Prologue (b): Lex
Twirling the tumbler of whiskey around I watched the patterns of light playing on the wall. I'm thinking and I'm being especially morose at the moment. My father used me to get rid of the cameras. He used me. Just like he's done hundreds of times before. He didn't tell me about level three, he sealed me in knowing I'd die, he used me to get rid of the press, he didn't care about the hostages, he didn't care about me. That's what it all boils down to I guess. He doesn't care. I watched Clark and his family after he came out of the factory. His father grabbed him in a hug and his mother cried. My father hugged me yes but with just the right amount of room and stiffness to let me know he still disapproved. Clark's parents loved him and were happy that he was safe. My father wouldn't have cared less other than the fact that he would have to play the part of grieving father for the next year or so. I should be jealous of Clark. I should just about hate him. The thing is I am jealous but I don't hate him. I am glad for him. I see the love his father has for him in Jonathon's eyes and I'm glad. I told Clark once he was like the little brother I never had and I wasn't lying. When I was younger I'd dream of having a younger brother, someone to play with some one who wouldn't call me a freak some one who would save me. Some one who would save me for what seems to be my destiny as another cold Luthor.
It never happened. I knocked back the last of the whiskey. My father wouldn't allow it. He said one child was enough. Mother argued for a while but she gave up after a few years. Pouring myself another drink I reached for the spot in my heart belonging to my mother. My memories of her warm me in ways that mere liquor can't begin to. She was so kind so gentle I loved her. I remember the way she used to hold me. The way she used to play games with me. She was always smiling, making jokes. I remember how everything changed when she died.
She died when I was nine. I remember watching as they lowered the grave into the ground and wanting to cry but I couldn't, my father was watching. I wanted to cry so badly but if I had I knew what it would mean. Lionel was never one to tolerate weakness; he never believed "he's just a child" was a good excuse. So I didn't cry. I pent up all my emotions from then on playing the little puppet for my father hoping that if I did it he would love me. That also never happened.
I glanced at the clock it read 2:37. I sighed. I'm going to have to go in early tomorrow to deal with all the crap that the hostage situation generated. I got up and stumbled towards my bedroom. The hostages. Reaching out to catch myself on the doorframe I considered how panicked I was when I found out Clark was one of them. I had been scared before but when I learned that Clark was one of them I almost flew to the factory. I thought that Earl was really crazy and I was afraid he would… I don't know what I was afraid he'd do but I knew I couldn't let anything happen to Clark. It was like he was really my brother. Shaking off those thoughts I flopped onto my bed not even bothering to get undressed. He's not really my brother no matter how much I wish he was. As I closed my eyes I couldn't help but wish that he were.
Twirling the tumbler of whiskey around I watched the patterns of light playing on the wall. I'm thinking and I'm being especially morose at the moment. My father used me to get rid of the cameras. He used me. Just like he's done hundreds of times before. He didn't tell me about level three, he sealed me in knowing I'd die, he used me to get rid of the press, he didn't care about the hostages, he didn't care about me. That's what it all boils down to I guess. He doesn't care. I watched Clark and his family after he came out of the factory. His father grabbed him in a hug and his mother cried. My father hugged me yes but with just the right amount of room and stiffness to let me know he still disapproved. Clark's parents loved him and were happy that he was safe. My father wouldn't have cared less other than the fact that he would have to play the part of grieving father for the next year or so. I should be jealous of Clark. I should just about hate him. The thing is I am jealous but I don't hate him. I am glad for him. I see the love his father has for him in Jonathon's eyes and I'm glad. I told Clark once he was like the little brother I never had and I wasn't lying. When I was younger I'd dream of having a younger brother, someone to play with some one who wouldn't call me a freak some one who would save me. Some one who would save me for what seems to be my destiny as another cold Luthor.
It never happened. I knocked back the last of the whiskey. My father wouldn't allow it. He said one child was enough. Mother argued for a while but she gave up after a few years. Pouring myself another drink I reached for the spot in my heart belonging to my mother. My memories of her warm me in ways that mere liquor can't begin to. She was so kind so gentle I loved her. I remember the way she used to hold me. The way she used to play games with me. She was always smiling, making jokes. I remember how everything changed when she died.
She died when I was nine. I remember watching as they lowered the grave into the ground and wanting to cry but I couldn't, my father was watching. I wanted to cry so badly but if I had I knew what it would mean. Lionel was never one to tolerate weakness; he never believed "he's just a child" was a good excuse. So I didn't cry. I pent up all my emotions from then on playing the little puppet for my father hoping that if I did it he would love me. That also never happened.
I glanced at the clock it read 2:37. I sighed. I'm going to have to go in early tomorrow to deal with all the crap that the hostage situation generated. I got up and stumbled towards my bedroom. The hostages. Reaching out to catch myself on the doorframe I considered how panicked I was when I found out Clark was one of them. I had been scared before but when I learned that Clark was one of them I almost flew to the factory. I thought that Earl was really crazy and I was afraid he would… I don't know what I was afraid he'd do but I knew I couldn't let anything happen to Clark. It was like he was really my brother. Shaking off those thoughts I flopped onto my bed not even bothering to get undressed. He's not really my brother no matter how much I wish he was. As I closed my eyes I couldn't help but wish that he were.