This is part of a story I wrote for the writing group.  I was left the unenviable task of saying what happened to Alex when she was 15 years old,  what had happened to the young innocent girl that day ten years ago. I hope you enjoy it; I will be incorporating this into a larger story at some point.

I lay down on my sofa, my Analyst pulled up a chair and started making notes.
 
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  As slowly the memories surfaced, “I was fifteen.  Trevor invited me over.  I had seen his artwork and told him about my art project, and he wanted to see it,” 

I noticed my voice had changed, sounding more like a stranger than myself.  “I had been so excited, an established artist taking an interest in my work." 
 
"He said he was impressed with my project and said I had real talent.  Then he asked me if I wanted to see the new pieces he was working on in the house.  I had nodded in agreement, hoping it might inspire me.” 

Pausing for a moment, I breathed deeply, the memories were still raw, even after all this time, I could feel tears forming in my eyes.
 
“Go on?” Paul said making notes.
 
He knew what I was going to say, but I had to say it if I was going to make progress.  “I walked beside him, holding my art project.  He opened the door, and I headed in, and Trever closed the door behind us.  He smiled at me, but for the first time, I noticed something sinister about his smile.”
 
"His house was grand.  After a quick look around I was shown to the basement, heading down stone steps.  He flipped the light switch revealing a large room covered in canvases, a large table sat against a wall, and a sculpture was in the middle of the floor with metal buckets surrounding it.  These pictures were darker than his old work,  images of faces, hands, eyes and death.  You could see the emotion and the pain in the work.  Red was the most common colour." 

"As I looked closely at some of the work I noticed some Chains were hanging from the ceiling, against one wall and there was red splattering on the floor.  I remember thinking all artists make a mess." 
 
I swallowed hard, feeling a little nauseous, "These pieces almost seemed alive.  I looked at the statue, bits of wood stained red, on a marble platform with some material was stretched over some pieces of stand wood.  It was a striking piece. I had never seen or imagined anything like it.” 

My hands shook a little as I spoke. Paul stayed quiet, as he always did.  He knew what Alex had been through.  It had been in all the papers, headline news, “Schoolgirl rescued from Monster,” had been the headline that had stood out to her, knowing that moment would help define her.
 
“I said something like; It’s amazing and a little scary.  He told me to take a closer look.  Something inside me didn’t want to get too close, but I did.  That’s when I saw it, hidden behind some of the wood.  There was a human head. I jumped back, in fear, then laughed.  This was art, Trevor had tricked me, made me jump.  
 
“Suddenly his huge hand was around my throat. So what do you think? He asked me, as he squeezed."
 
"My phone went off in my pocket.  I remember the ringtone.  It used to be my favourite song.   I desperately tried to grab it, but he took it off me placing it on the table.  He pulled my hair forcing me back against a wall before securing my left wrist with one of the chains."

My voice started to tremble, I wanted to blank the memories out, bury them deeply, but somehow I managed to keep talking.

"I screamed as loud as I could, but Trevor just laughed.  He told me it was sound proof, then started talking about how my beautiful young face and hands would make a lovely addition to his work.  The hands of a budding artist, he had said.  He showed me the blood and body parts in the buckets to break my spirits. This was when I realised what he had done.  The pictures the sculpture, they were made out of people, the red and brown was blood.  I thought I was going to die.”
 
I opened my eyes.  I had tried to hide these memories for so long, but they always came back.  Nightmares awoke me most nights, and the sight of any blood always made me nauseous.  

“Trevor started to slowly cut away my clothes, taking his time enjoying his work, leaving me naked.  He smiled as his fingers traced over my skin.  I closed my eyes trying to look away, but he grabbed my face, squeezing my jaw, making me look into his perverted eyes.  He took a knife and ran it up my free arm, and placed a bucket under it.” 
 
Paul watched as Alex instinctively slid her hand over the scar he had made.  “I heard the tiny echo of the bucket, as my blood fell into it, I was crying, I felt so helpless.”
 
“That’s when the Police bashed through his back door.  They had been listening in on my phone.  My mother had called me asking what time I would have been home.  I had managed to hit answer before Trevor had taken the phone away.  She had heard my screams and called the police."  
 
"Apparently, they had just discovered he could be a person of interest in a string of murders.  Two prostitutes and an office worker had gone missing over the last few weeks.  It turned out his agent was missing too.  They had found evidence in his trash and had been waiting for a warrant to search his property when my mother called them.  She didn’t know where I was, but the police had worked it out. They did something clever with my phone."
 
"The sound proofing had masked the sirens, Trevor had been taken entirely by surprise.  He had gone to the stairs to find out what was happening before two policemen hit him with tasers."
 
“The paramedics and police freed me, but I was in shock.  I don't remember much after that.  My mother said it was almost six months before I started speaking and over a year before I started drawing again.  Trevor almost took it away from me.”
 
“The art helped, I could forget about the world and concentrate on the pictures, but the rainbows and smiles had disappeared being replaced with darkness.  The emotion I poured into each piece made it easier to live to keep going.”
 
“So why have you stopped?” Paul asked.
 
I didn’t have an answer.  It was like a tiny piece of Trevor's darkness had slivered into me that day, it had come out in some of my work, but now it was bubbling inside of me, growing, wanting to devour me.”
 
We sat in silence until his little timer went off.  I wiped away the tears and thanked him for his time.
 
“We made progress today, for the first time you really opened up to me.” He said, “I will see you next week.”
 
I closed the door behind him, slid to the floor and started to cry.  I had never told anyone what had happened.  My mum didn’t want to know the details, and the Police locked Trevor up for the rest of his life, without talking to me, using my phone message as evidence.  The papers had tried to get an interview but had eventually given up allowing me to have some sort of normal life.  But the scars were now there, and not only on my arm.  I had seen several shrinks, but Paul was the first I had opened up to. 
 
My lack of emotions had cost me a lot over the years.  My brother now hardly spoke to me, and I hadn’t been able to have a serious relationship.
 
I walked into the conservatory and opened my white suitcase.  I stored my brushes and paints in it now.  A reminder of my mum, the life I managed to leave behind and the fact I had survived Trevor.  I painted, not because of him, but was not going to let a monster like that take something I loved away from me.  I realised for the second time he almost had.  I picked up a paintbrush got some paint and put a line on a blank canvas.