This chapter's a bit long, but never mind.
Thanks for the reviews! :)
* * * * *
CHLOE
My Dad's understandable burst of joy could not be lost on either party in my small living room, and Clark blushes for it. To see a normal teenage boy in his living room in a mediocre suit (no matter how good it looks on him) instead of his boss in Armani has to be a comfort to the soul of any self- respecting workingman with a 16-year old daughter who has no shame.
Unfortunately his happiness had me bite my tongue when I was ready to fire bone-crushing questions at said normal teenage boy as to how on God's green earth did my dates get switched in less than an hour and why did no one bother to tell me about it.
I mean, what? Did both of them meet up and devised surefire ways to murder me by giving me a heart attack via shock?
I glare at Clark under the safety of my carefully mascara coated eyelashes.
"Clark!" Dad booms.
Clark grins somewhat sheepishly, but a Clark megawatt smile is still a Clark megawatt smile and will knock you off your toes in whatever shape and form. "Hey, Mr. Sullivan."
My Dad's reaction to his smile somewhat resembles my past silly putty reaction. Past meaning all times PRIOR to this evening where at this moment I feel a certainty that Clark's silly-putty rending smiles will affect me no more, because he is a cow.
And so, after the notion of unethical farm boys was tossed to the wind, the camera miraculously re-appeared and the photo-taking festivities ensued.
I think I was a bit dazed when all of this was going on, one could hardly blame me, looking at Clark to Dad to Clark and to an invisible spot where Lex should have been. That is, until Dad says, "Put the corsage on first!" and found Clark twiddling with a yellow rose nightmare.
I snap back into the Present by wondering if the yellow roses will clash with the white lilies in my hair, and then having said roses presented to me by Clark, snatching them away from him unceremoniously and pinning it on myself.
Clark's first clue that shock does not wear out anger (and mine has been simmering for half an hour), he says meekly, "Like your hair."
I'm tempted to snarl at him.
After another embarrassing debacle involving Clark and I circling around each other in the manner of Sumo wrestlers in his attempt to put an arm around my shoulder and my dodging, we finally settle into a comfortable position standing side by side like plastic Ken and Barbie dolls while my father snaps away.
Which is a fair assessment of Clark, I must admit, and yes, I'm acutely aware that I more accurately resemble a troll in a pink dress rather than Barbie.
So Dad takes his little bit of memorabilia of the night when his daughter gets screwed over, and having satisfied him and being at a very dangerously close end of the tiny little thread called my Patience, I grab Clark's arm and haul him out.
I wasn't ready for the cream of the crop however, so when I see a battered truck instead of a pristine Luthor limousine, I scream in frustration, and feeling better for it, until Clark clamps his hand over my mouth and drags me to the truck.
Great. Manhandled on top of everything else.
I push him away with all the muscles in my body, and succeed in my mission only when he takes a voluntary step back.
"You're going to tell me why you're here without Lana and Lex isn't here and you are here and why the hell no one bothered to warn me about this and you're going to make it oh so damn quick."
Clark acts fast. He knows me well. "Lex couldn't make it."
I sniff and detect the pungent odor of a big fat lie.
"And neither could Lana."
Now this surprises me. Really it does. And here I am feeling sympathy for the cow. "Why can't she make it?"
Clark's cheeks tinge pink. Then, "Okay, she CAN make it. Just not with me."
"Let me guess," I say wryly. "The Prodigal Jock returns."
"Otherwise known as her Boyfriend."
"And Lex genuinely couldn't make it?"
He ignores that, which can't be good. "And we can save each other by going together! See, it works out fine." Funny he should sound so tight-lipped about it. I mean, God, sorry it's so hard to fill in Lana's perfect shoes but I didn't choose that glory.
Clark's explanation sounds reasonable enough for me. Yet it isn't.
"You do realize that the Barter Trade system went defunct years and years ago, possibly for reasons such as these."
Clark opens the car door. "And maybe, one day, you can explain the whole history to me."
I look into the (moldy) truck, at the (ratty) car seats, and contemplate it. It would be awfully easy. Just go inside, and go. Go to the Prom. Never mind Lex, I mean, this could be the easy out I was looking for. I wouldn't have to antagonize over him all night.
