CHAPTER 3: REVELATION
His face still burned pale with horror, disbelief.
His ears still glowed red with regret, embarrassment.
His body still shook uncontrollably with ardour. Even now he could feel the thrill and amazement of his love.
It flowed through his veins from hesitant fingertips and a hungry mouth to a hammering heart teasing itself with possibilities. Lana's body stretched before him, a ghost of desire. Fear. It rattled through his mind without surety. For if ever he was to hurt her, his angel, he would drop to his knees in supplicaiton, praying for her release from pain and preying on his own terrible ego. But when he caressed her, she did not give to the possibility of pain, he found. Instead she opened willingly at his tender touch and fed herself to him, as if a gentle parent spooning thick warm applesauce into aninfant's toothless and eager jaw.
Pleasure. Warmth. Fear - it always came back to that, an empty emotion brimming with unsaid "what-ifs" and murmured "I'm sorrys."
And now satisfaction - momentarily, at least; it alternated with the same old frets and regrets which he had attempted to conceal within ever since he had violated his virtue and her virginity. Now, he could be a champion, a lover - a father! - but at what price? Not only did he now face a tardy expulsion of the truth and the disappointment in his mother's eyes, but he faced a contradictory realization: he had hurt his angel after all. Clark sighed inwardly, his eyes shut tightly to close out the light, to close out the dark, both of which enveloped him here in his familiar bedroom. A teardrop of worry escaped. He did not drop to his knees in supplication.
The silence in the air produced a light film so apparent that an otherwise soft ringing in Clark's right ear sang out with incredibly volume. Distantly, he felt the drums of hearing might at any moment burst with containment.
He stared at them, then glanced away, trying to block out the hurt they reflected back upon him in their own pain. If only they would say something! Even a blatant, outright disownment would be better than this torturous pause. He wished for their disapproval, their disappointment, their disrespect. Anything. Anything but that look - which he had rightfully expected - in his mother's full dark eyes.
After what seemed to be another lifetime of impatient waiting for a response of any kind, Clark listened with relief to his father's gruff, compassionate words. "You made a wrong choice, Clark."
As if that was his cue to speak, to defend, Clark jumped back in. "I know, Dad, I know, I -"
In a louder voice, his father drowned him out. "That's over and done with. Now the important thing is that you make the right decisions from here on in. You talk to Lana; find out where she stands. Then it's up to the two of you to figure out where this is going to lead you. Once that's done, I suggest you actively throw yourself into your studies and chores so that we don't find ourselves with more than one little rugrat on our hands. I want you to keep busy, and while Lana is staying here, I don't want you near her unless we're around."
Clark regarded his father with remorse, blurring the image with asking wetness. His calming relief had dissipated suddenly along with any hope he had of goodness out of this whole disaster. Didn't his parents trust him at all? He had owned up to his mistake, and stood willing to take full responsibility for it. Besides, he thought defiantly, say he was to marry Lana, would then he still not be allowed alone with her? Marriage - Clark shivered at the thought, half in pleasure, half in terror. Who knew solidifying everything he had ever dared to form into a mirage within the ebbs of his imagination would be the cause of such difficulties?
His father having quitted the room in disgust, frustration, excitement?, - Clark knew not what - Clark's mother leaned forward and wrapped her arms lovingly around him. "We love you, Clark," she whispered. "And we'll be here for you."
His face still burned pale with horror, disbelief.
His ears still glowed red with regret, embarrassment.
His body still shook uncontrollably with ardour. Even now he could feel the thrill and amazement of his love.
It flowed through his veins from hesitant fingertips and a hungry mouth to a hammering heart teasing itself with possibilities. Lana's body stretched before him, a ghost of desire. Fear. It rattled through his mind without surety. For if ever he was to hurt her, his angel, he would drop to his knees in supplicaiton, praying for her release from pain and preying on his own terrible ego. But when he caressed her, she did not give to the possibility of pain, he found. Instead she opened willingly at his tender touch and fed herself to him, as if a gentle parent spooning thick warm applesauce into aninfant's toothless and eager jaw.
Pleasure. Warmth. Fear - it always came back to that, an empty emotion brimming with unsaid "what-ifs" and murmured "I'm sorrys."
And now satisfaction - momentarily, at least; it alternated with the same old frets and regrets which he had attempted to conceal within ever since he had violated his virtue and her virginity. Now, he could be a champion, a lover - a father! - but at what price? Not only did he now face a tardy expulsion of the truth and the disappointment in his mother's eyes, but he faced a contradictory realization: he had hurt his angel after all. Clark sighed inwardly, his eyes shut tightly to close out the light, to close out the dark, both of which enveloped him here in his familiar bedroom. A teardrop of worry escaped. He did not drop to his knees in supplication.
The silence in the air produced a light film so apparent that an otherwise soft ringing in Clark's right ear sang out with incredibly volume. Distantly, he felt the drums of hearing might at any moment burst with containment.
He stared at them, then glanced away, trying to block out the hurt they reflected back upon him in their own pain. If only they would say something! Even a blatant, outright disownment would be better than this torturous pause. He wished for their disapproval, their disappointment, their disrespect. Anything. Anything but that look - which he had rightfully expected - in his mother's full dark eyes.
After what seemed to be another lifetime of impatient waiting for a response of any kind, Clark listened with relief to his father's gruff, compassionate words. "You made a wrong choice, Clark."
As if that was his cue to speak, to defend, Clark jumped back in. "I know, Dad, I know, I -"
In a louder voice, his father drowned him out. "That's over and done with. Now the important thing is that you make the right decisions from here on in. You talk to Lana; find out where she stands. Then it's up to the two of you to figure out where this is going to lead you. Once that's done, I suggest you actively throw yourself into your studies and chores so that we don't find ourselves with more than one little rugrat on our hands. I want you to keep busy, and while Lana is staying here, I don't want you near her unless we're around."
Clark regarded his father with remorse, blurring the image with asking wetness. His calming relief had dissipated suddenly along with any hope he had of goodness out of this whole disaster. Didn't his parents trust him at all? He had owned up to his mistake, and stood willing to take full responsibility for it. Besides, he thought defiantly, say he was to marry Lana, would then he still not be allowed alone with her? Marriage - Clark shivered at the thought, half in pleasure, half in terror. Who knew solidifying everything he had ever dared to form into a mirage within the ebbs of his imagination would be the cause of such difficulties?
His father having quitted the room in disgust, frustration, excitement?, - Clark knew not what - Clark's mother leaned forward and wrapped her arms lovingly around him. "We love you, Clark," she whispered. "And we'll be here for you."