a perfect fit || norma & norman
Norman dropped his backpack beside the front door as he made his way into the house. He knew he had homework to get to -- algebra to work on, an essay to write -- but right now, all he wanted to do was lay down on the couch and take a long nap.
"I'm home," he called out, his voice echoing in the large house, and he toed off his shoes when he reached the living room, tucking them neatly under the coffee table. "Mom?" With no response, he began to worry; had she told him she was going to be out today? Usually she mentioned if she wasn't going to be home, or at least left a note. He checked the kitchen and the hallway, and frowned slightly when they turned up empty.
He began to climb the stairs, deciding to check her room, and when he reached it, he pushed the door open with the palm of his hand. Empty. Well, not empty, but definitely minus his mother. Curiosity got the better of him, and Norman quietly entered her bedroom, looking out the window for a moment before flopping out on her bed. As expected, her bed was much wider and softer than his own, and he rolled over onto his stomach, before catching sight of a pair of her shoes poking out from under the bed.
Sitting up, and straightening himself out, Norman used two fingers to pull the shoes into view. They were pretty enough, and suited his mother well, though he couldn't recall her ever wearing them; perhaps they were new. He didn't even think about his next move; he didn't really need to.
Something in him, something instinctual, began slipping -- he found himself staring at the shoes for longer than he meant to, and could practically feel himself getting sucked in deeper, sucked into someplace he always had a hard time finding his way out of. On autopilot, Norman reached down for the shoe and, carefully, slipped it on his own foot. It was an awkward fit, since his feet weren't exactly as dainty as his mother's, but he didn't mind; it felt like it belonged there, somehow. He stared at his foot for a long moment, heartbeat racing like he was in the midst of doing something illegal, and he could feel himself begin to slip under, some small and violent part of him insisting that this is how it was meant to be.
