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The windows make the space light, bright and airy, but it’s the view that steals the show.
All around us, as far as the eye can see, is the ocean. It completely floors me. I didn’t think for a second that the facility was situated on an island, and more to the point, it doesn’t look like there’s anything else out here besides the facility and about a million trees.
“Beautiful, huh?” Honeymonster whispers in my ear, making me shiver.
“It’s alright.” I shrug. “I suppose they bring us up here to remind us that even if we did escape, there’s nowhere to go?”
“Such a cynic.”
“Bite me.”
“Not until you beg.”
Fuuuuuck, why does that sound so tempting?
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and walk over to one of the art stations. There are canvases, paints, brushes, pencils, and all sorts of other art supplies laid out neatly.
“What do we do here?” I ask Honeymonster.
“We create art,” he replies with a smile. “It’s supposed to be therapeutic.”
“I don’t know how to paint,” I say, feeling a little intimidated by all the supplies.
“That’s the point,” he says, grabbing a canvas and some paint. “Just let go and see what happens, Sugar Puff.”
I look at him sceptically, but he just shrugs and sets up his easel and the things he needs for painting. I watch him for a moment, his face completely focused on the canvas as he grabs a pencil and roughly sketches out something beautiful.
“Here,” he says, handing me a canvas and some paint.
“I think I liked it better when you called me a cute penis you know.”
“Just try it.” He nods at the canvas.
“Shouldn’t we, like, wait for the others or a teacher or something?”
“Counsellor. And no. They’ll all be here any minute. You can use any medium you like, you know.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
I take the canvas and some paint, feeling a little unsure of myself. I’ve never been much of a painter, but I guess I’ll give it a try. In a minute.
For the most part, I simply stare out of the window at the view. It’s beautiful, especially today with the sun shining, but forlorn.
Eventually, the others arrive and a counsellor comes over to introduce himself.
“Hi, you must be Kayla. I’m Danny, lead art therapist here at the centre. You’ll have a weekly group session with me and the others, but you’re welcome to request up to two one-to-one sessions with me a week as well.”
“Ummm, thanks?”
“No worries. I’m really looking forward to seeing what you do today, Kayla. Don’t be shy or hold back. Art has no rules.”
“Art has no rules?” I repeat.
Danny beams at me. Bless him, he’s like an over eager puppy, and I hate puppies. Cruella de Vil is my spirit bitch.
“That’s right. No rules in this studio.” He laughs conspiratorially like we’re all friends here in some super secret club, and I wonder how much force it would take to ram the end of the number 20 paintbrush I selected through his trachea.
“I can use any medium I like?”
