That Damned Porche!
by T.K. Yuy/Kitai Potter
This is pathetic. Me. This. What I can't say. What I have to say but can't. Reduced to explaining myself in a written form because I can't look at you. Yeah, I can't look at you, for fear that I'll lose my nerve. My edge. My entire being. Your damn eyes do it to me every time. "Innocent eyeds, for one who is not quite so innocent," I remember you telling me, "but that's what makes you beautiful." WRONG! I'm not beautiful. Never have been, never will be. Don't flatter me, please, it only makes this all the more painful.
When I first met you ("saw you" would be more appropriate) I knew that you were special. It wasn't the fact that you were unfazed by my (not so) unfortunate accident, or that you pulled me from the river and brought me back to life, but because you refused to give up. You wouldn't let me drown. You wouldn't listen to the rumors that came with my arrival. You didn't listen to your father when he told you I was bad news (he was right by the way). You jumped at the chance to befriend me. I'd never had a real friend before, and you shocked the shit out of me. You trusted me with so much, and all I did was try and get under your skin. I tried to press you for answers about that fateful day, answers you couldn't and wouldn't give me. You might have been a terrible liar before I met you (and I made you the perfect liar, didn't I), but you always managed to make me doubt what I knew I had seen. You shocked me again when you trusted me enough to tell me. I had never expected that. Not in a billion years, best technological advances at work, would I have come to that conclusion on my own.
You know that it never changed my opinion of you. As a matter of fact, it brought us closer together. What we had was undescribable. Intangible. Totally HOT. I mean look at you! You're a GOD! Tall. Slender, yet muscular build. Perfect tanned complextion. Hair so black, it looks blue in the right lighting. Hair so thick that it felt like silk running through my fingers. And you eyes –Oh GOD!-… such an unearthly shade of blue and so clear. Those eyes could pierce through the hull of the Titanic, if it weren't already sunk. You fit perfectly in my arms, despite the fact that, at 6'1", you're significantly taller than my 5'11". Our bodies molded together so close that sometimes I couldn't tell where I ended and you began. Shit! I can't write what I'm thinking right now. I'm too far gone just thinking about you.
Baby, if anyone in this world is beautiful, it's you. That's partially why this is so hard.
Like I said, I'd never had a friend before you. Well truth is, I'd never been accepted for ME until I met you and your friends. They became my friends too, which is more than I'd ever hoped for. I never thought I'd have real friends. I also thought I'd get involved with a 16 year old farm boy from Smallville, Kansas. Let alone actually care about him more than I've ever cared about anyone. Actually, I don't care about you. I LOVE you! There. Said it. Wrote it. Whatever. Now comes the hard part.
Three days ago my father got a phone call from an "old flame" of mine. You remember Victoria, don't you? Of course you do. Unfortunately she decided it time that my father be told about his son's "hobbies." She callied him to the manor while I was in Metropolis with you for your birthday, and showed him the studio. Needless to say, he wasn't overly pleased with my artwork. Let me rephrase that: He wasn't overly pleased with my choice of models and poses. He photographed the paintings, and then decided to do a little research. Needless to say, he found the –AHEM!- videos.
To make a long story short, he's demanding that I return to Metropolis, or he'll 1)tell the cops about my affairs with a minor (and we both know he owns the cops), 2)give your parents coppies of the photos and videos (that would not bode well for you lover), 3)take the deed and mortgage for the farm from the bank and evict your parents ( I will NOT let that happen!), and 4) (not that I care) take me out of the will and disown me. I love you too much to let my father or anyone cause you and your family any hardships. I've agreed. By the time you read this, I should already be in Metropolis. I knew you'd try to stop me, but fatc of the matter is, the damage is already don. Either way he'd find a way to separate us.
I know I told you to trust me Clark, that our friendship will be the stuff of legends, and it is, but I can't stay. I'm so sorry. Please tell "mom" that I'll never to thank her enough for all that she's done for me, and let your father know that should he ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask. As fo you Gorgeous… again, I'm so sorry. You mean so much to me, and I hope you believe me when I say I'm doing this for you.
