“Which one are you leaning on, the bath or the shower?”
“Um, the bath, I think.” He looked up and then away from me. “I, um, I don’t like the feeling of water hitting me in the face,” he bravely admitted.
I smiled at him and nodded. I was proud of him for being willing to face part of his fear. Brandon was young enough, and I was confident he would be able to be rehabilitated. I wouldn’t fail him.
“Let’s go to my bathtub. It’s bigger, and I think you will find it more comfortable.”
When I was sure that he would follow me, I headed in the direction of my room and directly into the master bathroom. Noticing that the wide slats from the wood blinds were completely open, lending a perfect view of the ocean, I calmly walked to the window and turned the blinds a bit so they would close off the ocean. I always found the view of the ocean to be calming and relaxing. Brandon would see it as a major stressor right now.
“This is a really nice bathroom. My mom’s—” he began, but then his voice cracked, and he dropped his head.
His shoulders began to move as he tried to hide his tears and emotions. My heart broke for this young man. He had spent years captive in a kink house and when he was rescued he had learned that his only family had died. I crossed the room and pulled him against me. Even though Brandon was just a few inches shorter than I was, he felt so small in my arms. My hands could almost curl around his shoulder blades.
“Sorry. I don’t know why the tears are just constantly ready to fall,” he apologized.
“It’s alright to cry, Brandon,” I comforted. “An awful lot has happened to you over the course of the last few years.”
I needed him to stop apologizing for expressing himself or feeling like he must apologize for his thoughts and emotions. Now was as good of a time as ever to try to get him to understand that. If he felt guilty for sharing his emotions, then he would bottle it all up and it would eventually explode on him.
As I gently rubbed his back, I broached this topic. “Brandon, I don’t want you to apologize anymore if you cry. If the tears fall, they fall. There are no negative repercussions to crying. Understand?”
I felt him nod his head against my chest. Considering the horrors that Brandon had been through, I was somewhat surprised at how easily he allowed me to embrace or touch him. His hunger for positive human contact outweighed that fear.
“I’m going to start the bathwater, and while I do that, I want you to go to your bedroom and pick out some pajamas. Bring some socks too,” I clearly instructed.
“Okay,” Brandon started out of the room but then stopped and turned to face me. “Not too hot, please,” Brandon requested, referring to the water temperature.
“Not too hot; I promise.”
I knew the bath was going to be a big ordeal for him, and if he would allow me, I would be right beside him to help him through it. A few moments later he returned with a pair of blue and white checked fleece pajama bottoms, a long-sleeved gray t-shirt, and a pair of gray socks. He set the clothes on the tiled edge that went around the garden tub, and then he stared at the bubbles that were building.
“That stuff smells good,” he commented.
I picked up the dark orange glass bottle that contained the liquid bubble bath, unscrewed the cap, and passed it to him so that he could smell it.
“Mmm, that’s good,” he said again.
I handed him the cap and watched how he handled it. I was curious to see how, or if, his motor skills had been impacted. He had no trouble putting the cap on, which eased some of my concerns.You’re going to be okay.
With the tub full of water and a mountain of eucalyptus-scented bubbles, I looked at him and smiled. Now was the moment of truth to see how he would react. I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. I went to my vanity and opened the bottom drawer where I kept extra bathroom supplies and found a dark blue sponge. I held it up and shook it in my hand in a ‘look what I found’ way. Brandon made eye contact with it, then his eyes shifted to himself in the mirror before he quickly looked away. I removed the plastic tag from the sponge, approached the tub, and set it on the ledge on top of some towels.
“Ready to give the bath a try?” I asked.
“Um, yeah.” Brandon toed off his shoes and removed his socks as he looked up at me. “Are you going to stay?” he asked.
“Of course, I will stay. I know you’re nervous and apprehensive with water, Brandon. It would be cruel of me to fill a tub with bathwater and then leave, given the circumstance.”
He nodded and remained crouched on the floor by his shoes and socks. Brandon reached for the neckline of his t-shirt, and before he removed it, he gave me a warning.
“I don’t look very good. I’m pretty skinny, and I have bruises. There’s a lot of cuts and stuff.” He dropped his head and looked and the top of his bruised foot. “I’m sore in a lot of places and look hideous.”
I crouched in front of him and slowly reached my hands out toward him. Gently framing his face between my hands, I lifted it so he would look at me.
“Brandon, your body looks like a young man who has been held captive for three years. I’m not expecting to see a model, okay?”
He laughed, and more tears fell from his eyes. Before they had a chance to disappear behind the gauze bandages near his mouth, I collected them with the pads of my thumbs.
“It’s just … I had modeled before,” he admitted.
