“Yes, I’d like that. Yes, please.”
I started to yawn and quickly grabbed my mouth because the motion of yawning pulled on my lips. James sat up with me and talked to me while I ate some soup and saltine crackers. After I ate, he helped me settle back in bed, and as he covered me up, he said one word that gave me hope that things would be okay.
“Ohana.”
12
James
A few days later,I signed the discharge paperwork releasing Brandon to my care, and I smiled at him while Sam signed them as well. The three of us went over the medication so Brandon knew what to expect. Thankfully, Sam kept Brandon’s situation in mind and slowly went over everything. Right now, Brandon would need small doses of information and specifics.
I had Joshua pick up some comfortable clothes that most likely would fit Brandon. He brought some new navy sweatpants, a gray t-shirt, a black zip-up sweatshirt, and some Nike running shoes to the hospital. Brandon sat on the edge of the bed in the new clothes, excited to be leaving the hospital. He kept fidgeting around, which I knew was likely an effect of his captivity.
He’d zip the sweatshirt, then unzip it.
He put his hands in his pants pocket, then hissed when he caught one of the splinted fingers on the pocket. Then he put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.
His feet tapped on the floor for a few minutes, then when they’d stop, he’d bounce his knees.
I had a lot to be on the lookout for with Brandon. While I had been around people who had come out of kink houses, I had never had one under constant care at my home. But there was no way that I could turn my back on this young man. We’d already begun bonding.
When Brandon accepted my offer to stay at my home, I had warned him that I lived in Malibu on the beach. My home was literally separated from the water by the sand of a private beach and wooden zigzag stairs. Brandon clearly had suffered trauma due to the waterboarding, and I wanted him to know upfront that not only was the view of water evident, but so was the sound. He said he understood; however, I knew it would be very easy for him to say that he understood, but the sound could act as a trigger for him.
Joshua and Alison had assured me that they had prepped one of the spare bedrooms with fresh linens and stocked the bathroom with toiletries, new towels, and clothes. I had devoted the majority of my time to Brandon at the hospital, so I had to rely on Joshua and Alison to make sure the place was ready for him.
As we drove to my place, Brandon sat quietly in the passenger seat with the bear blanket on his lap. Every now and then he’d cough and out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that he kept his hands close to his mouth for a few extra moments. I knew the holes from the piercings bothered him.
I glanced over at him at a stoplight to see him lowering and then raising his head. It was way too bright for him, and he was probably on sensory overload. He had lived in a cage and a dark room for a while, only to be let outside to be hosed off after being assaulted. I took my sunglasses off and handed them to him.
“Here, put these on. It’ll help with the glare.”
His boney fingers took hold of the earpiece, and he slipped them on. He kept them on until we pulled into the garage. Once we got inside, I gave him a very brief tour: his room, my room, his bathroom, and the kitchen. No need to overwhelm him with anything but necessities.
Things were fine until we got into the bathroom. The large mirror caused him to instantly look away and shield his eyes.
“Brandon, you were a prisoner for three years,” I explained. It wasn’t as though he could expect to look like he did when he went inside that place.
“I look hideous. Holes and cuts. My hair is all chopped up. I’m as white as a ghost.”
“Relax, Brandon. We’re going to get some meat on these bones, and you will heal. You just need to give yourself time.”
After some things were settled and he had eaten, I knew that he was still feeling dirty and probably weird in his skin. But just seeing his stressed reaction to a bottle of water made me hesitant to bring up a bath or shower. While in the hospital he was barely able to tolerate being cleaned with some damp wipes.
“Brandon, would you like to try taking a bath or shower?”
I tried to word it so that he knew he had the option and it was his choice. But I also worded it with compassion. It was imperative that he knew that I understood his fear and nervousness to water. Waterboarding wasn’t child’s play, and the emotional effects could be long-lasting.
His eyebrows shot up and disappeared under his shaggy hair that had fallen forward. Brandon’s balled up fists hid inside his sweatshirt pockets as his eyes shifted around by our feet. I knew that he was considering it, and I needed to press some. It crossed my mind that having been confined as he had been, he might have had claustrophobia. Chances were that he didn’t even know it yet. Many people who were held captive in confined spaces didn’t realize they were claustrophobic until they found themselves in a small space, such as a standard shower that was in the guest bathroom.
“Your bathroom has a tub and a shower, but if you’d like something that is more spacious, my shower is a large walk-in and is open at one end. So there’s no door on it. I also have a very large garden bathtub that sits in the middle of the bathroom. You’re welcome to use either one of those,” I offered.
“Um,” he began and reached for his chest. I knew his heart probably felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest. I wondered what it must have been like for him to have had this all his life and play sports.
“Brandon, relax. It’s your choice, but I wanted to make sure you knew it was available to you.”
“I would like one, please,” Brandon murmured and reached for his mouth.
It angered me to no end what those animals had done to him, piercing his mouth closed so he couldn’t talk. I made sure that I maintained a calm facial expression so he would settle down. He expressed wanting a shower or bath, but wanting and doing are two separate things for him right now.
