Scout: Devil's Rose #11

Chapter 1: Violet Monroe

Dedication:
I just wanna say
thank you for
watching Saltburn
with me again.
that's true love.

I want to be a kid again.

It was so much easier being a child. I was young and innocent and blind to the horrors of the real world. I think about the moments of pure bliss all the time. They're the only things that soothe me in situations where I'm uncomfortable and have to push myself aside for others.

I lived in the spotlight for a long time - a nepo baby without actually wanting to pursue any Hollywood relationships. I was a lucky kid. I had pretty much everything I could ever ask for.

I had friends (though half of them were fake), fame (something I wasn't entirely sure about yet), clothes, nails, and money. I did have all the material goods that anyone could ask for.

I had two cars by the age of seventeen and millions of dollars to spend at the mall. Everywhere I walked, people knew who I was and wanted to take a picture with me.

I never had to fight for the attention or adoration of strangers. I didn't have to fight for fifteen minutes of fame, I was born into a lifetime of it. I never felt incredibly insecure in my own body even with the world judging me.

I knew I was beautiful, tough, smart, and strong from the day I even began to know what those words meant.

There have been so many aspects of my life where I have been in a privileged position. I had a steady job at ten, a home, food on the table, and two or three people at my beck and call, and if I asked for something, I didn't have to fight to get it.

That's just what I knew.

I understood that I was different from other kids, my life was at least, but it wasn't until later on in life that I fully knew the benefits that I had in my life so young. It's not like my parents were going to teach me that themselves.

My mother and father were the only blessings and curses I had.

They have done so much for me in my life and provided me with more than I could have ever imagined or asked for, but when I think back to my childhood and being their daughter, it's not the moments of pure joy that I remember most.

If I'm honest, there weren't that many moments of joy in the first place.

Because of the busy lives they led, there was no time for family dinners or having a movie night. No forts made, no camping under the stars, no family activities.

There were so many moments when I would be asleep before they even got home and they were gone when I woke in the morning. The number of times a day they would leave me to answer a phone call was ridiculous.

I would start talking about the day or hardship I was having, and my father would immediately say that he was tired and needed to go to bed. I would do something wrong, make a mistake of some sort, and I would immediately be condemned into my bedroom.

And we would ignore one another till we eventually just forgot about the issue. I could barely look my father in the face some days. And though my mother tried her best to be there for me, she never was.

When I got my first period, I had to ask my 55-year-old nanny to teach me how to put in a tampon. There were many times when she would forget me somewhere, at the gas station, grocery store, or whatever, and I would have to get home by myself.

At the time, I thought it was fantastic, though I never understood why my mom would leave me for so long. Now, I don't know what to make of it. It was rare that all three of us were in the same room together.

Compared to what it could have been, compared to the other shit I've been through, my childhood wasn't the worst of it. I look back and find joy even when my parents weren't there.

Even if I felt pushed to the side, it taught me that sometimes I'm not the main character. I don't always have to be. It's okay to just not want to exist. I think back to the calm parts of my life, and I wonder who I would be if that was all of my childhood.

If I wasn't getting chased by paparazzi or hounded by journalists about my parents, who would I be today? I can't think too much about that though or I have an existential crisis, and right now, that's the last thing I need.

It's been a long time since I was in that life. I've been living in Grove Heights for more than three years now. I moved away after finishing my small stint in college in Los Angeles.

I have never thought about going back to college to finish my degree. It was not for me.

Maybe it has something to do with my parents not having to teach me what work ethic was, but I think it was mostly about the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and felt trapped in a place I didn't want to be. I wanted to carve out my own life.

I was tired, and although I will be eternally grateful for the opportunities that arose in my life, of being my parent's daughter. I was ready to be my own person, and in my head and heart, I knew that the only way I could do that was by breaking out of every single mold that they forced me into.

Now that I do freelance art, which has always been my greatest passion, I know I made the right decision to step away from the spotlight that was my life. I would classify my paintings as Art Deco style. But that's beside the point. It is all I want to do.

My inner healing begins the moment my paintbrush hits my canvas. It's like I'm no longer on this earth when I paint. Everything else goes out the window, and all that's left is me and my hand moving across the canvas.

Of course, my painting is not big enough to sustain me, so I also work two jobs. One at a local cafe and then the Vellichor bookstore in Westmoor. My art and those two places are where I feel most safe.

After everything that happened, and how I've had to adapt to my life after, the safe places in my life are so needed. They mean so much to me.

They are the places that I can return to when the world feels like too much. Which is more often than not if I'm honest.

Besides, the way I'm living now, I don't have to worry about people criticizing me for every step that I take. I could just be. I don't have to think about who's going to see all my mistakes and missteps.

I can live my life the way that makes me happiest even though I'm broke as fuck. I think that's where my parents got it wrong. Money can take you to new heights. Money opens doors and allows you to make choices that not many people get to make.

Money can do a lot for you, and there's so much privilege in having it. But I feel like my parents always thought something was missing. That's probably why they had me trying to discover what they were missing.

I think what they were missing and still missing to this day is a purpose. With their money, they could be doing something with it. They are missing a mission.

They could most definitely do a million things with the millions of dollars they have.

Not that I can say much because I'm not doing anything either.