And truthfully, going to the Prom with Clark was what I always wanted.
But…
Clark says, "I'm sure Lex will grant you another interview."
Which sparked something else. The interview! Of all the drama I could take in less than an hour, the fact that I'll be missing out on an inclusive interview totally slipped my mind.
"Oh yeah," I mutter. "The interview."
Clark looks at me strangely. "I thought that was the reason why you would be upset that Lex couldn't make it tonight."
I barely hear this, with the other buzzing in my head, and I find myself standing here outside of Clark's truck in my semi-wrinkled dress and my semi-messy hair, realizing the reason that I'm upset that Lex isn't here has nothing to do with the interview at all, and, feeling sharp disappointment in my chest area, is possibly the fact that he's not here period.
And, of all the renowned Luthor gallantry, calling me up when he's going to be late, why didn't he call me up to tell me he couldn't make it at all?
I mean, God, am I that unimportant?
The other reason why I'm upset is brought back down to me at the image of Clark peering curiously at me. My pride. Lana couldn't make it? Well it's time to get back to the Chloe idea. Never mind what SHE thinks, let's just go pick her up anyway!
And let's not forget that the yellow roses are clashing with the lilies in my hair.
I glare at him.
Clark, noticing it, sighs.
"You know that never, in any circumstance, no matter how good a friend you are to me, that I will never play second fiddle to anyone."
"Meaning…"
"I'm not a back-up date. For anyone."
"Chloe," Clark protests. "You are not a back-up date. I promise you, you're not. You're my best friend. We're going as two good friends, and if Pete has gotten unlucky too, then believe me he would be a part of this, and it would seem less like a back-up date, just friends who are turning to each other."
He couldn't make it sound any less romantic than that, and I wonder if I feel worse or better at that explanation.
He pauses. "Besides, if Lex could make it, I would have gone alone, and left you two."
And that cinches it. That, and noticing my father looking out the window in bewilderment, probably wondering why we're standing on his driveway and not on our way for a good fun night out at the Prom.
I decide to be nice, just this once.
Squaring my shoulders, I get into the truck. "If this happens next year, you're getting a punch in the face, not a date."
"Hey, I'll take both now," Clark grins at me, and unfortunately I feel a little silly putty effect.
CLARK
I guess I got lucky. Chloe could have made it a lot harder for me.
It wasn't that easy anyway. But I couldn't tell her that Lex wanted me to take her off of his hands, no matter how much easier it would have been.
I'm beginning to suspect that Chloe would have been very hurt by it, and I'm not just talking about her pride either.
I mean, she didn't even THINK about the interview! And since Chloe thrives on the Torch on a twenty-four hour basis, this is definitely something you don't see every day.
So what does that mean? Does she LIKE Lex? I mean, LIKE like?
Can't be possible. Lex isn't even her type.
Yeah, because I'd know what Chloe's type is. Every time I'm sure about Chloe, she always manages to spin around and surprise me. Look at that incident with Sean. He was hardly her type, even before the sucking-people- of-their-warmth habit.
So what, does she like Lex? Would that be surprising, really? I mean, the guy's rich, good-looking, mysterious, charming… everything a girl would want in a guy.
But Chloe's not every girl. Chloe's different.
I start up my engine and reverse out of her driveway. I glance at Chloe. She's looking out the window, her hands on her lap, uncharacteristically silent.
She looks good, too. But since I have a feeling that she'll just throw the 'back-up date' speech in my face, I don't think I'll be telling her that.
But she is looking, you know, good. Pretty.
And she managed to eat up the 'Lex couldn't make it' idea. I think shock managed to get the 'why couldn't he' question away. I know that lying isn't one of my better skills, and to make up a full-fledged reason would seem too much for me to handle at the moment.
As if she could read my mind (a talent I've always suspected that Chloe has), she turns to me and asks, "Why couldn't Lex make it?"
Oh no. Think quick, Clark. Quick. Taking too long would make her suspicious. Why couldn't Lex make it? Business plans. Father called him. Dammit. Quick, Clark, quick. Okay, now I'm taking too long. Just say anything!
