When we arrive, I go around to the passenger side and lift Chelsea into my arms. She is limp and listless in my arms. I carry her upstairs to her room.

“I feel so unclean,” she says. She sounds as if she’s on the brink of tears again even though her face is that calm mask. To think I once judged her as cold and manipulative.

“You’re not unclean. You’re the cleanest person I know,” I tell her, feeling helpless in the face of her pain. Anger is still bubbling in my gut. Never in my life have I wanted to hurt an old man, but God, I want to kill her grandfather.

She nods, but I don’t think she hears me. “I think I want to take a bath and wash all of today off me,” she whispers.

I set her on her feet and lead her towards the bathroom. I sit her on the edge of the bath tub. Meekly she perches at the edge and looks up at me.

“I’ll run a bath for you,” I offer.

She nods.

I remember watching her the other night while she was asleep, thinking how peaceful and vulnerable she looked. I thought her vulnerability was beautiful, almost magical, but there is nothing beautiful or magical about the way she looks now. Her face is tear-streaked and pale, and her wounded eyes look like bruised flowers.

She sighs. Releasing all that emotion must have taken everything out of her.

I run the tap and throw a couple of bath bombs into the water. It fizzles and pops and turns the water orange. The air becomes warm and scented. I turn towards her. “The bath is ready for you. Want me to leave you alone?”

She shakes her head. “No. Stay with me … please.”

What the fuck was I doing giving her a choice? I don’t know what I would have done if she had asked me to go. I don’t trust her be to on her own. Gently, I help her to remove her clothes. To my shock the sight of her naked body doesn’t get me hard. All I see is a suffering girl in terrible pain. A girl who needs everything I can give her to bring her back from the dark place she has been in for too long and heal herself again.

She gets into the bathtub and sits with her knees drawn up to her chest. She stares at the wall, but her eyes are focused on nothing. I will make her feel clean again. No matter how long it takes. I won’t stop until I succeed.

Gently, I undo the tie around her hair and let it fall. Several inches of her hair land in the water. She hugs her knees like a child and starts rocking. Saying nothing, I take a sponge and run it down her supple skin. She shivers at my touch.

My hands still.

She looks up at me. “She was willing to go to prison just to punish me. God, how she must hate me.”

“There is something very wrong with your mother, Chelsea. She is not mentally well. You must understand that.”

“Yes, you are right. She’s not well. She can’t be,” she says, clinging to that excuse.

I wash her body and hair until every inch of her is clean. When I’m finished, I lean in, and ask if she is ready to step out of the bath. She nods to let me know she wants to get out.

I pull the plug, and as the water lowers, Chelsea rises. I hold up a thick bathrobe and allow it to envelop her. The fabric is so plush, I hope it will be impossible for her to feel anything other than safe and warm inside of it.

While she sits on her bed I go back to the bathroom where I saw the hair dryer and brush. I plug the dryer in and, getting on my knees behind Chelsea, I start to dry her hair. Slowly, her hair turns from dark blonde to the color I am used to. It’s a novel experience as I have never washed or dried a woman’s hair before.

Being this patient and caring is completely foreign to me. It’s a world away from how I was taught to express myself by my family. When other women wanted to be close to me it just made me want to swat them away, but strangely being so intimate with her doesn’t feel off. If anything, it feels like exactly what I need to be doing.

Chelsea is different now too.

I think she’s been trying to be strong and brave ever since she left her grandparents’ home. If she needs or wants someone to take care of her, I’m her man.

I feel her icy demeanor melt with each gentle brush stroke through her hair. Chelsea’s shoulders sag.

She repositions herself on the bed so that she is now facing me. I notice her lower lip quivers. Chelsea is once again in tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry you had such an unspeakable childhood, I’m sorry your mother is the way she is, I’m sorry I was such a bastard to you when I brought you here, but I promise you this. I’m going to make up for it.” There is nothing more I can do but to keep offering to be here for her. I never want to hurt her again.

She bites her lip. “It’s not your fault. What I did was wrong. I did steal your money and you had every right to try to get it back or get your money’s worth. I’d been saving you know. In the last two years, I’ve already saved more than half. So don’t worry, I’ll continue until I’ve got it all then I’ll give it back to you, okay. I—”

I place my fingers on her lips. “Don’t. Please. Don’t make me feel worse. I don’t want your money. I want to take care of you, Chelsea. I want to give you everything.”