Deal With It ✓

Six: Lucky

Song: The Ultracheese // Arctic Monkeys

I've attached an image of Dylan's ceiling above, it's mentioned in this chapter.

According to Wattpad, #43 in overprotective is my most impressive ranking so thank you, guys!

 Merci beaucoup to everyone who's reading the book so far!

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A few years ago, during spring break, I had decided to take on the artistic decision to draw the universe on my ceiling.

Now, I'm aware that the universe is ever-expanding and we could never know its exact size, we just know that it's fucking huge, and I couldn't exactly fit in something that big into a ceiling.

So how the fuck was I going to do that? It took me some time really, I'd lay on my bed and stare at the white ceiling and think. One day it just hit me; if you were to compare the Milky Way Galaxy to the entire universe, it was just a spec of dirt– it didn't matter. So I decided to apply that logic to the painting; the ceiling was the galaxy and the house was the universe– it was just a small room in a bigass mansion.

And as I lay there, on my bed with my hands folded on my chest, staring at the galaxy I had drawn around the chandelier, I had thought that I was a spec of dirt in an entire system of stars, planets, and rocks– I was insignificant, I didn't matter and nothing I ever did would either.

People are put on this Earth for no reason; they were just a product of love. Everyone, deep down, knows this, and so that's why the concept of existing for a 'reason' was born, people wanted to feel significant, they wanted to feel like they mattered on this planet, in this galaxy, floating around the ever-expanding universe.

I thought my 'reason' was to create art, to play music, to become a world-renowned violinist who's potential compositions took the world by storm. I wanted to have an artistic impact like all the significant musicians had on me.

But even that, my dreams, my reason for existing, was stripped from me.

I didn't know what I was doing anymore, why I was on this planet, and why I couldn't fulfill my dreams.

I wanted to feel like I mattered.

It's for the better, man, hobbies should remain hobbies.

The kid's words from Amber's class kept replaying in my head like one of the symphonies I had rehearsed for days on end with the hopes of mastering it.

Did dad believe in me? Did he understand the joy I got from playing the violin? The piano? The electric guitar? Did he think that my 'hobby' would get me nowhere in life? Was he scared that if my dreams didn't work out, I'd be a disappointment? Is that why he forced me into inheriting the company so that I'd have a plan I would fall back on?

Was he expecting me not to succeed?

I couldn't wrap my head around it. There had to be a reason why he left the company and his wealth for me in his will. It wasn't a secret that a lot of artists don't succeed in achieving their dreams, but he reassured me multiple times that he had the utmost faith in me– he supported me.

Didn't he?

Rolling onto my side, I reached over to the bedside table and picked up my phone checking the time, it was one minute after midnight. Using my phone to turn off the light hanging above my bed, I watched as the galaxy disappeared from my ceiling, plunging my room into darkness.