"I don't know," I finally say.
She looks at me suspiciously.
"Something came up. He didn't say."
She seems satisfied. Or maybe she isn't, because her eyebrows are all furrowed and I can see her weighing out the likely possibility of me lying through my teeth.
"Right," she says, and nothing else.
Which is good. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. I'm starting to prefer the uncharacteristically silent Chloe at the moment.
CHLOE
And so we made our way to the Prom.
Since my Prom dream has recently been revised so that Clark would not be in it, and concentrates on my full glory of going with Smallville's millionaire mystery in a Jaguar (I was hoping) or a limousine, and then topping it off with a revealing article about said millionaire mystery, needless to say arriving at the Prom in a truck was a tiny little crunch to my dignity.
Not that I'm a snob or anything, I've never minded Clark's truck, but when you're stepping out of it and almost break the heel of your shoe while simultaneously snagging the hemline of your dress on the door, you tend to wish for smoother forms of transportation.
Add the fact that the air-conditioning wasn't working so the window was open and my hair has gone from immaculate to wind blown, with lilies vainly holding on to my tendrils.
Clark un-snags my dress and grins at me. "I'll never get used to Chloe in a pretty dress."
Like he's never seen me in a dress. I'm tempted to ask what happened to Lex's limousine, but decide not to push it. I might not like the answer.
We walk through the parking lot in some silence, waving at various people we know, until we reach the gym doors.
I'm wondering what form of crappy music it is that they're playing in there when I notice that Clark is looking a bit green.
"You alright?"
He looks at me as if he's just noticed that I'm there, and nods enthusiastically. "Fine. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Well, I am," he says, in a way that tells me that he doesn't want to continue the subject.
"Is it a Lana thing?"
"No!" he says exasperatedly.
I shrug. Ask a guy a question and he gets all defensive. Does he not remember that I'm on the butt end of this? I look at him with some contempt until he gestures his arm at me.
"Shall we?" he says, a smile on his face.
I take his arm, and we both smile at each other. The pairing I've dreamed about for some time: a short blonde and her tall friend. Except tonight the short blonde is thinking about a bald man and her tall friend is still hung up over a brunette infinitely prettier than the short blonde.
Obviously the Prom is not as magical as it's cracked up to be.
Clark with a deep breath and me with a sigh, we go through the gym doors and brave the Prom.
All the while I wonder what it was that Lex had to do.
LEX
My second glass of Scotch in my head and my fourth consecutive game of 9- ball with myself and I have since decided that I have come a very long way from Humiliated status and have landed myself squarely in the land of Pathetic.
It's Saturday night and I am my own company.
They're probably at the Prom right now. Dancing. Having fun. Being teenagers. Having a life.
But, as I rack up the balls for my fifth game, I consider the options. Would I really have wanted to attend a Prom with an overly inquisitive blonde who talks too much and be surrounded by the general bedlam that is consistent when you put a big group of teenagers in a room together?
Which would hardly be the highlight of my week, all things considered.
So who cares if they're at the Prom? Let them go to the Prom. I'm the one who offered it. Take Chloe off of my hands. Take the interview off of my hands. Take it far away from me.
I don't need it. I've never needed it. I don't intend to start needing it now.
After another silent victory on the Pool table, I pour myself another Scotch and find myself staring at the bouquet of wasted lilies, with its matching corsage, lying on my desk.
I glance at the Pool table and I begin to understand that being devoid of things to do makes me a really bad drunk or a really depressing person.
But since I'm not drunk, it might be that I'm just depressed. Or pathetic. Take your pick.
And I've started sniffing the lilies again.
And I am, despairingly, bored out of my skull.
They're probably at the Prom right now.
This was my choice. I never had any desire to go to the Prom. It was Clark's favor that presented the opportunity to me, reliving teenage hell. And an interview to make it all the more shitty. What I wouldn't do for the boy.
I discarded Chloe. That's what I would do for the boy.
And I did it for her as well. It would not have taken any man with genius caliber to understand that the true reason why she was upset about the Prom wasn't entirely because she had to go alone, it was because Clark decided to go with someone else.
