Kingston’s POV continues
A snort escapes me, Camilla elbowing me in the sides when it does. “Okay, you can have smoked.” she tells her.
****
Now back at the park house, with Karla introducing her chicken to the surrounding of our home. I'm confused by the whole chicken pet fiasco, Karla's favorite dish is fried chicken, does this mean she's not eating chicken again?
Shaking off the thought, I sigh, my focus shifting to Camilla, she's walking a few feet ahead of me and way more behind Karla.
“Beautiful,” I call out.
“Yes King,” she passes in her tracks. “Do you need something?”
I nod, my hands resting in my pocket. “Let's go and start cooking dinner.”
“What do you plan on cooking?” She smiles, excited to learn how to perfect whatever dish I plan on making for us tonight.
“Karla's pet,” I tell her, my lips curving into a wicked grin.
Camilla gasps, a finger raised at me, “Don't you dare,” she whispers firmly. “ Karla loves her smoked chicken..” she pauses, “Hmm, I can't believe I said that with a straight face but you heard me.”
I shake my head, my grin growing wider as my feet begin to move, walking past her and straight into the kitchen. Camilla follows behind me, warning me not to temper with Karla's chicken, which I wouldn't do. I'm not a monster, I wouldn't crush a little girl's heart by cooking her chicken and feeding it to her, especially not my daughter.
Camilla seems to take my joke seriously, lecturing me on all the seventy ways she will make me suffer if anything happens to that chicken. I'm already a suspect in any case pertaining to the chicken's well-being.
Despite the threats, Camilla is a good assistant in the kitchen. She is horrible in the kitchen, all she can make is Karla's favorite dish which is now her pet and a sandwich, three different ones in her defence and oh, a pack of plain noodles.
However, we are working on her cooking skills. She's learned a few recipes. It's only a matter of time before she perfected the recipes.
I'm heating some warm water, with Camilla across the counter, sitting down like I asked her to nearly thirty minutes ago. Her undivided attention is on the cooking stick I used earlier, licking my homemade pasta flavoring off it when Mirabelle joins us.
“Umm hey guys,” she says nervously.
“Hey Beta,” I grin, putting my spaghetti on low medium heat.
“Ugh,” Camilla whines, her hand finally placing the cooking stick down. “Who screwed up this time?”
“No one, well, technically nobody grown but umm, have you guys umm seen Karla?”
“She's in her room, with her pet chicken and before you judge me, it was worth seeing the smile on her face.” Camilla grins.
“Pet,” Mirabelle laughs anxiously. “I don't know what's going on but, I think you might want to go and check on her.”
Camilla looks at me, rising from her seat a little too fast, instantly heading for the exit.
Mirabelle and I follow closely behind her, at a level speed compared to the one that she's walking at.Upon entering Karla's room, I stumble back. “Oh my God,” I whisper, my hand clutching my chest as my gaze flickers from her to the chicken in her hands, trying to discern what happened here.
“Umm, Karla baby girl, what's happening?” Camilla asks, her gaze too flickering between Karla and the chicken, it's as if she is unable to choose one to focus on and honestly, I don't blame her, I too am finding it hard to focus on just one.
Camilla's breathing heavies, “Okay, I think I'm going to be sick.” she asserts, my hand covering her mouth, the other one placed on her stomach. “King, you take this one,” she tells me, running out not more than a second later.
“Is mommy okay?” Karla asks, her tone low.
“Yes, she's good, in fact, I'll go see her right now.” Mirabelle says, patting my shoulder as she walks out, a silent "Good luck" mouthed to me as she walks away.
“Karla,” I call out, demanding an answer.
“I am making a project,” she pouts.
“Okay, but what happened to your chicken?” I ask her, running my hand over my face, still unable to contemplate what I'm seeing, my daughter, with a dead chicken in her arms, its head nowhere to be seen but the stomach ripped, its feathers painted in pure red.
“I used her for an experiment,” Karla grins.
I shake my head, she seems so proud of herself right now but I'm not sure how to feel about it. She was in love with this chicken two hours ago, so much so that she talked to it the entire way home.
“Karla, what did you kill Smoked for?” I calmly ask.
“We can eat her now, don't worry she agreed to this.” she counters, her hands stretching forward to offer me the chicken.
“Karla honey, you can't just kill your pet chicken and tell me it was consensual. You know what, you're going to put that chicken in that trash can, take a bath and then take a nap. This behaviour is unacceptable, you killed a chicken, with what?”
“My hands, I promise she didn't hurt.” she tells me, her feet waddling to toss the chicken in the trash can we keep in her room. She's so proud of her first murder, imitating it's walk as she goes to trash her victim.
“Go on, to the bathroom, now.” I decree.
Karla pouts, “Daddy I promise she said yes, I asked her and she agreed I mean agreed to me. Smoked agreed. Chicken is for eating, she said if we make her tasty, she'll be happy watching us eat her from the sky, in heaven.” Karla tells me, too fucking smart for her age, that's what she is.
This little girl thinks she has the ability to convince a whole grown man like me that her chicken asked to die, telling her it'll watch over us as we have it for a meal?
She's delusional.
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