Free The Brute by Tabitha Levin

1
     
    My name is Angel. Angel Parrish to be exact, although my full name is of no real importance to my story. Apart from my name, which I happen to like a lot (it has a cute ring to it, no?), there is nothing else special about me. I could be any young woman, in any city.
    The fact that I ended up here, in Charlotte, North Carolina, has more to do with finding a great job, rather than my choosing.
    If my parents had their way, I would have gone back to live with them, in cozy Claremont, sipping coffee with the other women as they gossiped about their husbands, bouncing another rug-rat on their knee, and discussing the best herbs to use in tonight’s pasta sauce.
    Or perhaps not. My parents were proud that I was the first Parrish to complete a degree at The University of North Carolina. A Masters of Accounting actually.
    You’re rolling your eyes aren’t you?
    I know. As soon as I say the word ‘accounting’ most people’s eyes glaze over. Hell, even writing it, I’ve contemplated taking a nap.
    Truth was, I wasn’t all that good at it. While I always liked maths, it was my father who insisted that I get a good job with good prospects.
    He wanted me to make my family proud.
    So I worked really hard and passed my exams.
    And then my life took a turn for the worse.
    Much worse.
    I guess I should come clean right now and let you know the reason I’m writing this. I’ve been avoiding telling you so far, as I’m not sure what you’ll think of me.
    It’s probably because I’m scared I’ll have to give up my apartment, and go back to living in Claremont. I love my little apartment. The rent is reasonable and I have collected the most divine vintage furniture (there is a particular chair which I just adore). Most of it I got for dimes, too. Maybe this finance stuff has rubbed off on me after all.
    Or perhaps I’m most scared of what my father will think of me, if I go home, telling him I’ve failed. All the money that they scrimped and saved to send me to college, wasted.
    So I didn’t.
    Shame makes us take interesting paths, doesn’t it?
    Instead I have someone who helps out. A man I met, quite a bit older than myself, who is in a better financial situation than me. He’s helping me get by while I get back on my feet.
    Yes. I know what you’d call him. You’d call him a Sugar Daddy. You might even raise your eyebrows at me, thinking I’m some sort of gold digger who manipulates men out of their money. And while money is a big reason for my situation, I can tell you this situation isn’t what I set out to find, nor is it something I’m proud of.
    I don’t even like the term. Sugar implies something sweet, like a delicious coconut macaroon that melts in your mouth, and the word daddy should only be reserved for someone like my darling father who would do anything for me.
    The two words should never go together because it makes them sound so sordid, doesn’t it?
    Even as I write the word I cringe. It sounds like I’m writing a letter to some seedy men’s magazine, rather than writing a story of my life.
    It’s why I never refer to him by that term. At all.
    To his face, I call him by his first name (which I won’t mention here, for fear of being sued by him or his family if this journal ever gets out), but to everyone else, I call him, The Brute.

2
     
    I guess the first thing is to tell you how we met. That way you might have a better idea of why I’m in the situation that I am. I feel knowing how a person came to be where they are gives lots of clues on how to get out of the situation, because, to be honest, while I enjoyed the money and attention at first, my life has come a long way and I need to find a way to get out of this.
    Perhaps by writing down my situation, a solution will appear. That’s often happened to me in the past. When I was younger I kept a journal which was very helpful for problem solving, but these days no one really carries around paper, do they? So writing everything down on