She can deny it all she wants, but I just did her a favor.
She better be fucking appreciative of that.
Especially since I'm left here standing alone, feeling something that very unfortunately feels like regret.
Never, in all things I have done in my life, have I ever regretted. I find that contemplating actions that cannot be revised no matter how rich you are is the biggest time-waster a person should ever have to endure. I don't regret because I feel that if I do, I would spend hours alone drinking myself into a black void, killing my sanity over the wrong and figuring out how to better the right.
I have no intention of ever putting myself through that kind of ordeal, especially over a trivial thing like a Prom.
A Prom and an opportunity.
Maybe I am drunk. I would have to be to agonize over something like this.
And pathetic, let's not forget that.
Feeling a sudden repulsion for the Pool table and with no inclination of continuing to stand here sniffing lilies like a fool, I go back to my original position on the couch in front of the fireplace.
I sit down and think, really think, of what to do.
Something I've never had to worry about but is presently killing my brain cells at the immense effort.
I could be dancing right now.
I could be dancing with Chloe right now.
I wouldn't be going through the pains of an interview, or even talking, but swaying to music with her energy in my arms and her hair on my face.
A very irrepressible thought that decrees, if nothing else, that it's high time I lay off the alcohol.
Maybe I should take a drive.
And as if that was the answer that I've been waiting for all this evening, I get up, grab my car keys and make my way down to the garage, new opportunities presenting themselves to me.
Unfortunately, Smallville being the small town that it is, the only opportunity that presents itself is the Talon for a cup of coffee.
Which is fine, I decide as I start the engine of my Jaguar. Fine. There's nothing wrong with having a cup of coffee alone at the Talon.
Perhaps Clark will go there after the Prom and I can ask him how it went.
And as this thought crosses my mind, a more irresistible option opens itself to me.
I could just drive by the Prom and see for myself.
Seeing this to be no cause of concern for me or the fact that I'm in a state dangerously close to pitiable, I weigh out the better option and make my decision quickly, before I change my mind.
And so, I drive off of my property and head in the general direction of the high school.
Thanks for the reviews! :)
* * * * *
CHLOE
My Dad's understandable burst of joy could not be lost on either party in my small living room, and Clark blushes for it. To see a normal teenage boy in his living room in a mediocre suit (no matter how good it looks on him) instead of his boss in Armani has to be a comfort to the soul of any self- respecting workingman with a 16-year old daughter who has no shame.
Unfortunately his happiness had me bite my tongue when I was ready to fire bone-crushing questions at said normal teenage boy as to how on God's green earth did my dates get switched in less than an hour and why did no one bother to tell me about it.
I mean, what? Did both of them meet up and devised surefire ways to murder me by giving me a heart attack via shock?
I glare at Clark under the safety of my carefully mascara coated eyelashes.
"Clark!" Dad booms.
Clark grins somewhat sheepishly, but a Clark megawatt smile is still a Clark megawatt smile and will knock you off your toes in whatever shape and form. "Hey, Mr. Sullivan."
My Dad's reaction to his smile somewhat resembles my past silly putty reaction. Past meaning all times PRIOR to this evening where at this moment I feel a certainty that Clark's silly-putty rending smiles will affect me no more, because he is a cow.
And so, after the notion of unethical farm boys was tossed to the wind, the camera miraculously re-appeared and the photo-taking festivities ensued.
I think I was a bit dazed when all of this was going on, one could hardly blame me, looking at Clark to Dad to Clark and to an invisible spot where Lex should have been. That is, until Dad says, "Put the corsage on first!" and found Clark twiddling with a yellow rose nightmare.
I snap back into the Present by wondering if the yellow roses will clash with the white lilies in my hair, and then having said roses presented to me by Clark, snatching them away from him unceremoniously and pinning it on myself.
Clark's first clue that shock does not wear out anger (and mine has been simmering for half an hour), he says meekly, "Like your hair."
I'm tempted to snarl at him.
After another embarrassing debacle involving Clark and I circling around each other in the manner of Sumo wrestlers in his attempt to put an arm around my shoulder and my dodging, we finally settle into a comfortable position standing side by side like plastic Ken and Barbie dolls while my father snaps away.
