Artemisia

I continue to rub my clothes in the cold water, but I can’t seem to get the paint off.

This is the worst.

Feeling on the verge of crying, I’m glad that they’re letting me clean up the mess alone. Even if their concerned looks made me think that they wouldn’t trust me to take care of it by myself.

And maybe they were right.

I keep rubbing my fingers red, but the paint stays on my clothes.

With a deep sigh, I sit on my heels, the cold water seeping into my skin reaching ...