“And suddenly the words “I hate art” comes out of my mouth. Which is weird because the girl I used to be didn’t stop drawing until she ran out of paper.”

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“I hate art.” Was like a stab to your heart. You always love to draw and paint and sculpt and be creative with anything and everything. It was what you always wanted to major in at school. Until you had your accident and killed a girl with your pencil who had been bullying you. You felt like you were going through a midlife crisis when you stopped getting into art block and had zero motivation to draw or even lift your brand new sketchbook.

It was shocking for you. Even Helen. He has been butt hurt because you don’t have the motivation to draw at all. You even got a normal sleep schedule! What is wrong with you?! Are you mentally okay?!

Anyways, Helen has been trying to force you to paint with him to help you because he’s genuinely concerned and on the verge of calling a mental hospital on your ass. But he won’t. Not yet.

So he sat you down in front of an easel, a blank, white canvas rested on it and he hurriedly pushed a pencil and eraser in your hands. Draw.” He said, sitting down on a stool next to you.