The Forgotten Daughter

❦𝑃𝑅𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸.

Disclaimer
This story does contain swearing/strong language (plus British slang) sexual content and adult/dark themes, if your not comfortable with that then I do politely suggest reading another book :)

0.
"What the fuck happened?"

~~

I wasn't a bad kid.
I was a troublemaker.
Always had been.
Always will be.
I adored making a mess and irritating people.
That didn't mean I was cruel and selfish, I did have a heart...

Well, I used to.

But it would take a lot for someone to change from a kind little kid to a cold-hearted bitch, and fuck did I go through alot.

Our family wasn't always dysfunctional...

It was my 13th birthday and the nanny picked me up from school and said my parents had a special surprise for me.

And it was fucking special alright...

We pulled into the driveway and I saw my father in his regular expensive foreign sports car, parked next to us and I ran out of the car and give him a massive hug.

"Happy birthday princess" he announced as we followed the nanny into the house.

We only made it into our substantial foyer, at the entrance of the house. Before we heard a blood-curdling outcry. My father and I darted into the kitchen only for us to find my mother in what was a white summer dress now stained a crimson red colour, with a bullet nestled into her heart.

I was frozen, tears pelting down my face as I hysterically cried out, frantically wheezing for air. Whilst my father stood frozen still not asserting a word, not even blinking, he just... stood there? Funnily enough that was the last time he ever stood in the kitchen.

Nobody stood foot in that kitchen ever again.

After that day my father was never the same, but neither was I.

Would anyone be?
I constantly asked myself trying to make up excuses for his cruel behaviour.

Our entire family fell to pieces and mine and my father's relationship went to shit, he never hit me or did anything to hurt me physically.

I began breaking into shops, shoplifting, vandalism, arson you name it. Just to get some joy and adrenaline into my life.

I was always fortunate with getting out of said trouble so nothing really came out of all my actions and I thought I could get away with murder.

I rarely returned home.
I despised it.
It wasn't a home anymore.

When I rarely did go back to that house my father would be out working.

He also avoided the house and spent most nights in his office.

It was about 2 months after my 15th birthday, which I chose not to celebrate as it was now not a day to celebrate and never will be a day to celebrate.

After staying out at the weekend spending my time bar hopping and instead of going to school on Monday I returned home for clean clothes only to see 2 new unfamiliar cars in the driveway.

Like always I walked straight into the house but instead of my fathers belongings scattered over the house, there where strangers hauling boxes, yelling and screaming at me.