CHLOE
My last statement is still hanging in the air, waiting for Clark to stop blinking at me and for him to say something already.
He does, after an eternity. "What?"
My jittery nerves and the butterflies at war in my stomach are making me restless and a lot more impatient than I usually am. I fight down the annoyance and repeat again: "I don't think I wanted Lex to leave."
"I heard you the first time, Chloe," he says. Huh. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why didn't you want Lex to leave?"
I really don't know what to say to that. I could always be honest and say, "Well, you see Clark, there's the glitch. I'm not really sure why yet! Give me a couple of days and I'll have it theorized on paper." Unfortunately I doubt that would satisfy him.
But well, it's not like my clueless state is satisfying me either, so he'll have to be satisfied with: "I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"Sorry, I can't come up with one yet."
"Chloe," he gives me a serious, pleading look. "Don't joke about this."
"Clark, I'm NOT JOKING," the frustrated agitation in my voice forces his head back. "I don't know why I didn't want him to leave, okay? I mean, I have a general idea. Maybe. But it's a bit weird, even for me, and probably for you. I don't know if I can voice out something that I'm not sure about when it's such a big deal. I don't even know if it's a big deal! I mean, seriously, probably it is. But thinking about it like this it doesn't SEEM so. But I guess it is. I don't know. I mean, I've got to come to grips-"
He cuts me off, "Just tell me what the general idea is, Chloe."
I sigh and look up into his eyes. His big, lovely blue eyes, I've committed its reflections to different moods to memory. They are almost dark right now, and they penetrate my eyes with the apparent seriousness of the situation, and I find myself thinking that if I can just look up into these eyes that I love so much, and just say it, then it has to be true.
"The general idea," I exhale slowly. Clark's eyes turn almost desperate, and I'm struck with the thought of how this could affect him, and why this would affect him. I've dreamed of this moment, I'm not a Grade A Bitch for no reason. I've dreamed of breaking Clark's heart, of telling him that I don't need him anymore because of the idea of someone else.
I've dreamed of it, but I never once thought of it up until this moment.
"Clark," I say, biding time because I don't know how to say it, how to put complicated feelings into words. "I like him. Perhaps a little bit more than I should."
It's his turn to exhale slowly now, while I breathe a sigh of relief. God. It's feels like a huge load off my back. It makes me wonder why I couldn't have just admitted to it sooner - it would have saved me a truckload of headaches.
Clark lets go of me, almost absently.
"I don't know what to say," he says.
It's funny. It's funny how many times Clark has unknowingly broken my heart by his obsession with Lana, and now that my cosmic comeuppance has FINALLY come for just a bit of feel-good vengeance, all I can feel at this moment is pity.
I mean it, I feel sorry for him.
God, what kind of fool am I?
"I didn't figure bald men to be your type?" I suggest.
"Well, honestly, I didn't."
"Honestly, neither did I."
Clark looks almost annoyed at me, though not half as annoyed at him as I must have looked two hours ago, but then I'm just overly dramatic by nature. "This is just too weird, Chloe."
I'm inclined to agree there.
"And you almost kissed! In front of EVERYBODY."
He sounds almost ashamed, and now I'm confused because shouldn't wearing the Crown of Shame be MY job? I feel an oddly rebellious defense mechanism towards this and at the tone of his voice, I have the sudden need to diss Clark down so bad and automatically arm myself for combat.
Seriously though, why should I be ashamed? It's not like we were acting out a porn scene on the dance floor. It was a kiss! And hell, it wasn't even that.
"Well, yeah, but when you get caught up in a moment you don't really think of everybody. And when did you start caring about what EVERYBODY thought?"
"Since you decided that you have feelings for Lex Luthor! Jeez, Chloe-"
I cut him off. "What's wrong with having feelings for Lex Luthor?" I demand, although all things considered, it's a pretty moot question.
"EVERYTHING'S WRONG WITH IT." He almost screams at my face, enough for me to back down a step, but not enough to make me back down, period.