Which is a fair assessment of Clark, I must admit, and yes, I'm acutely aware that I more accurately resemble a troll in a pink dress rather than Barbie.
So Dad takes his little bit of memorabilia of the night when his daughter gets screwed over, and having satisfied him and being at a very dangerously close end of the tiny little thread called my Patience, I grab Clark's arm and haul him out.
I wasn't ready for the cream of the crop however, so when I see a battered truck instead of a pristine Luthor limousine, I scream in frustration, and feeling better for it, until Clark clamps his hand over my mouth and drags me to the truck.
Great. Manhandled on top of everything else.
I push him away with all the muscles in my body, and succeed in my mission only when he takes a voluntary step back.
"You're going to tell me why you're here without Lana and Lex isn't here and you are here and why the hell no one bothered to warn me about this and you're going to make it oh so damn quick."
Clark acts fast. He knows me well. "Lex couldn't make it."
I sniff and detect the pungent odor of a big fat lie.
"And neither could Lana."
Now this surprises me. Really it does. And here I am feeling sympathy for the cow. "Why can't she make it?"
Clark's cheeks tinge pink. Then, "Okay, she CAN make it. Just not with me."
"Let me guess," I say wryly. "The Prodigal Jock returns."
"Otherwise known as her Boyfriend."
"And Lex genuinely couldn't make it?"
He ignores that, which can't be good. "And we can save each other by going together! See, it works out fine." Funny he should sound so tight-lipped about it. I mean, God, sorry it's so hard to fill in Lana's perfect shoes but I didn't choose that glory.
Clark's explanation sounds reasonable enough for me. Yet it isn't.
"You do realize that the Barter Trade system went defunct years and years ago, possibly for reasons such as these."
Clark opens the car door. "And maybe, one day, you can explain the whole history to me."
I look into the (moldy) truck, at the (ratty) car seats, and contemplate it. It would be awfully easy. Just go inside, and go. Go to the Prom. Never mind Lex, I mean, this could be the easy out I was looking for. I wouldn't have to antagonize over him all night.
And truthfully, going to the Prom with Clark was what I always wanted.
But…
Clark says, "I'm sure Lex will grant you another interview."
Which sparked something else. The interview! Of all the drama I could take in less than an hour, the fact that I'll be missing out on an inclusive interview totally slipped my mind.
"Oh yeah," I mutter. "The interview."
Clark looks at me strangely. "I thought that was the reason why you would be upset that Lex couldn't make it tonight."
I barely hear this, with the other buzzing in my head, and I find myself standing here outside of Clark's truck in my semi-wrinkled dress and my semi-messy hair, realizing the reason that I'm upset that Lex isn't here has nothing to do with the interview at all, and, feeling sharp disappointment in my chest area, is possibly the fact that he's not here period.
And, of all the renowned Luthor gallantry, calling me up when he's going to be late, why didn't he call me up to tell me he couldn't make it at all?
I mean, God, am I that unimportant?
The other reason why I'm upset is brought back down to me at the image of Clark peering curiously at me. My pride. Lana couldn't make it? Well it's time to get back to the Chloe idea. Never mind what SHE thinks, let's just go pick her up anyway!
And let's not forget that the yellow roses are clashing with the lilies in my hair.
I glare at him.
Clark, noticing it, sighs.
"You know that never, in any circumstance, no matter how good a friend you are to me, that I will never play second fiddle to anyone."
"Meaning…"
"I'm not a back-up date. For anyone."
"Chloe," Clark protests. "You are not a back-up date. I promise you, you're not. You're my best friend. We're going as two good friends, and if Pete has gotten unlucky too, then believe me he would be a part of this, and it would seem less like a back-up date, just friends who are turning to each other."
He couldn't make it sound any less romantic than that, and I wonder if I feel worse or better at that explanation.
He pauses. "Besides, if Lex could make it, I would have gone alone, and left you two."
And that cinches it. That, and noticing my father looking out the window in bewilderment, probably wondering why we're standing on his driveway and not on our way for a good fun night out at the Prom.
