Aftershock
Note: This is really AU so don't get mad at me… : )
I hate Lana Lang. Well, I don't hate hate her. But I hate her. If that makes any sense. She always has everything. Popularity, looks, Clark's attention and Whitney. Yes, I said Whitney. Whitney Fordman. The all-American, popular, good-looking, jock that I am in love with. I know I'm not supposed to be and I try not to be. I mean, no one knows. I'm always writing horrible stuff about him and his friends in the Torch but I don't really mean it… I can't help it…
Anyway, I try not to think about it. Not at all. Because if I do, it makes me depressed because both guys that I'm in love with love Lana Lang. Which is why I hate her…
"It's a sad thing when a man passes away, leaving a wife and a kid," dad was saying.
I nod, not really listening. I'm too busy cutting out stuff from the newspaper for my wall of weird. There was a lot today.
"If your mother were here, she'd be crying her heart out for them," he continued softly, taking a drink of his coffee.
My sight blurs and I cut off the top of an article. "Damn!" I yell. It wasn't a big deal. I could just tape it together. But the smallest mention of my mother still throws me right off…
Annabelle Marie Sullivan. Annie, my father called her. She'd died after a long fight with cancer in Metropolis. That was why we moved here. The slightest reminder of her used to send me to my room in tears for hours. I was sent to counselling after I started flunking out of stuff at school and doing stuff I wasn't supposed to do… They suggested to my father that we move out of Metropolis. So he put in for a transfer when the plant opened in Smallville and now I was here… sitting in my kitchen, discussing Mr. Fordman.
"We should go to the funeral…"
I blink and look up at my father. "Sorry, what?"
"We should go to the funeral," he repeats.
"Why?"
He butters a piece of toast and slid it in front of me. "Because it's respectful to go."
I grimace and push the toast away. "But I didn't know Mr. Fordman…"
"Don't you go to school with his son?" He picks up the toast and takes a bite, watching me as he chewed.
I shrug. "Sure, but we're not close or anything."
"It's this afternoon at five. I'll come by after work and pick you up at four-thirty." He picks up his briefcase and goes out into the pouring rain.
'How fitting,' I think, watching the drops of water roll down the glass as my father's black truck pulls away. I don't want to go to the funeral. First of all because I didn't know Mr. Fordman, secondly, I do know Lana was going to be there. And Clark. And I know that emotional trauma brings people together. And I really didn't want to see that. Especially since Whitney was going to be there and he shouldn't have to see that either. His and Lana's relationship had been on the rocks lately. They're 'taking a break' right now… he shouldn't have to see that. Especially since I saw them together the other day and they looked pretty chummy.