𝙄𝙙𝙞𝙤𝙩 || 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙮 & 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮

CH #7

Draco's POV:

That interaction made me realize something-I think I was jealous. I wished I could have what Holly had: a way to escape. Yes, I could paint, but she had so much more. She could escape through the smallest things: reading, daydreaming, anything. It wasn't just about the activities she loved; it was the way she approached life, with this sense of wonder and freedom that I couldn't seem to grasp.

When I painted, it wasn't always an escape. Sometimes, it felt like a chore, a performance, a need to create something that others would admire. But for her, everything was art in its own way, no pressure, no expectations. She didn't need an easel or a brush to find her peace. A book, a quiet moment, even a fleeting idea could sweep her off to a world far away from here. And I envied that.

Maybe that's what's been bothering me all this time-this feeling that I'm trapped in my own head, in my own reality. Painting doesn't always offer an escape for me because I carry all of my worries into the canvas. The fear of failure, the judgment of others, the constant pressure to make something meaningful-it all clings to me. I paint, but it's like I never really leave.

Holly, though, could step out of herself so easily. I'd watch her lose herself in a novel, her eyes scanning the pages like she was uncovering some great secret. Or she'd drift into her thoughts while staring out the window, smiling at something no one else could see. I'd ask her what she was thinking about, and she'd laugh and say, "Oh, nothing," as if that kind of escape was something everyone could do. But for me, it wasn't that easy.

I think I've always admired her for that, even if I didn't want to admit it. She made life seem lighter, as though it didn't have to be so serious or heavy all the time. I wanted that lightness, that ability to let go and just be. It's strange to admit, but sometimes I resented her for it. Not because she did anything wrong, but because I wanted what she had so badly, and I didn't know how to find it.

Looking back, maybe I wasn't just jealous-I was frustrated with myself. I felt like there was this invisible barrier between me and the kind of freedom she had, and I didn't know how to break through it. I told myself that painting was enough, that it was my outlet, but deep down, I wanted more. I wanted to feel the way she did, to lose myself in something without fear or doubt dragging me back.