Taken Captive

Chapter 54

Nia's POV...

The calming beat of Nervous by The Neighbourhood filled my ears, blocking everything else out as I covered my fingertips in the red paint and brushed it over the canvas. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as that ache in my chest heightened.

I opened my eyes, the painting in front of me almost haunting me when I kept them closed. The main colour was red. So much red, so much blood.

So much blood.

I gulped and grabbed one of the smaller brushes to paint a woman over the red. She had her hands over her face, almost like she was hiding from all of the blood, trying to pretend it wasn't there and that it never existed.

The song ended, giving me a few seconds to hear what was going on. Footsteps filled my ears and I quickly turned my frown into a smile.

If I don't fake a smile, I can't leave. If I can't leave, I can't see Callum.

"Hi, Nia." One of the nurses greeted me. I turned to her and smiled before she stepped closer, examining what I was painting. I shifted uncomfortably under her judgmental gaze. They never liked my darker paintings, it never made sense to them. "We're about to have a little group talk if you would like to join."

I nodded, "Okay." She walked off while I cleaned up. I placed the MP3 player I was using to listen to music in my hoodie pocket. Callum had put it in the box he gave me last week along with a bunch of other stuff I didn't think I needed until I saw them sitting there.

"There she is!" The nurse smiled when I walked into the room where we had our meetings. I sat down in one of the empty seats and pulled my legs up to my chest, feeling like it was a way I could protect myself from everyone's stare when I'd start talking at some point.

I felt like if I'd sit there, my hands in my lap, legs down and exposing everything, they could see inside of me too. They could see everything I was feeling or thinking. So I sat this way instead, it was more conservative. I used it to protect myself here since my family couldn't.

"Let's talk about detachment today." The nurse offered, "What is something you feel like you detached from when you were suffering from your addictions?"

I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me, like always, while some people put their hands up.

"Let's do Sam first." She said.

He cleared his throat, the sound of his chair slightly squeaking when he shifted filling the room, "Myself."

My gaze turned over to him, immediately interested in what he had to say. He was staring at the floor, the same way I had been a second prior and he continued, "Well, my soul. I felt like my soul detached itself from me and was like, beside me instead. It was watching my body being taken over so it left me. It left me emotionless, soulless and made me cruel, to myself and others."

"Why do you think your soul left you, Sam?" She asked him.

"I think it was tired of me, it didn't want to keep watching me slowly...kill myself." He looked up at her, "So it like, turned everything off and left. I don't know, I just-"

"Your soul was the old you, the you that didn't want any of it to happen but it no longer had any control." Someone's voice cut in, "When the drug tricked your mind into thinking you couldn't stop yourself, your soul left and just let it happen because it wasn't strong enough to fight the addictive sensation the drug shot through your body even though you knew it was wrong. Your soul, your heart knew your mind would choose the drug over yourself, so it gave up and let you realize the truth the hard way."