"Clark! I swear you're acting crazy. He's your best friend! How can you, of ALL PEOPLE in the world, YOU, say that my having feelings for him can be wrong?"
"Because it is! Dammit, Chloe. I like the guy a lot and yeah, I gotta admit he's one of my best friends, but he's not someone that you have a relationship with!"
I blink at him and the sudden realization that I'm not the only reigning Drama Queen here. "Clark, we almost kissed. Almost. And that's subjective. If you didn't stop us, something else might have. Him changing his mind, probably. Or him sobering up. I don't know. But it didn't happen. And already in your mind we're involved in a relationship? JEEZ."
"It could happen," he says petulantly.
"It could just as easily not," I reply back, and all things rebellion flew out of me in a sudden and exhausting swoop. That's exactly right, what I said. Whatever was there- and I'm sure there was SOMETHING there- has gone. It went with Clark calling Lex, with my face glued to my shoes and Lex having had enough.
Would a second chance at kiss be possible? I seriously doubt it. The first time was hard enough. Let's not forget to mention the fact that the Luthors are famous for their self-satisfied pride. Would Lex really bother giving me a chance after all of this?
Okay, let's rewind there. Would Lex have given me a chance at all? I mean, we almost kissed yeah, but it was just a moment, right? Happens all time, right? I mean, it wouldn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for me. Right?
I do annoy him a lot.
"What are you thinking about?" asks Clark, peering at me curiously.
"Nothing," I say automatically. Then changed my mind, "Okay. When you think of Lex and I in a relationship, is it totally a scene out of your active imagination or do you truly think that there's something there?"
Clark groans loudly. "Chloe."
"No, seriously! Hypothetically. Or metaphorically. Whatever. What do you think?"
"Didn't I just TELL you being in a relationship with him is a bad idea? Now you want me to ENCOURAGE you?!" He looks about ready to throttle me. Luckily, I know Clark well enough to know that that look on his face means that he's open to just a little bit more needling.
"So you think that by encouraging me I'm in DANGER of having a relationship with Lex? Because of the MUTUAL feelings that reside there or because of that little-ALMOST kiss that was probably induced by him taking too much alcohol?"
"Chloe."
"Honestly, if it's the latter, I don't see much danger in that at all."
"CHLOE."
I look up at him.
"I'm more worried that he'd break your heart."
I sigh loudly, glancing at the gym doors through which he left a few minutes ago.
I remember my reluctance to dance with him a few minutes before then.
Cross-examining the level of alcohol in his blood.
Yelling at him over the phone an hour before that.
The sarcasm in my words at the Beanery the night before.
His proposition the day before.
The horror on his face when I said I wanted an interview in exchange.
The annoyance on his face when left outside my house for a few measly minutes.
"Yeah well, I'm afraid I've already done that for him," I tell Clark. He looks at me questioningly, but at this point in time, I'm beyond caring whether or not Clark understands something that I haven't really come to grips with. Moving off of the dance floor, I search and locate the nearest seat, settling into it with a sigh.
Suddenly, I just can't STOP THINKING ABOUT LEX LUTHOR.
His face.
Whether his eyes are blue or green.
How he reached for my hands and asked me to go to the Prom with him.
Black leather jacket at the Beanery.
Calling me beautiful.
How he always manages to retort to any of my killer sarcastic one-liners.
Calling me to tell me he'll be late.
How nice it is, when I actually think about it, that he would agree to go to the Prom with me, pity or not.
Dancing with me.
Replying in monosyllabic answers to piss me off (I'm sure of it).
Long legs appear in front of me. I look up to see Clark looking down at me uncertainly.
"Are you okay?"
No. "Yeah." Then, "Tell me honestly, Clark. Let's say I do have feelings for Lex. Would it really bother you that much?"
"Would it matter?" he says, wryly.
"It actually would. You ARE my best friend."
"Chloe," he says, annoyance in his voice. Then, "Yes, it would bother me."
Seriously, it was a rhetorical question. Why did I even bother asking? If only to pain me just a tad bit more. But then I'm a sucker for punishment - one of the highest forms of punishment is having feelings for a very detached playboy millionaire who's more accustomed to the likes of polished women in his company.