Upon my departure I spoke with Sam Johnson, one of Smallville's best lawyers. Please, go see him. There are some things I cannot mention in written form. Legal things. I can say that he'll give youways of contaction me. Just be cause I can't be with you doesn't mean I don't want to. I'd give anything to out smart my bastard of a father, but he's thought of everything. I'll keep in touch if I can, I promise. God this hurts. Don't EVER forget that I love you. I love you…
Yours, until infinity ends and forever after that,
The Maniac in the Porche.
*
A solitary tear made it's way down his cheek as he looked around him. It was dreary and dark, the only light coming from the full moon hanging above him. The light ran that had been falling all day had gotten heavier, and the water made looking through stage glasses difficult. He closed his eyes tightly as thunder rolled in the distance and ripped the glasses from his face, crushing them in his hand. He suddenly felt very alone. More alone than he had when his heart caved in 7 years before.
"I'm just a guy who tried to do the right thing!" he screamed up at the moon, "Isn't that ENOUGH!?"
His only answer was another clap of thunder and a flash of lightning as he looked down at the headstone before him.
"I never stopped loving you," his voice was a hoarse whisper, "And I don't think I ever could, not even now."
Alexander Michael Luthor July 11, 1980 – October 16, 2009
"You were only 29…"
A loving husband, and a devoted son
"You hated Victoria and Lionel. You always have."
May he continue to fly…
"You flew, and they broke your wings."
He fell to his knees before the cold stone, and without a sound, ran his fingers over the silverly lettering. For some unintelligent reason, touching it made him feel a little closer to what he'd lost.
"You flew Lex, you really did. You mae everyone turn and look at you. At YOU! Not at a Luthor, but at YOU. You weren't like your father, and you made them see that. They respected that. They loved that. You were untouchable, and you flew."
So do you, Superman. the cynical voice in his head pointed out.
He laughed bitterly at that little thought.
"Men weren't meant to fly with clouds between their knees, or so that Five for Fighting song says. I may be 'Superman,' but only for you Lex. You taught me to make my dreams real. I tought you how to trust. And how to love.
And you got fucked. that little voice nagged.
"You kept in touch, just like you'd promised. Although it was few and far in between, you always let me know you were alright. And I always wrote back. Not that I needed to. The link between us was plenty. Writing or calling was always risky. Then again, you loved a good challenge."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lead box, setting it in front of him. He moved to the back of the headstone and with narrow eyes, he turned on his heat vision to write in the stone.
I'll love you until infinity ends, and forever after that… Mi amore fatal.
The 'Superman' Hit by the Porche
He moved back to the lead box and set it on top of the smoking marble. The rain was coming down like bullets, and it (and his tears) stung his eyes. He slipped a plastic wrapped envelope under the box, kissed the headstone, and unlocked it. With a shuttering breath and shaking hands, he lifted the lid.
You're really gonna hurt now, farmboy. the voice laughed as he clutched at his chest, Now, where's the knife?
He slid to his knees, ruining his black slacks, and leaned back against the cold marble. His whole body was on fire as he pulled a sharp swiss army knife from his jacket pocket. Flipping it open, he ran it across his left wrist, screaming as it broke the skin.
Thick lines of near black crimson blood ran down his palm as he cut the other wrist. He looked up with pained eyes as he heard the click of a gun hammer being pulled back. His dark blue-green eyes narrowed as they fell on the tall, brown-grey haired man with a mustache and beard. he was dressed in a black suit, grey shirt under with a black tie, and a long black trench coat. One would've guessed him to be in his mid to late 50's (maybe early 60's), and they'd be right. He smirked at the man's grim expression and reached up to pull open his shirt.
"Go ahead Luthor. Shoot me." he laughed as his blood ran over the blue, red and gold spandex suit of a world reknown icon, "Be the man who killed 'Super'man."
"You're oing a mighty fine job of that on your own my boy."
"Not good enough. My body will stop bleeding soon, so long as there's a brain in my head and a heart in my chest to function. Kryptonite can kill me, should I injest it, but you want this to look like a true suicide, don't you?"
Lionel Luthor, the bastard father of the deceased Lex Luthor, tossed him the gun, and then shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He stil wore no expression.
