◤𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕪◢ - It Started With Vomit!

Chapter 33 | The Red Shoes

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"So you're saying..." Kayden tested some words in his mind before materializing his favourite on his tongue. 

Basically. 

In-essence.

Essentially.

He had thoroughly enjoyed wielding the intellectual melody of "essentially" since returning from an English lesson earlier that week. Therefore, he implemented the conjunctive adverb in his preceding sentence. "Essentially, Karen danced forever because she wanted more than she needed, no?"

"No!" Amy collected the crimson book from Kayden's lap, perusing each line to see from where exactly he had drawn up such a conclusion. It was her favourite bedtime story. Hence why she was pleasantly surprised to find it nestled between other personal favourites in Kayden's extensive bedroom shelving alcoves. 

"Karen's desire to rise above her station and chase happiness should be applauded, while this book be criticized. Her experience should empower repressed girls—"

"And boys."

"Repressed girls and boys alike," Amy corrected herself, regarding her stepson's testy deep-blue eyes. "Wanting happiness isn't asking for too much. So why do you think dancing forever is deserved?"

"Well..." Kayden paused again, pondering what powerful adjective and noun to use to decry his stepmother's awful bedtime story. "The red shoes should be a cautionary tale, not a celebration of greed," he said, leaping off his bed and speeding out the door, uncaring of whether Amy had a rebuttal, a wise take-away from the story which may challenge what he formerly thought was the message.

Where Kayden went didn't matter; the house was secured and monitored. However, somehow, a maternal part of Amy compelled her to follow after him. But one alarming phone call shook her out of the delusion—Sonic.

Sensing her phone's vibration, she pulled it out of her pocket and threw it under a fire-truck accent pillow before hastily exiting the room. Why so late at night? It had been two weeks since they last communicated. Why was he calling at all? Surely he knew about the time difference and would be understanding if she didn't pick up.

"Why are you hiding?" Kayden had turned a corner in the hall and was regarding Amy's palpitating chest, anxious expression, and crimson-red face. "Were we playing hide-and-go-seek? I wasn't seeking you, you know."

"You weren't?" Amy smiled, trying her hardest to go along with his 8-year-old imagination. But in that instant, before she could approach him, Kayden raced past her, landing a painful slap—which he would later claim to be a "tag-five"—in Amy's stomach cavity before entering his room and slamming the door shut.

Loud curses echoed across the house, past the halls, down the stairs, and straight into the open night air. Pain was all Amy could feel while falling to her knees, cradling her freshly pummelled midsection when, suddenly, a pair of petite, black-slippered feet appeared in her line of vision.

"It's for you," it said, lowering to its haunches, its lapis lazuli orbs staring unrepentantly into her peridot-green ones. "Mr. Sonic says it's urgent and must speak with you immediately."

Sliding a hot pink phone in front of her, Kayden swaggered back to his squared-off fortress, and Amy moved into a cross-legged position. Her hands lifted Sonic's casual voice to her ears, unable to respond for a full minute.