'Polished women' is definitely not a category I fall under.
Curiosity (and a possibility that maybe the punch WAS spiked) makes me ask the next question: "Would it bother you if it was any man other than Lex Luthor?"
He doesn't reply immediately, but his face betrays the answer. Instant blushing of cheeks, the disability to meet my eyes, and mumbling, "Er, well, um, no. No it wouldn't bother me. I guess. I don't know."
Huh.
Should I be happy about this? Two days ago maybe. A lot has changed since then.
A whole lot, I muse, looking up at Clark's adorable face and realizing for the first time in a long time, that he is not the man I want to be with tonight.
Do you REALLY need everyone's approval to live your own life?
Isn't anything worth trying at least once?
Besides, doesn't he owe me an interview?
In the more sane and normal world, Lana Lang has just been announced Prom Queen. Clark snaps to attention, and I make my decision.
LEX
For all of its God awful coffee and equally God awful service, the Talon offers me serenity this particularly chaotic evening.
I'm uncertain as to what it is that made me decide to sit in the Talon rather than going home to start the alcohol healing process. Perhaps I've gotten tired of my house- the expensive furniture only serves as decoration, and goes nowhere close to soothing the mind.
I didn't choose the Beanery because embarrassingly enough it reminds me of Chloe.
What kind of pathetic life form does that make me, I wonder? Choosing crap coffee over good coffee because of a memory.
Undoubtedly pathetic.
Exceedingly sad.
Not someone I would want to acquaint myself with.
The very thought makes me want to desert my current activity of staring a hole into the table in front of me, and go to the Beanery just to prove something to myself, but even THAT thought deems me pathetic.
A teenager has made a pathetic man out of me.
Oh yes, I blame her absolutely and totally for this mess. With the exception of Clark, whose bright idea started this fucking crusade of charity and good will toward teenagers in the first place.
Of course, I was also out of my fucking mind to agree. I assume that part of the blame.
Teenagers cannot make their minds up.
Teenagers have not a fucking clue.
Teenagers have the unknowing ability to screw your mind over. They're mindless of this fact, and it's this mindlessness that has you screwed.
Particularly blonde teenagers.
Figuratively speaking, what is so damn great about Clark Kent that disables her from the thought of the possibility of other men? Admittedly, there is a probability that he is better than 90% of the men in the world (let's face it, Clark Kent is a bona fide Wonder Boy, in possibly all aspects of the word), and that includes me.
But I do have something over Clark Kent. I'm not blind and I'm certainly not ignorant.
Yes, I know we must all do our bit to save the world while watching precariously over Lana Lang's fragile heart, but how does one manage to ignore the ever obvious feelings of the blonde girl in front of you?
With very little heart or an abundance of ignorance.
Knowing Clark as well as I do, I assume it's the latter.
Why am I even thinking about this? Did I not verify that this was a complete waste of my time?
My phone rings and I'm welcomed by the non-welcoming sight of my father's name on the screen.
Resigned to my fate while understanding that the evening has gone to the shit pound anyway, I answer, "Yes?"
"Lex," he booms. He always manages to do that- occupy a huge room and the entire state of your mind by the dryness in his voice. "I have just received some interesting news."
"And what might that be," I ask, mechanically.
"The news of my son traipsing after young girls and attending the high school Prom."
This was not very surprising. What is surprising is that it's taken him this long to ask me about it. "I'm amazed the news has reached you so late considering it was a decision made two days ago. Do I detect slackness in your choice of brown-nosers?"
He ignores this, something he excels at, having had years of practice of ignoring me. "And what made you come to this decision, Lex?"
"It really isn't any of your business, Dad."
"I find hearing about my son who I have left in charge of a plant wasting his time chasing young girls instead to be very much my business."
It's just so typical, bring up the fact that he's left me 'in charge' of the Smallville plant like it's a favor I should be eternally grateful for, despite the fact that it was not something I wanted in the first place. And I don't remember agreeing to sell my soul to him in exchange for it. "Left in charge? Funny how it seems like exile."
