Prologue
"We can't do this anymore," she says. She is breathing hard, her breath hitting the cold night hair. Lois is climbing off of him, reaching for her robe.
He knows that they must stop this. He knows because his gut is wrenching at the thought of Lana. It is turning and convulsing at the thought of his dreams; of what he might feel if those dreams were to slip away forever. "Yeah." And nothing more needed saying.
She is hugging herself. The chill of the night air, coming from the window he left open, causing goose bumps to break out along her skin. The night is deafening and the tension is rising. "It has to stop."
"I know." He is saying it in growing irritation. He does not want to leave.
"Good." She is saying it in a similar tone. She too, does not want him to leave.
Both are standing there, on opposite sides of the room, covered and decent, staring and contemplating. Their eyes are speaking volumes and nonverbal lashings are exchanged with great fire. Neither wanted it to come to this.
"Good." Clark finds himself saying it with finality. He is taking long strides towards the door.
Lois is not moving. Her feet are nailed to the floor as she shivers.
The door slams and she is left wondering. She is left to her thoughts.
And what evil thoughts spring upon her. They wash away her rational, her sense and logic. When she is alone, as when others are alone, she begins to analyze her situation. She plays out every scenario, every movement and breathe. But especially, especially the touches. His touches. Because her skin still burns, still tingles with a cold heat that only drives her more insane. And she knows, it won't go away until he touches her again; until his voice wraps around her like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer; until his cologne baths her in comfort and warms her veins; until his kiss warms her soul and relaxes her mind; until she can relax in his arms and let her past day's beating unhinge from her shoulders. When this happens, she knows this awful tingle will leave her.
And just like this time, just like last time and all the times before it, she will feel the sinking guilt of cruelty spring back upon her shoulders. Her neck will tighten and her veins will run wild. Her heart will stand-on-end and nothing will seem real. Because only he can make it go away.
Her phone is now ringing. It is not Whitesnake, signaling Clark's call. She shouldn't feel what she feels, knowing that it is not Clark. She shouldn't be feeling disappointment.
No, she should be feeling happiness. Because on the other line is Grant, her boyfriend.
She should be feeling happiness, not disappointment.