What My Sugar Daddy Did to Make Me Want to Leave Him and All His Money: Part 1

As the cruise came to an end, my sugar daddy, Marco, held me closely as if to say he was sorry for our fight, but with­out ever actu­ally say­ing that he was sorry for yelling at me about bring­ing up the topic of mar­riage. Marco was in con­trol; it was his way or the high­way and he’s only ever apol­o­gized once dur­ing our entire time together. That’s just the way it was, but I didn’t know any bet­ter at the time.

After the cruise docked, I asked for some space from Marco while I walked the streets of down­town Seat­tle for hours. I had my cell phone, $20 cash, and my ID. That’s not much to go on. After two months of not smok­ing because Marco hated the smell, I walked up to a small con­ve­nience store that had adver­tise­ments for bail bonds in giant bright yel­low let­ters on the win­dow. I was cer­tain this was a bad part of town, but I was just too angry to even care. I pur­chased a pack of Marl­boro reds, a lighter, and a bot­tle of water. I spent the next sev­eral hours walk­ing the streets of down­town Seat­tle, ignor­ing calls and texts from Marco despite know­ing he was gen­uinely con­cerned about my well-being.

It was a warm sum­mer night, one of the last few nights in August of that year.  I made my way up to Fifth Avenue and encoun­tered an archi­tec­turally inter­est­ing build­ing that was curved in two oppo­site direc­tions. I fol­lowed the steps up to this build­ing to find a ter­race, sur­rounded by beau­ti­ful bloom­ing flow­ers. My legs were tired, so I sat down and stared up at the sky for a moment or two. Another call, another text—again, I ignored both.

It’s a beau­ti­ful night,” said a man with a rus­tic smoker’s voice. I looked around fran­ti­cally, but couldn’t see any­one in the dark, so I stood up. “Don’t worry, I’m harm­less. I’m down here,” the man said as he lit up his cig­a­rette, reveal­ing his loca­tion; he was lying on the small bench to the imme­di­ate left of the ter­race. “The name’s Kip. What’s yours?”

Two more calls from Marco came through, and again I ignored them both. “Vivian. You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing lying down there?” I asked. I heard another text mes­sage and this time I silenced my phone.

I think the ques­tion that should be asked here is why are you ignor­ing that person’s attempt to reach you?” Kip retorted. I looked down at my phone to see yet another mes­sage. Marco was at the hotel and angry; he was ready to con­tact the police as I had been gone now for six hours with­out so much as a word. I ignored the mes­sage and turned my atten­tion back to the mys­te­ri­ous stranger in the dark…