I decide to be nice, just this once.
Squaring my shoulders, I get into the truck. "If this happens next year, you're getting a punch in the face, not a date."
"Hey, I'll take both now," Clark grins at me, and unfortunately I feel a little silly putty effect.
CLARK
I guess I got lucky. Chloe could have made it a lot harder for me.
It wasn't that easy anyway. But I couldn't tell her that Lex wanted me to take her off of his hands, no matter how much easier it would have been.
I'm beginning to suspect that Chloe would have been very hurt by it, and I'm not just talking about her pride either.
I mean, she didn't even THINK about the interview! And since Chloe thrives on the Torch on a twenty-four hour basis, this is definitely something you don't see every day.
So what does that mean? Does she LIKE Lex? I mean, LIKE like?
Can't be possible. Lex isn't even her type.
Yeah, because I'd know what Chloe's type is. Every time I'm sure about Chloe, she always manages to spin around and surprise me. Look at that incident with Sean. He was hardly her type, even before the sucking-people- of-their-warmth habit.
So what, does she like Lex? Would that be surprising, really? I mean, the guy's rich, good-looking, mysterious, charming… everything a girl would want in a guy.
But Chloe's not every girl. Chloe's different.
I start up my engine and reverse out of her driveway. I glance at Chloe. She's looking out the window, her hands on her lap, uncharacteristically silent.
She looks good, too. But since I have a feeling that she'll just throw the 'back-up date' speech in my face, I don't think I'll be telling her that.
But she is looking, you know, good. Pretty.
And she managed to eat up the 'Lex couldn't make it' idea. I think shock managed to get the 'why couldn't he' question away. I know that lying isn't one of my better skills, and to make up a full-fledged reason would seem too much for me to handle at the moment.
As if she could read my mind (a talent I've always suspected that Chloe has), she turns to me and asks, "Why couldn't Lex make it?"
Oh no. Think quick, Clark. Quick. Taking too long would make her suspicious. Why couldn't Lex make it? Business plans. Father called him. Dammit. Quick, Clark, quick. Okay, now I'm taking too long. Just say anything!
"I don't know," I finally say.
She looks at me suspiciously.
"Something came up. He didn't say."
She seems satisfied. Or maybe she isn't, because her eyebrows are all furrowed and I can see her weighing out the likely possibility of me lying through my teeth.
"Right," she says, and nothing else.
Which is good. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. I'm starting to prefer the uncharacteristically silent Chloe at the moment.
CHLOE
And so we made our way to the Prom.
Since my Prom dream has recently been revised so that Clark would not be in it, and concentrates on my full glory of going with Smallville's millionaire mystery in a Jaguar (I was hoping) or a limousine, and then topping it off with a revealing article about said millionaire mystery, needless to say arriving at the Prom in a truck was a tiny little crunch to my dignity.
Not that I'm a snob or anything, I've never minded Clark's truck, but when you're stepping out of it and almost break the heel of your shoe while simultaneously snagging the hemline of your dress on the door, you tend to wish for smoother forms of transportation.
Add the fact that the air-conditioning wasn't working so the window was open and my hair has gone from immaculate to wind blown, with lilies vainly holding on to my tendrils.
Clark un-snags my dress and grins at me. "I'll never get used to Chloe in a pretty dress."
Like he's never seen me in a dress. I'm tempted to ask what happened to Lex's limousine, but decide not to push it. I might not like the answer.
We walk through the parking lot in some silence, waving at various people we know, until we reach the gym doors.
I'm wondering what form of crappy music it is that they're playing in there when I notice that Clark is looking a bit green.
"You alright?"
He looks at me as if he's just noticed that I'm there, and nods enthusiastically. "Fine. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Well, I am," he says, in a way that tells me that he doesn't want to continue the subject.
"Is it a Lana thing?"
"No!" he says exasperatedly.
I shrug. Ask a guy a question and he gets all defensive. Does he not remember that I'm on the butt end of this? I look at him with some contempt until he gestures his arm at me.
"Shall we?" he says, a smile on his face.