"Lex," his voice takes on a threatening note. Something I have grown to be oblivious to for the past decade. "You are ruining your own reputation, do you understand that? You are digging your own grave. Scampering after young girls is not an image you want to project."
"I'm just following your footsteps, Dad," I inform him airily.
"Are you going to be obstinate about this?"
"Certainly."
"Fine. You can't say I didn't warn you, Lex."
"Oh no, Dad. I couldn't EVER say that." The hostility in my voice seems to enforce silence over the line, which, if nothing else, serves to make me feel better.
"I'll be dropping by Smallville soon."
I don't reply, or at least, I wouldn't have had time to. His sentence ends with the abrupt click of the phone and the repetitive beeping noise of an engaged tone.
"Love you too, Dad," I mutter ironically to myself. Resisting the urge to throw the phone at a nearby wall, I slip it into my inside pocket instead. Never lose control, Luthor. Even if you have lost all else, never lose your control.
It's an omen. The last drive of the nail in the wall. There is no way in God's earth that this evening could get any better, and resigning myself to that thought, I decide to leave and go home. It was a colossal mistake to have left it in the first place, and I admit to that part of the blame. My dignity has been trampled on, and it's not something I would have ordinarily allowed to happen at all.
Not without a riposte of performing physical damage to that person.
Suddenly very tired, I take out my wallet to deposit some money on the table, when the sound of someone sliding into the seat opposite mine makes me look up.
Chloe sits with a decidedly nervous look on her face.
A vision of pink and yellow roses. A vision of a threat or a promise.
I stare at her as she stares back at me wordlessly, two people with extensive vocabularies, now speechless by the sight of each other.
Her blue eyes burn with a resolution although her body manners betray uncertainty.
Her face belies the need to talk to me and I have acceded beyond my will.
She smiles at me, shyly, and my wallet has moved from my hand and back into the safety of my pocket, my decision to leave has relapsed.
"Hey, Lex."
My last statement is still hanging in the air, waiting for Clark to stop blinking at me and for him to say something already.
He does, after an eternity. "What?"
My jittery nerves and the butterflies at war in my stomach are making me restless and a lot more impatient than I usually am. I fight down the annoyance and repeat again: "I don't think I wanted Lex to leave."
"I heard you the first time, Chloe," he says. Huh. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why didn't you want Lex to leave?"
I really don't know what to say to that. I could always be honest and say, "Well, you see Clark, there's the glitch. I'm not really sure why yet! Give me a couple of days and I'll have it theorized on paper." Unfortunately I doubt that would satisfy him.
But well, it's not like my clueless state is satisfying me either, so he'll have to be satisfied with: "I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"Sorry, I can't come up with one yet."
"Chloe," he gives me a serious, pleading look. "Don't joke about this."
"Clark, I'm NOT JOKING," the frustrated agitation in my voice forces his head back. "I don't know why I didn't want him to leave, okay? I mean, I have a general idea. Maybe. But it's a bit weird, even for me, and probably for you. I don't know if I can voice out something that I'm not sure about when it's such a big deal. I don't even know if it's a big deal! I mean, seriously, probably it is. But thinking about it like this it doesn't SEEM so. But I guess it is. I don't know. I mean, I've got to come to grips-"
He cuts me off, "Just tell me what the general idea is, Chloe."
I sigh and look up into his eyes. His big, lovely blue eyes, I've committed its reflections to different moods to memory. They are almost dark right now, and they penetrate my eyes with the apparent seriousness of the situation, and I find myself thinking that if I can just look up into these eyes that I love so much, and just say it, then it has to be true.
"The general idea," I exhale slowly. Clark's eyes turn almost desperate, and I'm struck with the thought of how this could affect him, and why this would affect him. I've dreamed of this moment, I'm not a Grade A Bitch for no reason. I've dreamed of breaking Clark's heart, of telling him that I don't need him anymore because of the idea of someone else.
I've dreamed of it, but I never once thought of it up until this moment.
