I love the artists,not the art

Kinzie's POV
After I slipped the note under the door,I walked back to my room,lifted the sleeve,and saw the scars from almost four years ago. I stopped,but I still remember,at times,I'm tempted to do it again,but that would leave my animals without a place,and PAWS USA without a representative who actually cares.
I pull my sleeves back down and quickly unpack,re-make my bed,and start drawing a picture in my notebook.
I've settled for this kind of art,most of the time.
I drew a picture of my dog back home,Midnight,a black Labrador Retriever,and put it In my sketchbook for the time being until I could find my colored pencils and color it.
I wish Niall would stop,but I can't make him,Nobody could ever make me.
I lay down on my bed and start to drift off into sleep,a temporary relief of life.
Except my dreams aren't a relief from life.
They're memories.
Aweful memories.

I don't wake up until I hear a knock at my door nearly an hour later.

Notes

-J.J.