What is it about some girls? You know the ones.
There's the stereotypical blonde personality, willing to
do what ever the next persons doing, copying every trend
that comes into fashion, absolutely no mind. They're the
ones you look at and you know what kind of girl they are.
All you have to do is point a finger at a bed, and, well...
you know the rest.

Then, there is the highly intellectual. She's the
one in a coffee shop, sitting alone at a table, reading a book.
The one with no or hardly any make up on, and always willing to
snark when the chance arises. I'm guilty of falling for the
"blonde" type, I know it's a bad habit. One I think that's
just been broken.

You see I met this girl. At first, I blew her off
as merely an annoying reporter, trying to uncover some dirt
on me. But, that's not her, well, part of her. She's the
only one who openly argues with me. She's the one who keeps
me second guessing myself and the one who never ceases to amaze
me. Chloe Sullivan. Her name sounds so sensual, it rolls off
my tongue delicately. Chloe, she's gorgeous, not that she knows
it though, in fact I believe she deems herself ugly. And she's
not one of those girls who belittles herself just to have someone
else compliment them, so she's not ego centric. Maybe it's the
contradiction that embodies her. She's full of life and vigor,
outgoing even, but then at the same time, like death and sadness,
empty. Don't get me wrong, I like having Clark as a friend, my only
friend, my best friend, but sometimes he's so dense, I think that if
Chloe walked through his bedroom naked, all he would say is, "Hey,
Chloe, what's up?" It would be just like him to miss the beautiful
goddess before him and go for the less than next best thing. Lana
Lang. I don't hate her, but I don't like her. There's just something
about her, something so infuriating, if I hadn't taken anger mangement
classes, I all ready would have slapped her. I think she's just too...
what't the word that fits here? Oh, superficial, yeah, that's it. All
that make up and conceited filled voice. Infuriating, that's all I can say.

The feelings for Chloe didn't come out of nowhere. They didn't
just appear. They were hidden, deep inside me. From the first time I
met her, I felt something, but years of hiding my feelings from my father,
in utter fear of what he would do if he knew that I was capable of feeling
something, anything. I buried them, deep, I shoved them down and would have
never let them up, if were not for her. Until just recently, I would have said
I was incapable of loving anyone, then when I took in that Chloe was everything
that I imagined a truly "good" person was, it was then I was hooked. Chloe was a
drug, very addictive, like caffenine. You like it the first time, so you go back
for more, then, that's all you can think about. I did everything to catch her
attention, to make sure she would never put me out of her mind, refurnishing
the school with computers, donating to her favourite charity, and what not.
I even went as far as reading the high school newspaper, just to catch a glimpse,
a feel of her by reading her words. Though she wrote of many things, it was
her Wall of Weird that entranced me.

How did I know that she knew of the Nicodemus? Oh, quite simple
actually. The look in her eyes when she gazed at me. She didn't know all
of what I had done, but her suspicion was not lost upon me. So, it when I
met up with her at the library, that I knew. I dropped a few hints, a few
leads, I couldn't help, my sharp tongue emitted the words that had plagued
my mind. She responde, as any reporter would, short answers, saying nothing
to reveal herself. I didn't mean to drone on, the glazed look in her eyes,
told me she wasn't hearing anything I was saying, especially when I mentioned
about me stading up on the table and stripping for her. Her monotonous reply,
"Yeah, sure." I shook my head, contemplating, would she notice if I actually
did, or more importantly, I suppose, would she be excited about it? It was when
she stroked my face, starting from the top of my head moving across my ear, then
resting on my cheek, her thumb making small circles on my flesh. Her hands were
warm and soft, she smelled faintly of vanilla, a scent I am exceeding fond of,
but would never tell anyone. How ironic it is that she wears it and has no idea
of how it drives me wild with desire. I shifted my face so her fingers slid down
to my mouth, where I began to lick, suck, and nibble. Suddenly, for some reason,
she flew from her chair, leaving me with my bitterness, sorrow, and guilt. What
was I doing? Clearly there are obstacles between us: her age, her father being my
employee, and the largest obstacle, Clark. Though I'd never admit this to him or
anyone, sometimes, he frightens me. He does things that no, "normal" person would
be able to do and always seems to be around when something "bad" happens. But, back
to the question that enters my mind, even now, Chloe was the one who iniatiated the
"foreplay" if you could call it that, so, does she, maybe by some dumb luck, feel
something, other than loathing, for me?