"Clark," I say, biding time because I don't know how to say it, how to put complicated feelings into words. "I like him. Perhaps a little bit more than I should."
It's his turn to exhale slowly now, while I breathe a sigh of relief. God. It's feels like a huge load off my back. It makes me wonder why I couldn't have just admitted to it sooner - it would have saved me a truckload of headaches.
Clark lets go of me, almost absently.
"I don't know what to say," he says.
It's funny. It's funny how many times Clark has unknowingly broken my heart by his obsession with Lana, and now that my cosmic comeuppance has FINALLY come for just a bit of feel-good vengeance, all I can feel at this moment is pity.
I mean it, I feel sorry for him.
God, what kind of fool am I?
"I didn't figure bald men to be your type?" I suggest.
"Well, honestly, I didn't."
"Honestly, neither did I."
Clark looks almost annoyed at me, though not half as annoyed at him as I must have looked two hours ago, but then I'm just overly dramatic by nature. "This is just too weird, Chloe."
I'm inclined to agree there.
"And you almost kissed! In front of EVERYBODY."
He sounds almost ashamed, and now I'm confused because shouldn't wearing the Crown of Shame be MY job? I feel an oddly rebellious defense mechanism towards this and at the tone of his voice, I have the sudden need to diss Clark down so bad and automatically arm myself for combat.
Seriously though, why should I be ashamed? It's not like we were acting out a porn scene on the dance floor. It was a kiss! And hell, it wasn't even that.
"Well, yeah, but when you get caught up in a moment you don't really think of everybody. And when did you start caring about what EVERYBODY thought?"
"Since you decided that you have feelings for Lex Luthor! Jeez, Chloe-"
I cut him off. "What's wrong with having feelings for Lex Luthor?" I demand, although all things considered, it's a pretty moot question.
"EVERYTHING'S WRONG WITH IT." He almost screams at my face, enough for me to back down a step, but not enough to make me back down, period.
"Clark! I swear you're acting crazy. He's your best friend! How can you, of ALL PEOPLE in the world, YOU, say that my having feelings for him can be wrong?"
"Because it is! Dammit, Chloe. I like the guy a lot and yeah, I gotta admit he's one of my best friends, but he's not someone that you have a relationship with!"
I blink at him and the sudden realization that I'm not the only reigning Drama Queen here. "Clark, we almost kissed. Almost. And that's subjective. If you didn't stop us, something else might have. Him changing his mind, probably. Or him sobering up. I don't know. But it didn't happen. And already in your mind we're involved in a relationship? JEEZ."
"It could happen," he says petulantly.
"It could just as easily not," I reply back, and all things rebellion flew out of me in a sudden and exhausting swoop. That's exactly right, what I said. Whatever was there- and I'm sure there was SOMETHING there- has gone. It went with Clark calling Lex, with my face glued to my shoes and Lex having had enough.
Would a second chance at kiss be possible? I seriously doubt it. The first time was hard enough. Let's not forget to mention the fact that the Luthors are famous for their self-satisfied pride. Would Lex really bother giving me a chance after all of this?
Okay, let's rewind there. Would Lex have given me a chance at all? I mean, we almost kissed yeah, but it was just a moment, right? Happens all time, right? I mean, it wouldn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for me. Right?
I do annoy him a lot.
"What are you thinking about?" asks Clark, peering at me curiously.
"Nothing," I say automatically. Then changed my mind, "Okay. When you think of Lex and I in a relationship, is it totally a scene out of your active imagination or do you truly think that there's something there?"
Clark groans loudly. "Chloe."
"No, seriously! Hypothetically. Or metaphorically. Whatever. What do you think?"
"Didn't I just TELL you being in a relationship with him is a bad idea? Now you want me to ENCOURAGE you?!" He looks about ready to throttle me. Luckily, I know Clark well enough to know that that look on his face means that he's open to just a little bit more needling.
"So you think that by encouraging me I'm in DANGER of having a relationship with Lex? Because of the MUTUAL feelings that reside there or because of that little-ALMOST kiss that was probably induced by him taking too much alcohol?"
