I Want To Be Rich, Too!

Violet was standing outside the gates of the mental facility she was in for eight years, while clutching the handle of her worn-out and faded pink luggage.

Her other hand rested at the opposite forearm in an attempt to form a barrier around herself from strangers.

Not so many people could be seen entering and exiting this particular place due to how large it was and how it only housed mentally unstable patients from rich families.

Parents would still come out of their fancy cars, feeling nervous when escorting their sick kids through the gates, despite armoring themselves with luxury clothing and different sizes of jewelries.

Anyway, Violet would always commend these types of parents for being brave enough to face what was wrong with their children instead of just dismissing them, even if their glaring issues were as clear as day.

Some parents in denial, who would just dump their teenage children at the mental hospital's entrance with their nannies, leaving the guards, aides or some other medical personnel [basically a stranger] to take care of them as if they were simply throwing some human-sized garbage at the sidewalk, would always earn a scowl from her as she viewed the swear-inducing scene at her third floor bedroom window.

If therapists and psychologists were able to help them correct what was fucked up about them and cure them of their mental illnesses, perhaps, their families would treat them better.

If not, they will be treated as less of a human being, or worse, a criminal, and society would probably approve of this.

There was no room for insane individuals in the outside world.

Not conforming to the rules of society would turn one into a menace.

Then, the menace would be force to choose between an asylum or jail.

If a person was mentally unstable, did that individual suddenly lose their right to be treated as a human being?

Did their parents suddenly feel it was right to abandon their own as if they didn't deserve to be respected enough to accompany them all the way to the front desk?

The so-called 'grown ups' didn't even stay that long to inspect the psych ward their children would be living in to make sure they were comfortable.

Violet couldn't decide if it was sad or amusing.

Some parents shouldn't have procreated if they were just going to make their children's nannies sign as their offspring's guardian.

Their disinterest—not outright indifference (since they still paid a lot of money to keep this hospital running as well as maintain its state-of-the-art facilities) — might come across as hate in a child's mind.

'Shame on them.' She would mutter while shaking her head. 'So much for being blood-related.'

Witnessing this kind of tableau was of those rare occasions were Violet felt a bit better for being an orphan.

Some of these fortunate but truly 'unfortunate' children, who did have parents, were already treated as orphans due to emotional neglect.

Yes, their material needs and wants were met except the love and support that they need to get through this setback.

And, if someone would notice how aware she was of the odd surroundings she had lived for a long time, she would just tell them that her psychologist must have rubbed off her.

"Violet Shanna Elanor?"

Upon hearing the man, who was wearing what appeared to be a black uniform of some sort, come out of the driver seat of a super shiny and expensive black limousine to approach her, her chin immediately tilted towards his direction.

Despite successfully catching her full regard, she still felt the need to point at herself just to be certain that she was exactly this man was looking for.

When the man in sunglasses gave a slight nod, affirming that he, indeed, meant her, she swallowed hard and replied in a quiet voice. "Yes, that's me."

Her inner monologue was top-notch for she thought a lot in her mind, her brain absorbing her setting like a sponge to contemplate about the appropriate response——

GAH!

This had confirmed that she was infected by her psychologist's way of thinking!

Well, at least it was a lot better than following her neighbor's irrational behavior.

Body turning stiff, Violet forced a polite smile to spread across her mouth, willing it to remain for a few seconds more than necessary which made her cheeks turned numb.

Known for her stoic face, she rarely smiled in her twenty-three years of existence.

That was why her facial muscles strained from working hard right now.

Her small, round face must have looked like a mechanical puppet but she was determined to practice if it would make her appear…. warm and lovable.

Violet sighed inwardly. 'Did interacting with normal people have to be this hard?'

Lack of sensible friends made her social skills as terrible as an inanimate object.

"Please get in the car, miss."

Well, that sounded like one of the line a kidnapper would use to order his victims about.

He also had the same tone of voice as the man she had watched on the television last night.

"Is something the matter?" He asked her again.

Craning her neck, Violet narrowed her gaze to take a good look at the stranger's eyes behind his brown shades but to no avail.

She always considered people who wear sunglasses as dubious.

In the detective films she loved to watch, it was essential for suspicious people to wear them to avoid eye contact as much as possible so that their covers wouldn't be blown.

However, did it ever occur to her that it could be the man's fashion statement as well as to protect his eyes from the sunlight's glare?

The weather wasn't hot at all but a bead of sweat had trickled from her forehead.

Was she being paranoid again?

Distress from feeling unsafe would trigger her paranoia, which she wasn't supposed to have at the beginning since she believed she was healthy.

There were moments when she thought she had gone insane like her neighboring patients.

Predictable schedules was one of the things that made her feel grounded but routines that felt too monotonous could drive a sane person insane too.

Three delicious meals a day, gifts from charities and allowances some patients could get from rich people's donations, living rent-free in the psych ward for eight years due to possessing such a rare syndrome and consistently having eight hours of sleep was even a greater privilege compared to the career women with the same age as her hustling in the corporate world.

Violet wasted most of her time studying by reading books, gathering a lot of knowledge here and there in case they would be useful in the future, streaming Netflix shows and movies and all kinds of recreation that didn't require physical exertion.

She had an aversion to drenching in sweat so she didn't like to move around much.

Regrettably, the therapists had urged her to partake in daily exercise with the rest so that the small tumor in the middle of her brain wouldn't interfere with her mind-and-body coordination.

That stupid thing, although still small enough not to cause death so neurosurgery wasn't advisable, was the major cause of her stroke wherein she found herself unable to control the movements of her hands.

Also, engaging in group therapy was too much of a disaster that if she had a choice, she wouldn't have attended a single one of them.

All she did at the group therapy session was judge the rest of the patients' thought patterns and nonsensical behaviors in silence since the therapist told them strictly that it was a 'judgment-free zone'.

It was hard for her not to judge especially if some of the mentally unstable patients' decisions were so questionable that the boundary separating the 'sane' and the 'insane' was clear and visible.

The gap between the two categories were too wide that nobody would ever question why that patient was there in the psychiatric ward in the first place.

They didn't even apply what the therapists taught them about coping.

Listening to them talk about their issues in the group setting was just 'stress and 'facepalm-inducing' that it was bad for her mental health.

There were even times when she would question herself if she was turning conceited by acting superior and looking down on her fellow patients.

Still, she was one-hundred percent telling the truth but——

Should she start taking the calm-inducing pills the psychiatrist prescribed for her right now?

Just thinking about that made her gloved hand twitch on its own and usually that wasn't a good sign.

Despite showing the man obvious clues that Violet was uncomfortable with his shades, the stranger didn't bother removing them.

It was up to her to make out his overall physiognomy without the eyes.

What she could fathom from his appearance, he looked like he was in his early forties if she wasn't rude about it.

'This couldn't be her father.'

Violet stared at the ground in disappointment.