I gave him two hours and then came back, carrying a brown paper shopping bag. "I thought you might be hungry or thirsty," I said, not looking directly at him. At the sound of my voice, the automatic panels closed.
He blushed. "I actually need to..."
"Oh, of course. Right down the hall." I met his eyes and went to the bed to help him up. He leaned on me for an instant as he stood, and I kept a hand under his elbow. When I opened the door, he looked startled, then asked, "No lock?"
He realized that it was a faux pas, and I realized it was my opening. I dropped my hand away from him as though I'd burnt it and hissed, "No, no lock, why bother since they're ordering the moldy straw and hungry rats for the dungeon, the rusty manacles are already there! Jesus, Clark, I knew that you believed every lie about me that anybody's ever told you, but--Even if you never gave a rat's ass, our friendship was the most important thing in my life, and even if you lied to me every moment, it still means more than you could ever think." I backed against the wall and shouted. "When you came and asked for help, for my help, I thought...I was stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought that things had changed. I guess not." I turned away and then stared back at him. "Why do I even care anymore?" I muttered. "If I try to do something good, it's just for the PR or it's because I'm benefiting somehow. If I make a mistake, well, then, that just proves that I'm evil to the core, that everything anybody said is true. God," I spat the consonants. "When I finally have the sense to shoot myself you can lead the dancing on my grave."
"Lex..." I jammed my hands in my pockets and opened the container completely. He buckled and I reached out to catch him. Sweat poured down his face and his skin was discoloring. I gently lowered him to the floor and when his eyes closed, reached back into my pocket to close it.
"Come on, Clark, wake up," I muttered as I put my hand on his chest. "I'm not going to let you die." Right on cue, he opened his eyes. I pressed a hand to my mouth, making it look as though I were fighting for control. He didn't know what I had already learned, that the man who masters himself can master the world.
Before he could speak, I started. "No, Clark, there's nothing to say. That's how it is." He closed his mouth again. "I shouldn't have said all that, it wasn't the right time." I paused, "Since I've said something like that to myself every day since you left, it was too easy to give in to temptation." I helped him lean against the wall and brought him to his feet again. His eyes were deeply troubled. If I knew him at all, he'd spend a lot of time looking at the mirror in the bathroom, not out of vanity, but out of growing doubt.
When the enemy is at war with himself, how can he fight you?
He blushed. "I actually need to..."
"Oh, of course. Right down the hall." I met his eyes and went to the bed to help him up. He leaned on me for an instant as he stood, and I kept a hand under his elbow. When I opened the door, he looked startled, then asked, "No lock?"
He realized that it was a faux pas, and I realized it was my opening. I dropped my hand away from him as though I'd burnt it and hissed, "No, no lock, why bother since they're ordering the moldy straw and hungry rats for the dungeon, the rusty manacles are already there! Jesus, Clark, I knew that you believed every lie about me that anybody's ever told you, but--Even if you never gave a rat's ass, our friendship was the most important thing in my life, and even if you lied to me every moment, it still means more than you could ever think." I backed against the wall and shouted. "When you came and asked for help, for my help, I thought...I was stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought that things had changed. I guess not." I turned away and then stared back at him. "Why do I even care anymore?" I muttered. "If I try to do something good, it's just for the PR or it's because I'm benefiting somehow. If I make a mistake, well, then, that just proves that I'm evil to the core, that everything anybody said is true. God," I spat the consonants. "When I finally have the sense to shoot myself you can lead the dancing on my grave."
"Lex..." I jammed my hands in my pockets and opened the container completely. He buckled and I reached out to catch him. Sweat poured down his face and his skin was discoloring. I gently lowered him to the floor and when his eyes closed, reached back into my pocket to close it.
"Come on, Clark, wake up," I muttered as I put my hand on his chest. "I'm not going to let you die." Right on cue, he opened his eyes. I pressed a hand to my mouth, making it look as though I were fighting for control. He didn't know what I had already learned, that the man who masters himself can master the world.
Before he could speak, I started. "No, Clark, there's nothing to say. That's how it is." He closed his mouth again. "I shouldn't have said all that, it wasn't the right time." I paused, "Since I've said something like that to myself every day since you left, it was too easy to give in to temptation." I helped him lean against the wall and brought him to his feet again. His eyes were deeply troubled. If I knew him at all, he'd spend a lot of time looking at the mirror in the bathroom, not out of vanity, but out of growing doubt.
When the enemy is at war with himself, how can he fight you?