"Chloe."
"Honestly, if it's the latter, I don't see much danger in that at all."
"CHLOE."
I look up at him.
"I'm more worried that he'd break your heart."
I sigh loudly, glancing at the gym doors through which he left a few minutes ago.
I remember my reluctance to dance with him a few minutes before then.
Cross-examining the level of alcohol in his blood.
Yelling at him over the phone an hour before that.
The sarcasm in my words at the Beanery the night before.
His proposition the day before.
The horror on his face when I said I wanted an interview in exchange.
The annoyance on his face when left outside my house for a few measly minutes.
"Yeah well, I'm afraid I've already done that for him," I tell Clark. He looks at me questioningly, but at this point in time, I'm beyond caring whether or not Clark understands something that I haven't really come to grips with. Moving off of the dance floor, I search and locate the nearest seat, settling into it with a sigh.
Suddenly, I just can't STOP THINKING ABOUT LEX LUTHOR.
His face.
Whether his eyes are blue or green.
How he reached for my hands and asked me to go to the Prom with him.
Black leather jacket at the Beanery.
Calling me beautiful.
How he always manages to retort to any of my killer sarcastic one-liners.
Calling me to tell me he'll be late.
How nice it is, when I actually think about it, that he would agree to go to the Prom with me, pity or not.
Dancing with me.
Replying in monosyllabic answers to piss me off (I'm sure of it).
Long legs appear in front of me. I look up to see Clark looking down at me uncertainly.
"Are you okay?"
No. "Yeah." Then, "Tell me honestly, Clark. Let's say I do have feelings for Lex. Would it really bother you that much?"
"Would it matter?" he says, wryly.
"It actually would. You ARE my best friend."
"Chloe," he says, annoyance in his voice. Then, "Yes, it would bother me."
Seriously, it was a rhetorical question. Why did I even bother asking? If only to pain me just a tad bit more. But then I'm a sucker for punishment - one of the highest forms of punishment is having feelings for a very detached playboy millionaire who's more accustomed to the likes of polished women in his company.
'Polished women' is definitely not a category I fall under.
Curiosity (and a possibility that maybe the punch WAS spiked) makes me ask the next question: "Would it bother you if it was any man other than Lex Luthor?"
He doesn't reply immediately, but his face betrays the answer. Instant blushing of cheeks, the disability to meet my eyes, and mumbling, "Er, well, um, no. No it wouldn't bother me. I guess. I don't know."
Huh.
Should I be happy about this? Two days ago maybe. A lot has changed since then.
A whole lot, I muse, looking up at Clark's adorable face and realizing for the first time in a long time, that he is not the man I want to be with tonight.
Do you REALLY need everyone's approval to live your own life?
Isn't anything worth trying at least once?
Besides, doesn't he owe me an interview?
In the more sane and normal world, Lana Lang has just been announced Prom Queen. Clark snaps to attention, and I make my decision.
LEX
For all of its God awful coffee and equally God awful service, the Talon offers me serenity this particularly chaotic evening.
I'm uncertain as to what it is that made me decide to sit in the Talon rather than going home to start the alcohol healing process. Perhaps I've gotten tired of my house- the expensive furniture only serves as decoration, and goes nowhere close to soothing the mind.
I didn't choose the Beanery because embarrassingly enough it reminds me of Chloe.
What kind of pathetic life form does that make me, I wonder? Choosing crap coffee over good coffee because of a memory.
Undoubtedly pathetic.
Exceedingly sad.
Not someone I would want to acquaint myself with.
The very thought makes me want to desert my current activity of staring a hole into the table in front of me, and go to the Beanery just to prove something to myself, but even THAT thought deems me pathetic.
A teenager has made a pathetic man out of me.
Oh yes, I blame her absolutely and totally for this mess. With the exception of Clark, whose bright idea started this fucking crusade of charity and good will toward teenagers in the first place.
Of course, I was also out of my fucking mind to agree. I assume that part of the blame.
