Note: Sorry it took so long… writer's block sucks!
I walk through the school hallway, noticing that everything looks a little different after you have sex. I mean, it's funny because nothing's different but at the same everything's different. The colours a little brighter, yet a little more softened at the edges. Maybe it's just the endorphins or the fuzzy feeling I still have inside but I feel different.
I look up and there he is.
Whitney Fordman, standing and talking to some football friends. He stops talking when he spots me and it's one of those dream-like states when everything slows down and you are the only two people in the world and nothing else exists. And then I'm past and gone and it breaks. The hallway gets busy and loud again. But I can still feel him watch me walk away as his friends wave a hand in from of his face to get his attention back.
I haven't told anyone and neither has he. It's been four days and outwardly nothing has changed. Well, Whitney and Lana broke up, she's been spending a lot of time with Clark, everyone knows that they're secretly together but won't admit it because of poor Whitney… how it would break his heart. But I don't think he really cares. Well, I know that he cares because he says that he does. You can't just erase the person you've loved for the past four years away… believe me, I've tried.
So, he's still in love with Lana and I'm still in love with Clark but we've found common ground for our little whatever we have to grow.
I get to my locker and start to put my stuff away. I have first period off and I have things to do in the Torch.
Oh, great. Here comes Pete… He's got the 'concerned friend' face down really good.
"Hey Chloe," he says in that nice voice that people get when they think something's wrong and if they talked at a regular decibel, it might set you off and you'd cry or explode or something.
"Hey Pete," I reply as chipper as I can. "What's up?"
"How are you?"
"Fine." I notice his face and shrug. "Really, Pete… I'm fine. I know that Clark and Lana are getting together and frankly I'm fine with it. I mean, I've realized that Clark is always going to love her and I can't do anything about that so I've moved on."
He nods slowly. He doesn't believe me.
"Seriously… I'm fine. What can I do or say to prove that I'm fine?" I grab the stuff I need from my locker and look at him. Or rather past him at the six-foot blond quarterback making his way down the hallway towards his science class, whose door happens to be ten feet to the left of my locker.
Pete shrugs. "Okay, I believe you (which he doesn't but that's fine…). See you in French." He grins at me and walks off, probably feeling better that he was able to be the good friend and help me from my funk. He turns the corner and then the hallway is empty with the exception of me and Whitney.
The problem is that I don't know how to act around Whitney. The problem with sleeping with someone means that there's nothing more that you can do. You've skipped all the other parts and are at the pinnacle of your 'relationship' (if you were in a relationship – which we are not).
He stops just in front of me, out of reach so if someone were to walk by it would look like we were having a normal conversation where he would be asking me for a pencil or paper or something equally as generic. "Hi."
I try not to smile, try not to get that glowy feeling I get when I think of him. "Hi," I say casually back.
The second bell rings and he hesitates for a second then leans forward and kisses me. "I'm late for class. Meet me in the newspaper office at lunch," he says brusquely, walking quickly off to science.
I watch him disappear into the class, fingers brushing over my lips lightly, then turn and go to the newspaper office.
Whitney will always be confusing. I mean, he has this image in school that he has to keep up. It's kind of crumbling right now but it's all he has at the moment, all that he has to hold onto. I think that's why he wants to keep our relationship, or whatever we have, quiet. I mean, it's not fair but if I want to be with him at all I have to let him figure this out himself. If I were to demand him to acknowledge the fact that we might have something, he'd probably freak out, run away, and never talk to me again.
ß ß ß
It's lunch and I start towards the newspaper office, wondering what it is that Whitney would want to talk about.
He's quitting football and wants to join the newspaper.
He's moving far far away so that he doesn't have to deal with the soap opera square that is me, him, Lana, and Clark
He doesn't like me and wants to go back to thinking that I'm an annoying nosy reporter that's trying to screw the football team over and I can go back to thinking that he's a dumb jock
He wants some sex
Of all the possible explanations, my mind always comes back to the last one. It's a classic mistake that girls make. If they give it up once, the guy's going to think that he can get it whenever he wants.
The scariest part of my thinking right now is the fact that I wouldn't really mind if that were the case.
God, I'm turning into a hormonally-driven teenager… scary.
"Hey, Chloe, you're going the wrong way. Cafeteria's this way…" Pete calls as he sees me.
"I have to finish up an article for the Torch. I'll catch up with you later," I call back.
His face falls and I know what he's thinking. He's thinking that I'm going to the newspaper office to eat lunch by myself and cry because I can't go to the cafeteria because I don't want to see Clark and Lana together and I can't face people because I don't want to let them see me cry when I see said couple together. "D'you need some help?"
I shake my head. "I'm fine. I'll be there in a few minutes. Save me a seat." There. Maybe he'll feel better thinking I'm really coming later. Which I may be. I have no idea as to how long this talk's going to take.
"Okay, see you in there."
And then he's gone and I'm sailing into familiar territory that is the Torch's office.
Whitney doesn't show up for five minutes. I try to keep myself busy by looking things up on the computer for my next article. I'm munching on an apple when he enters, looking out of place.
"Are you lost?" I can't help but snark light-heartedly to him.
He smiles wryly. "Yeah, I'm looking for a smart, beautiful, and nice girl. Can you help me?"
"I'll let you know if I see one…" I trail off. He's staring at me and it's making me lose my train of thought. I shuffle papers on my desk to distract me. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"
He clears his throat. "My mom's selling the store."
"That's good, right?" I had to tread carefully. "You guys can move on." I flinch. "I didn't mean that you should move on and forget him but…" I trail off again. "I'll shut up before I make it worse."
He shrugs. "That's okay. I hated it anyway... It was my dad's pride and joy… But the other thing is…well…we're moving to Metropolis. See, my mom thought it would be a good idea so that me and my sister would get away from the pain that's here and she said since there was nothing here for us really that it would be better if we went…"
I nod, close my eyes, and turn back towards the computer.. "Sure, why not? Makes perfect sense. You guys need to be able to have a normal life and there's no way that you can have that here…" Inside, I wanted to cry. He was leaving? Now? Kind of a long-drawn out wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am?
"Hey, Chloe…" He takes the edge of the chair and spins me around towards him. "What's wrong? We can still see each other. Metropolis is only forty-five minutes away… It's not like I'm going to Russia…"
I try to blink the tears away and smile at him. "I know, I know… I'm just being a stupid girl. Y'know… emotional and all…"
He opens his arms and I practically throw myself into them, my momentum knocking us both onto the couch.
He brushes my hair back from my tear-stained face, kissing my forehead. "And here I thought you were this intrepid reporter, Sullivan… You couldn't even figure me out?"
I shrug, burying my head into his shoulder. "You turned out to be a lot more complicated than I thought, Fordman…"
He's stroking my cheek and his other hand is slipping down from the small of my back to the exposed skin between my jeans and t-shirt. He leans forward and catches my mouth with his.
I grab his hand as it moves up the skin of my back. "Whitney!"
He pulls away, studying my face. "What?"
"We can't just-"
And then he's kissing me again.
Well, what do you think?