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Disclaimer & Trigger warning:
This content may include explicit material. It is recommended that individuals who are sensitive to certain themes exercise caution while reading as the content may be disturbing or upsetting.
Contains: abuse, neglect, drug/narcotic use, alcohol consumption, panic/anxiety attacks, intense violence,SA, strong language, and 18+ content.
Read at your own risk.
Thank you for reading and enjoy the story.
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"Inside every man lives a seed of a flower."
-Minnie Riperton, Les Fleurs
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1990
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Brandt sat at his dining room table blowing up balloons for Brady's middle school graduation. She had excellent grades all throughout her middle school experience
Brandt told Brady her mother had promised she was going to take her out for lunch.
Well, more like he paid Leslie to pick her up in hopes she'd come through for Bonnie's sake.
"Hello?"
"Your daughter is asking where you are." Brandt lied; He hoped to get Leslie to feel some sort of guilt, so she'd hopefully pick Brady up.
Leslie grew quiet, not knowing what to say, "Nigga don't call my phone with that shit. You handle it, like you've been doing."
"Look, the only reason I called 'cause I'm tryna reason with you for Brady's sake. She's graduating today."
"And?" She questioned. Brandt could see her face twisting up with her nasty attitude.
Brandt pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and snapped, "--And bitch you would wanna be there for your daughter! Be a fucking mother for once and come take her out to dinner or something."
Leslie not wanting to hear his fussing too much longer gave in, "Alright! Alright! fine, drop her off. Damn. Bring a couple dollars while you're at it." She said, then hanging up the phone abruptly.
He was tired of begging Leslie to come through and be a parent but tried his best to include her. Brandt felt like a baby mama who begged her deadbeat baby daddy to take responsibility for his kids. He would never want to overlook or seem ungrateful for Valerie's help regarding his daughter, but it truly shouldn't have been her responsibility to be a mother to someone else's child. Especially when she had no children of her own.
"Baby girl, Come on! You're gonna be late!"
Brady stood in her bathroom fixing her hair. She grimaced in the mirror, dissatisfied by her appearance. She was in the middle of puberty, and it was running her over like a Train.
She had a big, coiled Afro, braces and pimples covered her forehead.
"Brady!" He yelled once more.
"Ugh, Coming!" Brady responded, as she came around the corner her blurred vision caused her to bump into the wall.
YOU ARE READING
ANGEL
General FictionBrady, brought up in the ghetto streets of Oakland California was born to an absent drug addicted mother, and ends up being raised by her single father. Brady's world is all of a sudden rocked when her father dies, and she is left all alone. Forced...