Teenagers cannot make their minds up.
Teenagers have not a fucking clue.
Teenagers have the unknowing ability to screw your mind over. They're mindless of this fact, and it's this mindlessness that has you screwed.
Particularly blonde teenagers.
Figuratively speaking, what is so damn great about Clark Kent that disables her from the thought of the possibility of other men? Admittedly, there is a probability that he is better than 90% of the men in the world (let's face it, Clark Kent is a bona fide Wonder Boy, in possibly all aspects of the word), and that includes me.
But I do have something over Clark Kent. I'm not blind and I'm certainly not ignorant.
Yes, I know we must all do our bit to save the world while watching precariously over Lana Lang's fragile heart, but how does one manage to ignore the ever obvious feelings of the blonde girl in front of you?
With very little heart or an abundance of ignorance.
Knowing Clark as well as I do, I assume it's the latter.
Why am I even thinking about this? Did I not verify that this was a complete waste of my time?
My phone rings and I'm welcomed by the non-welcoming sight of my father's name on the screen.
Resigned to my fate while understanding that the evening has gone to the shit pound anyway, I answer, "Yes?"
"Lex," he booms. He always manages to do that- occupy a huge room and the entire state of your mind by the dryness in his voice. "I have just received some interesting news."
"And what might that be," I ask, mechanically.
"The news of my son traipsing after young girls and attending the high school Prom."
This was not very surprising. What is surprising is that it's taken him this long to ask me about it. "I'm amazed the news has reached you so late considering it was a decision made two days ago. Do I detect slackness in your choice of brown-nosers?"
He ignores this, something he excels at, having had years of practice of ignoring me. "And what made you come to this decision, Lex?"
"It really isn't any of your business, Dad."
"I find hearing about my son who I have left in charge of a plant wasting his time chasing young girls instead to be very much my business."
It's just so typical, bring up the fact that he's left me 'in charge' of the Smallville plant like it's a favor I should be eternally grateful for, despite the fact that it was not something I wanted in the first place. And I don't remember agreeing to sell my soul to him in exchange for it. "Left in charge? Funny how it seems like exile."
"Lex," his voice takes on a threatening note. Something I have grown to be oblivious to for the past decade. "You are ruining your own reputation, do you understand that? You are digging your own grave. Scampering after young girls is not an image you want to project."
"I'm just following your footsteps, Dad," I inform him airily.
"Are you going to be obstinate about this?"
"Certainly."
"Fine. You can't say I didn't warn you, Lex."
"Oh no, Dad. I couldn't EVER say that." The hostility in my voice seems to enforce silence over the line, which, if nothing else, serves to make me feel better.
"I'll be dropping by Smallville soon."
I don't reply, or at least, I wouldn't have had time to. His sentence ends with the abrupt click of the phone and the repetitive beeping noise of an engaged tone.
"Love you too, Dad," I mutter ironically to myself. Resisting the urge to throw the phone at a nearby wall, I slip it into my inside pocket instead. Never lose control, Luthor. Even if you have lost all else, never lose your control.
It's an omen. The last drive of the nail in the wall. There is no way in God's earth that this evening could get any better, and resigning myself to that thought, I decide to leave and go home. It was a colossal mistake to have left it in the first place, and I admit to that part of the blame. My dignity has been trampled on, and it's not something I would have ordinarily allowed to happen at all.
Not without a riposte of performing physical damage to that person.
Suddenly very tired, I take out my wallet to deposit some money on the table, when the sound of someone sliding into the seat opposite mine makes me look up.
Chloe sits with a decidedly nervous look on her face.
A vision of pink and yellow roses. A vision of a threat or a promise.
I stare at her as she stares back at me wordlessly, two people with extensive vocabularies, now speechless by the sight of each other.
Her blue eyes burn with a resolution although her body manners betray uncertainty.
Her face belies the need to talk to me and I have acceded beyond my will.
She smiles at me, shyly, and my wallet has moved from my hand and back into the safety of my pocket, my decision to leave has relapsed.
"Hey, Lex."