Sweet Soul (Sweet Home 4)

As the bathroom filled with hot steam, I stripped off my pajamas and my skin goose-bumped at the thought of having a shower. A shower. I hadn’t had a shower in… I didn’t know how long. Long enough that I’d completely forgotten what it even felt like. On the streets I sneaked into public restrooms and washed myself down before they closed, before the nighttime’s unsavory characters began walking the streets.

I stepped into the shower and I closed my eyes, just standing under the hot stream of clean water. Lexi had left all kinds of shampoos, conditioners, body washes and razors for me to use. It was the longest shower of my life. When I stepped out and wrapped myself in the soft towel hanging on a hook, I felt human again. It was funny how being a nothing person on the street, someone people ignored like you were not even there, takes away your conviction that you really are someone. That you matter too.

That you’re human.

I was in the bathroom for an hour or more, indulging in the use of a blow dryer and tubs of moisturizer. As I was about to leave, dressed in a fresh pair of pajamas Lexi had put in a closet, I caught my reflection in the floor length bathroom mirror.  I stopped dead in my tracks. I stared at the girl looking back.

I didn’t recognize her. Her blond hair seemed three shades lighter than I had remembered it being—the result of it being clean. Her skin was clear, not dull or pale. Yes, I could see that she was still sick, but her skin was smooth and there was some color in her cheeks.

Even when my mom and I had lived in one of our many temporary apartments, we rarely had hot water.  If we did, we couldn't afford shampoo, conditioner or body wash to clean ourselves properly. A momentary flash of pain sliced through me when I thought of my mom, but I chased it away, and entered the huge bedroom.

And I stood there. I was no longer tired, but I had no idea what to do. Lexi had shown me how to use the television, but I had no interest in watching it.

Wrapping my arms around my chest, I found myself gravitating to the large window that overlooked the river. I pulled back the heavy curtains.  My jaw hit the floor as I was presented with a perfectly clear night. It had rained almost every day for as long as I could remember, but now that I had a roof over my head, the weather was clear and dry. I laughed a humorless laugh to myself.

Typical.

I sat on the wide ledge and stared at the reflection of the bright silver moon glistening on the still river. I sighed, thinking that it looked like an oil painting, before my eyes next drifted to the pool house across the huge yard. As I gazed upon the building my stomach flipped, imagining who was inside.

As if I could still feel his touch, I lifted my hand and bought it to my chest. I thought of his face and his voice. That voice. I always listened to voices. Most people I had ever known would look at eyes, lips or other facial features. But being deaf as a child prompted a fascination with voices. I believed I could tell a lot about a person just by listening to their tone and inflection. Or maybe I was just fascinated because I chose not to speak. Maybe I was fascinated with voices because I hated mine so much. Because I’d been picked apart and cruelly ridiculed for my voice, so much so that it almost broke me. Broken over something I couldn’t control.

I dropped my hand from my chest before more bad memories surfaced, before her voice struck my heart. I itched to write, to express my thoughts and feelings in words, on paper.

I looked around the room and remembered that Lexi said she had washed my clothes, and put my things in the closet. I walked to the closet, and there on a shelf, were my worn and worthless clothes. My pen and pad of paper were lying beside them. I reached forward to pull out my leather jacket and found the back zipped pocket I was looking for. I exhaled in relief when my hand felt the string of old wooden beads and the old picture. When I dropped my leather jacket I stared down at the rosary I’d kept from the wallet I had stolen.

Levi Carillo’s wallet.

Shame swept through me. I had stolen his wallet, a fact I was sure he knew. Yet he had still helped me. He hadn’t held it against me, quite the opposite.

I followed my feet to the large window, clutching the rosary and picture in my hand. I wondered what it meant to him.

He deserved it to be returned.

I stood, eyes fixed on the pool house, until I decided to hand them back now. I grabbed the new Ugg boots Lexi had bought me, and slipped them onto my feet. Making sure my hearing aid was firmly fixed in place, I snuck out of my room, down the stairs, and out into the yard from the kitchen doors. As the night wind wrapped around me I immediately felt a chill ripple down my spine. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I ran across the yard to the pool house. Though the lights were off, I silently tried the doorknob and, to my relief, it opened.

I was used to sneaking around; years of practice stealing food and money served me well. I slipped in and quickly closed the door. A pool house, I thought, taken aback by its sheer size. This pool house was a typical family’s house in its own right.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, they landed on a huge bed in the center. My heart fired in my chest. Levi. Levi, asleep in the middle of the bed, a sheet covering his lower half. His broad muscled back was bare.

I remained transfixed on his naked top half, and nerves began to accost my body. I could hear my own breathing. It sounded like thunder in my ear.  And seeing Levi’s solid back, triggered an instant replay of his deep southern drawl whispering my name.

I wasn’t exactly sure how long I stayed at the door trying to gather my wits. But when the rosary’s chain began to slip from my grasp, I pushed myself forward. I walked as quietly as possible to the edge of the bed. I tried to keep my focus straight ahead, but my curiosity about this boy forced my eyes to dip and study him up close.

My hands squeezed together as I watched him sleep. His face was pointing in my direction and his muscled arms were snuggled under his pillow. Even in this dim light, even with his adorably messy fair hair in a state of disarray through sleep, I could see just how perfect this boy really was. Beautiful and kind—my mom had always told me there was no such thing. After my life on the streets, after being in that home, I was inclined to agree… until I met this boy. Levi Carillo—the boy with a pure heart.

Inhaling deep, my cheeks blushed as I drank in his spiced warm scent. As I did, the butterflies swooped in force into my stomach, and I knew I needed to leave.

Unraveling the Rosary from my hand, I reached out to place it on his bedside table. As quietly as possible, I laid the wooden beads and the picture on the wooden table. But as I was pulling my hand away, gentle fingers wrapped round my wrist. When I looked down, a pair of sleepy stormy-gray eyes collided with mine.

He was awake.

I froze. I could do nothing but stand here, locked in his stare. Levi’s face was searching mine, until his gaze drifted to the side table, and the rosary beads and picture that were now on the tabletop. This time, as he saw those beads, that picture, his expression told me everything he was feelingthe dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the fluttering of his impossibly long black lashes as he blinked back water from his eyes.

The moment was fractured and suspended. As I watched this beautiful boy, all the breath left my body when he peered up at me through shy eyes. His tongue peeked out, he wet his dry lips and whispered, “Thank you.”

I thought he would let go of my wrist so I could run back to my room, but his fingers kept hold. Instead, his thumb timidly moved and ran over the back of my hand. I waited, anxious and nervous, then he murmured, “Elsie.”