Clark hates being good. He hates being dependable, hates making the
right decisions, hates the fact that his parents always comfort him. No
matter how something turns out, he can always cling to the fact that he
tried his hardest. He was doing the right thing, and it seems selfish that
he's got that to blanket him.
He won't ever give in to his darker instincts, because he's the Good Boy. He won't ever let loose because someone could get hurt.
But dammit, he's fifteen years old. He's sick of worrying about everyone else and never himself. And his parents hold him back. He can pursue Lana, but only as long as everyone else in the world comes first.
And to his parents, he realizes, he's the alien. He's the alien who has to atone for his presence on their perfect earth by saving everyone else. They covet him, but he knows deep down, that maybe it's just the way someone covets a prize. He's unique. A precious jewel that no one else could ever attain. They could harness his powers and take him out on a leash to show the world their special pet.
Clark knows that none of this is true. He knows because his father and mother always used to tuck him in at night and whisper that they loved him. Some days he wonders if he's really a human being. And sometimes he wonders why he should care about these other people. Because as they walk down the street, he knows that he's better than them, that he can kill or save them in the blink of an eye. That gives him power. He *owns* the world.
Clark sometimes wonders how long he'll live. If he'll just go on breathing until the world fades into dust. And he thinks that he would like that. He'd like for his parents and friends never to go through the pain of seeing him die.
And sometimes Clark wonders if he should have friends at all. If he actually cares for them at all. Because he's an alien. What if what he feels for them is actually hate in its twisted, alien form. Maybe the rest of the ships will come to take over the world, and he'll join them.
Because really, being on Earth is like being stranded on a desert island. There are other forms of life, but they're not like him. He can't get what he needs from them. Not love, or sex, or companionship.
Humans only use something like eight percent of their brains. Clark knows he must use more than that, because his teachers have always been surprised when he can calculate complex equations in his head within a span of three seconds. He does that fast like he does everything else.
His parents have always told him that he should be as good as he can be, that he should protect all those who can't protect themselves. Well, Clark knows that he shouldn't be here. That Fate was looking the other way when his ship crashed in the fuck-up of the millenia. *There are no aliens.* Maybe Clark can pretend that he's not here. That the human race should fend for itself. Because if it's screwed up enough that it needs a saviour from another planet to protect it, then maybe it's too sick to survive.
These thoughts always scare Clark, so whenever he has them, he makes up for them by turning them back on himself in self-loathing, by volunteering to help Lana at the blood drive, or spending time with Pete and Chloe. It's a vicious cycle.
Clark doesn't save people because he wants to. He does it by default. When he sees someone in trouble, he saves them. Simple. Effective. Safe. Because then he has no self-doubts. He did the right thing.
Clark doesn't know if it's right to be sleeping with Lex, though. He's categorized everything into either 'Good' or 'Bad', and it's through a streak of masochism probably leftover from his thoughts of turning away that he creates gray areas.
He does, however, know that it's not right to be using Lex the way he is. So, perversely, he does it. He plays on Lex's feelings, because he knows Lex better than anyone, and he leads him through the maze, always a step ahead, promising that there's cheese at the end, until Lex breaks down and gets out the mouse traps.
He doesn't do it to be mean. He does it because it's *fun*. Because it reassures him that he's different, because normal people don't do things like this. And likewise, being different reassures him that he can do this. He's an alien, so it's alright. Because if it wasn't normal for him, then it would mean that he's just a cruel person. Lucky for him, he's not a person at all.
"Lex," he says. "Lex, I love you." And in some way, he means it, because Lex is the most important thing in the world to him, and he'd never let anyone touch him. And Lex looks up at him from his crying and is reassured because Clark's such an honest person. Right.
Clark likes that he can make Lex cry. That he can make him come and laugh and love and give him anything he wants. Because essentially, he's finally broken Lex.
And Lex knows it. In a final bid for what spirit and sanity he has left, Lex speaks. "Get out, Clark."
Clark laughs. Because he's done it. He's molded Lex into someone else. He took him in his body and melted him like ice into another sculpture of Lex Luthor that's more haggard and cold and hard as diamonds. He is Clark's creation.
So Clark laughs, and then he grabs Lex and kisses him hard. Lex doesn't respond, but realizes that Clark *owns* him now. He could hold him down and force him if he wanted, or he could let him walk. Lex wants to be held down, so he has proof that Clark is this thing of evil, and that he's the victim.
But Clark doesn't. And he's away, laughing, and only halfway through does he wonder if he shouldn't have done that. If he should've listened to the voice in his head that sounds like his father's. But his dad hates Lex Luthor. He'd be proud then.
