. It’s trying to blend with her voice, but I refuse to mix them together in my ears.

It just can’t be. Behind that door may very well be my own personal hell.

“Wow.” There’s that awful voice again, brash, rough. It’s profane, and though I’m feeling a strong urge to get as far I can from this place, somewhere I could pretend this isn’t happening. It’s just a bad dream I can’t wake up from. But I can’t deny what I already know to be true. And I can’t stand it.

I hesitate at the door. Do I interrupt them, possibly causing panic in the Prince? That would serve him right. I would love to ruin the moment for his obviously building orgasm.

No, he’s deserves to be treated as more than just a pathetic laughing stock. Prince has earned the full extent of the rage coursing through every fiber of my body. And I’ll make sure he suffers for it.

I begin lightly slamming my fist on the door. I realize I could break down the door instantly—there would be nothing left of it if I let out all the anger I’m feeling now—but I hold myself back, trying to keep my sanity. As I hold back for a few more moments, I listen to the fearful shuffling on the other side.

I taste bitterness in my mouth as I ready myself to make sure Prince knows just how I feel about this situation. I can’t wait anymore. I take a deep breath and lift my fist to break open the door, but stop when I hear a gentle sound.

Sadness softens my anger as I hear Clara’s lovely voice whispering some unintelligible words at Prince. She’s apparently trying to comfort him. I can hear his voice shaking with fear as he loudly asks Clara for help.

“But what shall we do?” he snivels through his sickening panic.

I’ve had enough. I aim my foot, and with a solid kick, the door flies open. My eyes land on Clara sitting dejected at the floor, expecting the inevitable. Beside her, Prince is just finishing buttoning his pants.

I keep Prince in my direct line of sight, biding my time for a minute as he retreats to the corner of he room, as if he can hide in there. I see his hands shaking lightly, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

“Fritz, think about what you’re doing,” Clara pleads.

Even as I feel the warmth of Clara’s voice, I ignore her words as I stomp evenly in Prince’s direction.

Though I’m sure he’s terrified, Prince pretends not to notice as I approach him. Instead, he is struggling to get back into his shirt.