Elizabeth sat in the hospital lobby, flipping through a glossy magazine. A red bracelet encircled her wrist, a label for the world, a reminder of her condition.
She didn't see the need for it. Truly dangerous, mentally ill patients were locked behind chains and thick doors. Like she had been for the past two weeks.
She sipped her coffee, her gaze drifting over the steady stream of people passing by. Adjusting her oversized sunglasses and the mask covering her face, she ensured her anonymity.
Not that it was difficult, two burly bodyguards stood a respectable distance away, their presence commanding attention.
Then it came.
A revolting smell, thick and nauseating, cut through the sterile air of the lobby. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose as a woman in a luxury-brand suit walked by, pushing a frail, elderly man in a wheelchair.
The man should've looked like a father figure, but Elizabeth's sharp eyes discerned the truth. This wasn't the woman's father. It was her husband.
She observed as the woman left the man by the reception desk and took a few hurried steps away, retreating behind a pillar.
Her hushed voice reached Elizabeth's ears, another curse of her sharp senses.
"I'm at the hospital," the woman whispered, irritation clear in her tone.
She sighed, tapping her heels against the tiles, her childish impatience contrasting sharply with her expensive attire. "Sadly, my husband's condition is improving."
Elizabeth flipped another page, her hand steady, but her focus remained on the whispered conversation.
"Yes, I miss you too, baby," the woman cooed. "I bought the most gorgeous outfit just for you."
Her voice took on a sickly-sweet tone. "Let me put this old man back to bed, and then we can have some alone time together, okay? Mwah, mwah."
Elizabeth's lips curled in disdain.
The woman returned to the wheelchair, her saccharine smile plastered on as she spoke to the man. "Honey, do you think you can send me some money? I want to get my hair done for you."
The man, his greying hair thin and his teeth jagged, smiled with an almost childlike affection. "Anything for my wife. How much do you need?"
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "One million dollars!" She rubbed his chest, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
The sound of her phone's notification made her squeal in delight. "I love you, baby," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek before wheeling him toward the elevator.
Elizabeth watched them go, her fingers tracing the edge of her magazine. She raised her hand, signaling one of the bodyguards in black.
"Hot water," she said simply.
The man moved with swift efficiency, returning moments later to pour steaming water into her teacup. Elizabeth stirred it slowly, waiting for the color to deepen just right.
And then the smell returned, stronger this time.
Elizabeth lowered her magazine, her sharp gaze narrowing as the woman strutted back into the lobby.
With a calculated flick of her wrist, she flung the contents of her teacup across the room.
The scream that followed was music to her ears.
"Oh my God! Aaah, it burns!" the woman shrieked, clutching at her suit, her voice piercing through the chaos as security rushed to her aid.
Elizabeth didn't bother looking up from her magazine. The lobby bustled around her, but no one paid her a second glance.
Smirking faintly, she turned another page. She wasn't one to bother herself with smelly cheats.
At least, not for now.