So Clark walks with a clear conscience, able to hide behind the truths that have been twisted and prettied up and reinforced with steel so that they can be made into something better, something to protect him from reality. Because really, that's all he needs.
He won't ever give in to his darker instincts, because he's the Good Boy. He won't ever let loose because someone could get hurt.
But dammit, he's fifteen years old. He's sick of worrying about everyone else and never himself. And his parents hold him back. He can pursue Lana, but only as long as everyone else in the world comes first.
And to his parents, he realizes, he's the alien. He's the alien who has to atone for his presence on their perfect earth by saving everyone else. They covet him, but he knows deep down, that maybe it's just the way someone covets a prize. He's unique. A precious jewel that no one else could ever attain. They could harness his powers and take him out on a leash to show the world their special pet.
Clark knows that none of this is true. He knows because his father and mother always used to tuck him in at night and whisper that they loved him. Some days he wonders if he's really a human being. And sometimes he wonders why he should care about these other people. Because as they walk down the street, he knows that he's better than them, that he can kill or save them in the blink of an eye. That gives him power. He *owns* the world.
Clark sometimes wonders how long he'll live. If he'll just go on breathing until the world fades into dust. And he thinks that he would like that. He'd like for his parents and friends never to go through the pain of seeing him die.
And sometimes Clark wonders if he should have friends at all. If he actually cares for them at all. Because he's an alien. What if what he feels for them is actually hate in its twisted, alien form. Maybe the rest of the ships will come to take over the world, and he'll join them.
Because really, being on Earth is like being stranded on a desert island. There are other forms of life, but they're not like him. He can't get what he needs from them. Not love, or sex, or companionship.
Humans only use something like eight percent of their brains. Clark knows he must use more than that, because his teachers have always been surprised when he can calculate complex equations in his head within a span of three seconds. He does that fast like he does everything else.
His parents have always told him that he should be as good as he can be, that he should protect all those who can't protect themselves. Well, Clark knows that he shouldn't be here. That Fate was looking the other way when his ship crashed in the fuck-up of the millenia. *There are no aliens.* Maybe Clark can pretend that he's not here. That the human race should fend for itself. Because if it's screwed up enough that it needs a saviour from another planet to protect it, then maybe it's too sick to survive.
These thoughts always scare Clark, so whenever he has them, he makes up for them by turning them back on himself in self-loathing, by volunteering to help Lana at the blood drive, or spending time with Pete and Chloe. It's a vicious cycle.
Clark doesn't save people because he wants to. He does it by default. When he sees someone in trouble, he saves them. Simple. Effective. Safe. Because then he has no self-doubts. He did the right thing.
Clark doesn't know if it's right to be sleeping with Lex, though. He's categorized everything into either 'Good' or 'Bad', and it's through a streak of masochism probably leftover from his thoughts of turning away that he creates gray areas.
He does, however, know that it's not right to be using Lex the way he is. So, perversely, he does it. He plays on Lex's feelings, because he knows Lex better than anyone, and he leads him through the maze, always a step ahead, promising that there's cheese at the end, until Lex breaks down and gets out the mouse traps.
He doesn't do it to be mean. He does it because it's *fun*. Because it reassures him that he's different, because normal people don't do things like this. And likewise, being different reassures him that he can do this. He's an alien, so it's alright. Because if it wasn't normal for him, then it would mean that he's just a cruel person. Lucky for him, he's not a person at all.
"Lex," he says. "Lex, I love you." And in some way, he means it, because Lex is the most important thing in the world to him, and he'd never let anyone touch him. And Lex looks up at him from his crying and is reassured because Clark's such an honest person. Right.
Clark likes that he can make Lex cry. That he can make him come and laugh and love and give him anything he wants. Because essentially, he's finally broken Lex.
And Lex knows it. In a final bid for what spirit and sanity he has left, Lex speaks. "Get out, Clark."
Clark laughs. Because he's done it. He's molded Lex into someone else. He took him in his body and melted him like ice into another sculpture of Lex Luthor that's more haggard and cold and hard as diamonds. He is Clark's creation.
So Clark laughs, and then he grabs Lex and kisses him hard. Lex doesn't respond, but realizes that Clark *owns* him now. He could hold him down and force him if he wanted, or he could let him walk. Lex wants to be held down, so he has proof that Clark is this thing of evil, and that he's the victim.
But Clark doesn't. And he's away, laughing, and only halfway through does he wonder if he shouldn't have done that. If he should've listened to the voice in his head that sounds like his father's. But his dad hates Lex Luthor. He'd be proud then.
So Clark walks with a clear conscience, able to hide behind the truths that have been twisted and prettied up and reinforced with steel so that they can be made into something better, something to protect him from reality. Because really, that's all he needs.