"I did love my son, Mr. Kent." he said, his voice the same tone he used when conducting business," but I am a Luthor. 'Love' is a weakness we Luthor men cannot afford. We have our share of secrets. You understand. I knew that should he 'change,' he'd destroy all that the Luthor family has become. I could not allow that. I-"
"You were pissed that he found REAL LOVE. It didn't matter that it was in the arms of another man, but it added to the dent he was putting in your family's straight running. You were jealous that he'd found it, and not you. You hated the fact that e was honestly and truly loved, and could openly return it. Your parents never loved you, did they Luthor? Because if they had, you wouln't have turned out to be such an icy bastard. you wouldn't known how to love, had they loved you. I pity you."
"I don't need, nor do I want, your pity Kent."
"I pity you because you never understood. All the acting up, the rebelling, they were cries for help. And the deal with the plant? That was an attempt to please you. To make you love him. Didn't work out too well, did it? Even though he would've never admitted it, Lex adored you when he was younger. I bet you didn't know he was manic depresive. All the pills you thought were for the asthma, and the herbal supliments and such, they were antidepressents. Your pushing him away after the 'accident' is what started it. But guess what? As he got older, he realized that the only way to please Lionel Luthor would be to kiss ass or die. Lex refused both options. He chose to live, and I helped him do it. He and Alexander the Great were alike in one way Luthor: They ruled the world by the time they were 30."
He didn't wait for Lionel to reply, he just pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple. Luthor turned and walked away as the gunshot wrang through the air. If possible to tell through the rain, he would've noticed the hot tears streaming down his face.
"And so the last of the worlds greatest heros falls, leaving only a broken devil to play." he said, half amused, half mourning, "I know it's too late Alexander, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took your mother away. I'm sorry I was never the father you needed me to be. I'm sorry I made you shed your real skin and stole your wings. I'm sorry I took away your life, your dreams, your love. I'm sorry I destroyed your happines. I'm so sorry… I killed your Superman."
*
The ambulences started to depart, and the press were being ushered away as she made her way to the spot.
She picked up the small lead box and tucked it and the envelope in her pocket. She wiped a tear from the coners of her eyes as she read the message on the back of Lex Luthor's headstone.
"Rest in Peace Clark, and may Heaven be where you two will really fly." she whispered, kissing the stone as another tear fell down her cheek.
"Chloe, I'm afraid you're-"
"It's okay Pete, I was just saying good-bye."
*
Martha Kent sifted through the days mail, and smiled as she found one from Metropolis.
"Jonathan, a letter from Clark." she called into the living room.
"Well read it already Martha."
She opened it while pouring herself a glass of water, and once unfolded, she sipped her drink. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered, flying across the floor.
"Martha?!" Jonathan shouted, running in.
He picked up the small pice of paper his wife had dropped before running out of the crying.
Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. Lex once said I was his savior, his 'Superman,' and that no matter what, I'd always be strong. I'm no 'Superman,' of any kin, and I'm not strong enough to take this twice. Lex died in a car accident today, October 16th, 2009. His porche went off the Wayne Bridge, into the river. I was at a LuthorCorp press meeting. Would you believe that it was held in a lead lined room? Either way I could still hear him scream. And I felt him drown. Then silent. Lex is flying again Mom, and so am I. Lana always said that flying was reserved for Angels. I'm sorry…
Love always,
C.K.
Tears streaming down his face, Jonathan Kent picked up and read the letter his wife had yet to open.
When I first came to Smallville, the most amazing thing happened. I met your son. Mr. and Mrs. Kent, enclosed with this letter are the deed to your farm, as well as that of Luthor Manor in Smallville. The check is for anything you'd like, and your find that most, if not all, of my bank accounts have your names, as well as Clark's, as authorized users. For further documentation, please see Sam Johnson, my lawyer in Smallville, and Tristian up at the Manor. What was mine is now yours.
Please know that in the short two years that I lived in Smallville, I thought of it as home, something that not all Luthors (if any other than myself) know. I also love your sone more than anything in the world, more than my own pitiful life, and would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. He is my missing half. My soul mate. My life.
I am eternally grateful for all that you have done for me. You are the parents-no- family I never had. Take care of yourselves and please tell Clark that I'm sorry.
Lex Luthor
Martha walked in and hugged her husband tightly. A few moments later she pulled back and looked up at him.
"Our boys are gone Jonathan…" she sobbed, molding herself back into her husbands arms.
"They're together now Martha," he whispered into her hair, his throat tight as he tried not to cry, "and I'm sure they're flying down the golden roads into heaven in eachothers arms."
"No, they're probably driving that damned porche!"
~fin~