I take his arm, and we both smile at each other. The pairing I've dreamed about for some time: a short blonde and her tall friend. Except tonight the short blonde is thinking about a bald man and her tall friend is still hung up over a brunette infinitely prettier than the short blonde.
Obviously the Prom is not as magical as it's cracked up to be.
Clark with a deep breath and me with a sigh, we go through the gym doors and brave the Prom.
All the while I wonder what it was that Lex had to do.
LEX
My second glass of Scotch in my head and my fourth consecutive game of 9- ball with myself and I have since decided that I have come a very long way from Humiliated status and have landed myself squarely in the land of Pathetic.
It's Saturday night and I am my own company.
They're probably at the Prom right now. Dancing. Having fun. Being teenagers. Having a life.
But, as I rack up the balls for my fifth game, I consider the options. Would I really have wanted to attend a Prom with an overly inquisitive blonde who talks too much and be surrounded by the general bedlam that is consistent when you put a big group of teenagers in a room together?
Which would hardly be the highlight of my week, all things considered.
So who cares if they're at the Prom? Let them go to the Prom. I'm the one who offered it. Take Chloe off of my hands. Take the interview off of my hands. Take it far away from me.
I don't need it. I've never needed it. I don't intend to start needing it now.
After another silent victory on the Pool table, I pour myself another Scotch and find myself staring at the bouquet of wasted lilies, with its matching corsage, lying on my desk.
I glance at the Pool table and I begin to understand that being devoid of things to do makes me a really bad drunk or a really depressing person.
But since I'm not drunk, it might be that I'm just depressed. Or pathetic. Take your pick.
And I've started sniffing the lilies again.
And I am, despairingly, bored out of my skull.
They're probably at the Prom right now.
This was my choice. I never had any desire to go to the Prom. It was Clark's favor that presented the opportunity to me, reliving teenage hell. And an interview to make it all the more shitty. What I wouldn't do for the boy.
I discarded Chloe. That's what I would do for the boy.
And I did it for her as well. It would not have taken any man with genius caliber to understand that the true reason why she was upset about the Prom wasn't entirely because she had to go alone, it was because Clark decided to go with someone else.
She can deny it all she wants, but I just did her a favor.
She better be fucking appreciative of that.
Especially since I'm left here standing alone, feeling something that very unfortunately feels like regret.
Never, in all things I have done in my life, have I ever regretted. I find that contemplating actions that cannot be revised no matter how rich you are is the biggest time-waster a person should ever have to endure. I don't regret because I feel that if I do, I would spend hours alone drinking myself into a black void, killing my sanity over the wrong and figuring out how to better the right.
I have no intention of ever putting myself through that kind of ordeal, especially over a trivial thing like a Prom.
A Prom and an opportunity.
Maybe I am drunk. I would have to be to agonize over something like this.
And pathetic, let's not forget that.
Feeling a sudden repulsion for the Pool table and with no inclination of continuing to stand here sniffing lilies like a fool, I go back to my original position on the couch in front of the fireplace.
I sit down and think, really think, of what to do.
Something I've never had to worry about but is presently killing my brain cells at the immense effort.
I could be dancing right now.
I could be dancing with Chloe right now.
I wouldn't be going through the pains of an interview, or even talking, but swaying to music with her energy in my arms and her hair on my face.
A very irrepressible thought that decrees, if nothing else, that it's high time I lay off the alcohol.
Maybe I should take a drive.
And as if that was the answer that I've been waiting for all this evening, I get up, grab my car keys and make my way down to the garage, new opportunities presenting themselves to me.
Unfortunately, Smallville being the small town that it is, the only opportunity that presents itself is the Talon for a cup of coffee.
Which is fine, I decide as I start the engine of my Jaguar. Fine. There's nothing wrong with having a cup of coffee alone at the Talon.
Perhaps Clark will go there after the Prom and I can ask him how it went.
And as this thought crosses my mind, a more irresistible option opens itself to me.
I could just drive by the Prom and see for myself.
Seeing this to be no cause of concern for me or the fact that I'm in a state dangerously close to pitiable, I weigh out the better option and make my decision quickly, before I change my mind.
And so, I drive off of my property and head in the general direction of the high school.