Page 65 of To Save Him

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-one

 

IT WAS NICE having JR home from school for the summer, even though he often slept till noon, in spite of my having told him he had to be in bed by midnight.  I didn’t notice much difference in the frequency with which I saw my daughter.  She changed her work schedule to full-time for the summer and, when she wasn’t working, she was either with Liam or her girlfriends.  Her at home presence was much like it had been during the school year—I’d catch her for a few minutes during the day or she’d have an occasional meal at home.

That was typical of her age, though, so I simply tried to appreciate her company when she was around.

Brandon’s work schedule seemed to settle as summer got fully underway.  His employer had him starting work either at noon or just before and ending sometime in the evening, and he’d usually get home around nine or so.  He was working five days a week as well, weekends included, and that told me that he must have been viewed as a good employee.  Bad workers don’t get hours.

JR seemed to let go of his angst regarding the way he’d embraced Brandon as a substitute brother, and I thought (or, rather, hoped) that my reassurances had something to do with it.  My son now demanded that the two of them play videogames together every night.  Brandon would heat up leftovers from dinner (usually something JR and I had made together) and then play something with my son till around eleven.  Annabel was usually home by that time as well, even on weekends.  Because of her early work schedule, she chose not to stay out too late, except on rare occasion.  Because of my kids, Brandon wouldn’t make his way into my room until sometime after the house had quieted down.  I was afraid to ask if he was being discreet about his journey down the stairs so as not to give away that he wasn’t sleeping in Gabriel’s room anymore, because a couple of those stairs loved to creak.

But I was getting used to having him in my bed.

One night, though, my head was resting on my pillow and, even though the lamp beside the bed was on, I was drifting off, half wondering if Brandon would be joining me.  Before I completely fell asleep, I heard my bedroom door and forced my eyelids open.  Brandon stood in the doorway looking much like a dream.  He was fully clothed as he always was when he came downstairs at night, but he peeled off his t-shirt and jeans before sitting on the bed.

I sat up, sensing his need to talk.  “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and swallowed before speaking.  “Nothing’swrong.  I just don’t know how to talk about this.”

I put a hand on his shoulder.  “Aboutwhat?  The only way to do it is to just do it.”  But putting pressure on him wouldn’t help, either, so I shut my mouth and rubbed his back, waiting patiently for him to find a way to talk about whatever was on his mind.

“You know how you were researching ways to help me with the PTSD?”  I nodded.  “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of research too since you gave me your laptop—not just on PTSD but lots of things.  I’ve had things going through my head and…”  He took a deep breath and stopped for a few moments before turning slightly so he could look at me.  “I can’t say my whole life has sucked, and I can’t say it’s all been bad, but I think it’s fair to say that I’ve had things worse than a lot of people…especially when you include the shit that happened in the program that was so bad I can’t even remember it.  And so I was looking up ways people deal with their pasts.  Lots of people just bury them, you know, but that’s dangerous and just seems to make things worse in the long run—like a pot filled with too much water on a hot burner—and that’s how I was feeling.  The meditation, the yoga…those things got me all stirred up and realizing I was doing that.  I was pushing it all down, and things I’d forgotten are coming back to me, memories I didn’t know were in my head, things I’ve seen, things that have happened to me.”  He looked down again and said, “I kept it together because I didn’t want to worry you, but I was starting to think maybe I needed to be committed—maybe there was a reason why I was in the hospital so long after I’d been released.  But the solutions I’ve found have given me some hope.”

I was afraid of interrupting his thoughts, even by asking questions, so I just grabbed his hand.  He squeezed mine in return before continuing.  “I found a lot of the usual stuff—ideas like focused breathing and setting aside a dedicated ‘worry time’—but then I started looking at stranger things that made sense to me.”  He looked at me then, and I could tell that it was to gauge my reaction to his next words.  “Like cutting and forced vomiting.”  My eyes must have shown my alarm, because he said, “Don’t worry.  I’m not thinking about doing those things.  They just led me in search of more.  The whole idea of cutting…it led me to look more into it and how sometimes self-inflicted pain makes people feel better.”  He took a deep breath.  “But I’ve had so much pain in life, I know I don’t want more, no matter what the supposed outcome.  I, uh…I’m afraid of what might happen if…  Let’s just say pain could be a trigger.”  I squeezed his hand again, sensing how difficult this was for him to talk about.  “But I kept searching and feeling like I was onto something—because there’s something about the mind-body connection, right?

“And then, a few days ago when you took JR to the dentist and I had the day off, I came across something that seemed to ring true to me.  I got up from the desk after reading it and ran for a few miles, because usually when I run, I get to this point where my mind clears and there’s nothing but fatigue and ache radiating through my body and a calmness in my head that can’t be matched by anything else.”  He’d never told me this before, and I was remembering the morning he told me that running was “overrated”—but that too reminded me that maybe he’d just needed an excuse to be with me.  And still, I kept my mouth shut so he could speak.  “After I got back and out of the shower, I dug deeper and was sure this would be something that might help me…but I wasn’t sure how to tell you—or how to ask if you’d be willing to help me explore it.”

My voice was soft and I tilted my head so he could see in my eyes.  “Just tell me.”

He sucked down one more breath through his nostrils, then blinked his eyes twice and swallowed before he was able to spit it out.  “How much do you know about BDSM?”

Of all things I’d expected Brandon to say, that was not it.  I struggled to keep my face as neutral as possible while my mind raced.  Honestly, I knew very little.  My sex life had been pretty vanilla as things went and what little I knew about that lifestyle was what I’d read in romance books.  I also assumed that most of those books were more fantasy than reality, based on what little I’d readaboutthem, but I knew a few things.  “Um…I know that the term stands for more than just one idea and is actually a fusion of several practices—bondage and domination, domination and submission, and sadism and masochism.”

“Actually, bondage anddisciplineis more common.”

Oh, Jesus, what was this manthinking?  I had to quell my inner thoughts so my voice wouldn’t sound alarmed.  Truthfully, the older I got, the less inhibited I felt, but some of the things I’d heard and seen were too far out of my comfort zone, no matter my age or my acceptance.  I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be ball-gagged, restrained to a cross, or whipped.  Maybe a simple response would be best, allowing him to continue.  “Okay.”  I wasn’t going to tell him about my exposure to that “world” in fiction, because I figured that wouldn’t count.

He must have sensed my discomfort, though, because he said, “Don’t worry, Kimberly.  I’m not wanting to go all out and join a community or anything.  Just…aspects of some of those things appealed to me.”

Time to take the plunge.  “Like what?”

He looked at our entwined hands again and just let the words fly.  “The sense of control.  That’s what appeals to me.  The feeling that I have some kind of handle onsomething.”

I nodded again, not sure what to think but wanting to be supportive.  “So what are you thinking exactly?”

His eyes searched mine and, in that moment, I could see his true age brought on by the miseries he’d spoken of earlier—much older than I—and I could see his pain and emptiness.  “I want to explore a few things.  I think…I think I want to keep it confined to the bedroom for now, just because…I need to feelnormalsomehow too.”

I wanted to help this man no matter what, help him see the light, find the solace he was seeking…and I would do it at all costs.  I needed to be a part of his healing, especially because I felt like there might be aid and redemption for me as well.  “Okay.  So how do we get started?”

 

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