I finish the painting with a flick of my brush and sit back. I smile. It looked terrible, just how I wanted.

"Ah, Ross, you're done," a voice calls out from behind me with rapidly increasing amplitude. I whir to look at him just as his woollen cardigan stopped inches away. "It looks, very...interesting."

"Why thank you professor," I say sarcastically. We both knew it was a waste of paint.

"Listen..Ross.." he started.

"I understand. I'll pack my things and I'll never return?" I question excitedly. Art therapy was not for me, and definitely not what I need right now. Dad had no clue what he was thinking-

"No, no, not that..." he tried again. My hands flop to my sides impatiently. I just wanted to get out; it was like a prison in here. "Your work, it's, really something. I mean, I've never seen anything like it."

I stand up and take a few steps back. "What do you-?"

"Lets call this session done. I'll see you next Tuesday Ross."

"But professor-"

For some reason, I wanted to stay now more than ever. What, in my painting, had made him react so strongly? What had I done now?

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Introducing Ross!

Thank you so much for reading this far ♡

Holly :)