Page 35 of Carver
The boy didn’t respond. It wasn’t as if Carver expected him to.
So he went about taking off the dressings and ensuring a bath would be possible. When he had them all gone, Carver took in the blemishes marking the young man before him. Rage swept through him at the knowledge of what this boy had been through. He hated knowing the past would likely stay with him forever.
Carver wanted the boy to only know happiness and love. He wanted him to be protected from everything that even tried to show him otherwise.
“Now we have to take your clothes off to get you in the tub. Are you ok to do this alone, or do you need my help?”
The question was necessary. Again, Carver couldn’t assume anything when it came to this situation.
As the boy slid from the counter and tugged at his clothes, Carver took that as the answer he needed. He turned to leave, only to stop as a whine echoed around him. Whipping around, he saw the boy wide eyed in a sort of panic.
Carver rushed back over to him and bent low enough to meet his eyes. “You want me to stay, don’t you?”
The boy’s head tilted just the slightest amount. Carver grinned at the progress, then motioned for the last of the clothing. “Finish undressing and climb in. I’ll turn to give you privacy, but I won’t leave.”
As he turned, Carver heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor, then there was the distinct noise of water being displaced. When a quick succession of splashes came, he took that as his cue to turn around.
His knees nearly buckled when he did. The boy looked like something from olden times sitting in the steaming bath water with his golden curls, soft face, and open expression. If Carver had any type of artistic skill, then he’d want to paint variations of this exact moment for the rest of his days. He knew he’d never be able to capture its true state.
The boy watched as Carver gathered the supplies they’d need for the bath. After depositing them on the ledge, he took up a stool and eased it beside the tub. Crossing one leg over the other, Carver watched the boy’s face for any sign of discomfort.
None came. It was almost like the warm water and Carver’s proximity gave him reprieve from whatever haunted him enough to keep him wanting to live in a cage.
“You can soak for a bit, but then you need to bathe. You’ll feel better once clean, sweet boy,” Carver said, voice gentle.
Minutes passed as they sat together quietly. Eventually, the boy did pick up the washcloth and bar of soap. He stared at them for a moment before looking at Carver.
Carver wasn’t sure what the emotions floating across the boy’s face meant. Instead of thinking on it too hard, he reached out to assist the boy.
“You wet the towel first, then rub it on the soap. Next you scrub your skin. Be gentle since you have lots of boo-boos.” Carver jolted at his own words.What the fuck?
He continued explaining the process. “You start with your face and work your way down until everything is clean.”
Never in a million years would Carver have thought this type of conversation would be something he’d have. Especially not with another seemingly grown man.
But when he thought of how long the boy had been held, Carver knew it made sense. Who else would have taught him the basics? Who would have guided him in all the things he needed to do each day?
Carver doubted anyone cared enough. They likely treated him like the pet they’d called him. For that reason alone, Carver avoided taking over for the boy. He needed to do this himself rather than be bathed by another person.
After a long, slow bath, Carver stood to grab the towel. He spoke as he moved around the bathroom, careful to stay in the boy’s sight so he wouldn’t panic like he had before. Carver wanted to reassure him there was no need to worry or fear.
Helping the boy from the bath was a test of his willpower. Carver kept his gaze on the boy as he wrapped him in the towel and guided him back into the bedroom.
“Now you dry your body off while I get some clothes. Head to toe, just like before.”
When he turned to get the clothes, he found himself looking at the mirror on the wall above his dresser. In it, he could see the way the boy watched him. Then he saw the boy looking at the towel as he pondered his next moves. Carver opened drawers blindly, his gaze unable to stray too far from the boy.
Only once the drying process actually began did he turn away. The boy deserved some bit of privacy. Carver was certain he’d never had such before.
After pulling out one of the pairs of comfy sweats he’d had Hex go purchase the day before, Carver waited a moment longerbefore looking in the mirror. The sight there had him spinning in an instant.
The boy was no longer standing in the middle of the room. He’d taken the towel to the bed — to Carver’s bed — and had curled up under it as he buried his face in Carver’s pillow.
While the sight made Carver’s heart soar in ways he’d never experienced, he also feared what this meant. Was the boy getting an unhealthy attachment to him? Was this a savior complex type of thing?
He knew he’d have to talk to Fury and Doc about it. Those two would be the best to answer all the millions of questions piling up in his head.
Seventeen