Daddy's Little Mistress

Chapter 1

Please note that all events are frictional and are of the author's imaginations. The use of familiar or celebrity names throughout this story are for entertainment purposes and can not be used against that person in court or in any way.

*Mature content
*Rated R- for mature audience

Viewer discretion is advised.

I sat in a tiny space on the crowded bench next to the cash register as I fingered a strain of my blue highlights and stared impatiently at my excited parents. They've been examining the same navy blue tie and white skirt for nearly 30 minutes now. We've been out all day moving from store to store trying to find the perfect outfit for the first day of school tomorrow.

I hoped they were not thinking of buying that tie. Who wants to wear a tie on the first day of school? Do people even wear ties anymore? I personally thought that ties made a horrible first impression. They make people think that you're too serious(like all you talk about is the economy or something). All I asked for was to go to Forever 21 and purchase at least 3 pairs of cut up jeans or varsity jackets, or Foot Locker for a pair of Jordans, or maybe Bella's for some accessories. But no! Instead my foster parents took me to a place called Bal Harrbour to help me do what they called making a better first impression. I understood what they were trying to do. They were trying to make me look conceited just like them. I wasn't going to let that happen, not even over my dead body! My mom was wearing an off-white high low dress with a pair of Louis Vutton high heels that were at least 6 inches long. Her make up was enough to least Brittney Spears a whole month. What the heck was she trying to prove? I don't know. My dad looked even worse. While everyone looked casual, he had on a white Gucci vest. My parents embarrassed me sometimes. They really did. Out of all the foster kids that were in that home, why did they have to adopt me? Don't get me wrong I wasn't ungrateful or anything, I just wanted them to let me make my own choices. I wanted to wear what I felt like wearing and I didn't need anyone to make that decision for me. I didn't think they realized how hard it was growing up not knowing who your birth father was, or knowing that every day was always a competition to survive, and knowing that it was a struggle for your mother to put food on the table and the only escape she had from the struggle was cocaine. Remembering how much I went through made me a stronger person. But I was still the same Lyrika, I was still from the hood, and I wasn't about to let any high class foster parents change who I was. I stayed true to myself, I stayed true to what I do, and I stayed true to where I'm from just like I promised Mama I would moments before the H.R.S took me away from her and put me in a foster home when I was only 5 years old. Just remembering that day was enough to make me burst into tears. I remembered the confused look on her face, her soft fingers on my cheeks whipping away each and every tear that came rushing down from my hazel eyes as I cried

"Mama..."

I remember us hugging each-

"Lyrika...honey, are you Okay?"

My foster mom's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Come look at the clothes we bought you."

She knew that I often thought about my birth parents and the thoughts of never seeing them again is becoming too hard to handle. I looked up at Mary's face which looked more concerned than I imagined it to look. I managed to fake a smile when I realized that this wasn't the time to look depressed but the time to explain to Mary that she needs to either return those shopping bags with everything else she bought or else I'm not going to school at all tomorrow.

"I'm alright miss Mary."

I answered her as politely as I could and she giggled softly.

"Silly girl...call me mother not miss Mary." She said in her British accent.

I felt like reaching out and smacking her right in her face. There was no way I was ever going to call this lady my mother. I stood up from the now empty bench as Mary quickly grabbed my hand.

"Now, let's get you some heels you little one." She said nearly dragging me out of the store.

I yanked my hand out of her grip and she looked down at me confused.

"What is it sweetie?" Mary asked.

"I don't want to wear your stupid high heels!" I yelled.

"Okay...fine." She said shrugging.

"Fine?" I thought. "Just 'fine?' Wasn't she going to argue with me like she always does?"

"We'll just meet up with your father at the Versace store and get you something more appealing." She said snatching my hand again.

"I want to wear normal clothes that normal kids would wear!" I screamed losing my patience and stomping my foot.

I looked around and staring at me was quite an audience.This made me even more frustrated.

"Well what the fuck are y'all looking at?" I asked."This ain't a fucking show so mind your own damn business!" I said throwing my hands up and yelling at me crowd.

A chorus of gasps and whispers filled the air.

"Lyrika!" Mary warned."I taught you better!"

With both hands on my shoulders she escorted me out of the store and into the opening. Luckily, my dad wasn't around, he would of gotten loud with me or maybe even louder if necessary. He'd done it before.

"Alright...alright Lyrika, I'm sorry. We'll just go to that Forever 23 store you said you loved so much." Mary said squatting down to my level.

"21." I said correcting her.

"Huh?" Mary asked still confused.

"Oh...never mind." I said finally giving up.