Survive him, Thrive with him.

Chapter ten

The loud banging at my door rudely wakes me up. I was still tired, tired of being kidnapped and randomly set down in the middle of the forest.

I groan and look up as the sound of my door opening alerts me, several pairs of feet walking around. Getting to my feet, I notice how I was wearing pajamas instead of my casual clothes from last night, suspecting Slenderman as I grab a robe and slip it on.

The guys were frantically putting my easel up, squirting paint on paper plates and getting brushes out. Several of my canvases were strewn on the floor, waiting to be used.

"What are you doing?" I ask them as they suddenly stop and look at me, continuing after a beat is missed.

"I know this is weird for you, but what happened last night?" Jacob asks, putting a hand on my shoulder and stepping me away from the rest, done with their work and waiting anxiously.

"You dumbos tazered me, kidnapped me, and left me in the woods. So I found my way out and came home, you jerks." I hiss.

"No, there was more. You went into a truck." Derek pipes in.

"And how did you know what I was doing? Spying on me?" I ask, hands on my hips.

"We saw more than you think." Will states, holding up the small camera that was on my shirt.

"He was....holding you." Bryan whispers.

"I don't recall anything 'holding' me." I argue, but the paper plate is shoved towards me and a few brushes. Jacobs runs over to the computer and brings up YouTube, typing away for a song play list, letting it bring music to the air, a familiar track.

"I know you, Claire. You don't keep secrets. This is your art music, let your mind wander. Paint what it wants to paint, your forgotten memories." He says, pushing me towards the canvas.

"Art doesn't work by force, you have to let it flow out slowly and over time." I remind him, but Will only turns the music up louder. I growl, but look over my paints, tempted to do something. I could just start making a random picture, and nobody would be any wiser.

I dip my brush in red, but stop. It didn't feel right. I wasn't going to waste a canvas and some paint because I was trying not to show anything. I might not even paint what they want me to.

The music sets into my soul, a slow nature themed track with Thai instruments, setting the scene to calm. My mind focuses on calm, and my mood relaxes without warning.

What made me calm?

I don't even look as my brush dips in the paint and starts to curve on the canvas, returning for a darker shade and going over the edges. I switch colors and paint downwards, switching colors again to keep going.

I'm painting the lavender rose.

Bryan immediately looks over at it and inspects it further, probably wondering why it was so fresh.

Derek swaps the canvases as soon as I step back to look over the finished product, setting the masterpiece down on the table. I narrow my eyes at him and he avoids eye contact, letting me turn back to the painting. The song changes, the tempo smooth and mysterious.

What was mysterious in my life?

No. I can't paint that.

But I can't help it.

My brush spins, and I come upon the verge of running out of color to use as shapes take form, Derek replacing canvas after canvas as I paint, the pictures vague enough to pass my judgment.

Soon, we're surrounded by pictures of dark forest, random flashes of parchment representing the pages I refused to paint directly. The one I was currently finishing was the one they were mostly interested in, a pale white hand holding my lavender rose out, straight from my memory.