Sweet Soul (Sweet Home #5)(70)

My back arched as my breasts were freed. Levi’s finger journeyed around my nipples, my eyes fluttering closed. Soft lips were instantly on mine and I melted into his kiss.

I pulled off Levi’s sweater and he slipped off his boxers and jeans. We kissed and we kissed in the most beautiful way. When he slipped inside of me, our gazes clashed and we never looked away. It was sweet, it was slow, and it conveyed everything he felt. It gave me everything I needed right now. It was loving, and it showed me just how much he cared. He cared for me more than anyone else ever had.

I knew that now.

I moaned, feeling the pleasure building between us, and as I broke apart, whispering his name, I watched Levi’s mouth part as he gave himself to me too.

He fell to my neck, our bodies pressed together, slick and damp from making love. I held on tightly to this boy, clutching him to me with my arms around his back. “You make it easy to forget all the bad,” I whispered into his neck, feeling him tensing in my arms.

Levi reared back until his face hovered above mine. He stared down at me, gave me a gentle kiss, then said, “You make it easy to only see the good.”

“Levi,” I whispered and he moved to lie beside me. As I lay beside him, warm in his arms, I knew I needed to be braver. I needed to give him more like he gave me. I needed to be the girlfriend he deserved, proud on his arm, not the one he had to lock away, hiding her voice from the world.

I ran my hand up and down Levi’s arms, and said, “Levi?”

“Mmm?” he murmured sleepily.

“That football dinner?”

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice more alert.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

I held my breath waiting for his answer. Levi lifted onto his elbow and searched my face. His eyebrows were pulled down. “You wanna come?”

I swallowed. “If you want me there… if you want me by your side, I’ll be there.”

He sucked in a breath, then I lost mine when a huge smile lit up his face. “Yeah,” he nodded, leaning down to press three kisses up and down my cheek, “I want you there,” he said and I could hear the happiness in his voice. “I really want you there.”

I blushed, ducking my eyes. “Then I’ll be there.”

Levi nuzzled his face into my neck and pulled me to spoon against him. I closed my eyes, and felt some of the weight that always held me down, lift.

I’d told him half of my story, but not it all. Clara’s face came to mind and I knew I’d be at the center as much as I could.

Maybe, I thought, just maybe, by helping her through, I might finally find the strength—find my strength—to tell it all.

Entirely.

Unbarred.

Without it killing me inside.

Maybe.



*



A week and a half passed. The days I didn’t spend with Levi, I came to the center and sat with Clara. Each time I lost more and more hope. If there was a living embodiment of a soul destroyed, it was Clara. She would sit at the window, staring out at the river, and I would sit beside her. She would make small talk, she would occasionally smile, but I was convinced it was all contrived.

Nothing I said or did seemed to lift her from her depression. It began to destroy me that I couldn’t give her hope. Lexi and Celesha told me not to be disheartened, not to give up, but to keep trying. I was at a loss; it seemed like her inner light was fading with every passing day.

The rain came down hard as I walked into the sunroom, the heavy drops ricocheting off the glass roof. I clutched my old notepad to my chest, and took my usual seat beside Clara.

“Hello, Elsie,” she signed, without looking my way. Her eyes were back on the river, watching it rush by, the current strong, swollen by the heavy rain.

I placed my notepad on the table beside us, and moved into her line of sight. “How are you today?” I signed.

Clara lifted her hands and signed, “Okay.”

I sighed. It was the same answer she gave every day. It was the answer she gave to most enquiries, ‘okay’. It was as frustrating as ‘nice’ or ‘fine’.

My nerves built as I stared at the notepad sitting on the table. I hadn’t spoken to Clara about my time in the group home; I hadn’t spoken to anyone. I hadn’t spoken to anyone, had not disclosed my personal horror and shame. Though I’d definitely opened my heart and poured out my soul to something—that notepad.

After days of being unable to explain or help, or to tell her it would be okay—because I wasn’t sure it would be, I wasn’t sure that it’d ever be—I knew I had to try something different. I had no words for her to hear, my sign language was too rusty to express what I wanted her to know—that I understood. Everything. I understood it all.

The words from my heart were my best shot at helping her, at saving her from the gathering dark.

I looked to Clara whose head was resting back on the chair, and I waved to get her attention. Her sad, lifeless eyes rolled to me. I lifted my hands. “I know you have probably heard it a million times, but I want to tell you that I do understand.” Clara didn’t react, but she continued to watch me. This was progress.

I tapped my finger on the notepad and signed, “I was fourteen when I was taken into care. And I was sixteen when the bullying began.” Clara shuffled forward an inch. That solitary inch gave me the hope to spur on. “Like you, I didn’t talk, but I wrote. I wrote all of my feelings in prose, in poems.” I paused. “I had to, or I wouldn’t have been able to cope for as long as I did.”