As Clark steers the truck home, he wonders just how differently his world will appear now that he is so different.
Longing to be back within the loving embrace of his parent's home, needing to find a warm fortress to battle the cold sting of solitude stabbing at his heart, he finds his foot pressing hard against the gas pedal, hoping to outrun the nightmare that is chasing him.
Finally giving way to her exhaustion, having spent the last hour expelling vomit from the anesthesia, and pouring out the pain inside her soul, Lana leans against Clark's shoulder, no longer able to hold her head upright.
Continuing down the road, he carefully navigates through the washouts in the road, fearing causing her more pain as her head bobs along with the rough terrain.
Softly he looks down at her, noticing her hands are still wrapped within his shirt, as though she is clinging to all she has left of the dream she saw too late. For a moment he finds comfort in the fact that she still needs him, but also fears he cannot give her enough. Fighting against the urge to respect her earlier wish, he gently lets his hand fall on her knee, needing to feel her by him for as long as it might last. Sadly, the soft touch of his skin upon hers makes her cringe yet again, the pain the memory of their love provides within her having overtaken the love. The sad truth is she may have to lean on him, but she has nothing to give him in return.
x X x X x
As Clark stands at the bathroom sink waiting for the water to run hot enough, he stares at himself in the mirror, not seeing the relief he hoped to find. Filling his hands with lukewarm water from the faucet, he splashes his face, hoping he can wash away the guilty reflection staring back at him.
Running his hands through his dampened hair, he twists his head to the side, trying to relieve some of the tension pinching the nerves in his shoulders.
Pacing like a caged cat in the small space, he feels sick to
almost savor these moments when he can be alone with his thoughts, seemingly miles away from the sound of her cries.
As his eyes sweep across the small bathroom femininely adorned with shabby chic decor he can't help but recall the afternoon he and Lana spent on the floor, both staring at the little plastic stick that held the truth they didn't want to believe.
Instantly he could see his future, being with Lana, raising their child. They would get married, after they somehow found the strength to tell everyone their news. His mom could take care of the baby, while Lana went to school. He could help his dad work the farm, and one day it would be their own.
As he laid out the plan, step by step solving the problem before them, he couldn't help but notice that his words seemed to upset her, as though she wanted him to listen more than fix.
Every word he spoke made her tighten her grip on her knees, creating a vice which slowly smothered her, making her feel as though she was being sentenced to a life she never asked for, a life she did not want.
Burying her face in her knees she exhaled the words "I
can't," giving way to the ball of emotions within her, fearful
of what kind of future this child would trap them in. Feeling suddenly as though her body, her life was being taken from her, she began to become desperate, needing to find a way to save her self. "We don't have to...," she said, stopping herself as the thought brewing in her mind frightened her to her core.
Still able to see her balled up on the floor, he can hear the
words she whispered that day, the words he knows will ring in his ears forever: "There are other things we can do."
As he watched her rock herself, holding onto her knees, trying to digest the words she just spoke, he felt as though he would drop to his knees as though the words lingering in the air were laced with kryptonite. How could this delicate creature he loves so much deliver such a blow to his heart?
Feeling as though he wanted to hold her and squeeze out the very thought plaguing her, the one he fears would jeopardize their very souls, he can only stand frozen in the moment, remembering the simple words he uttered: "we can't," while in reality knowing and disbelieving they somehow did.
Defending the option that she couldn't believe she was
considering, Lana dropped her face, unable to look him in the eye as she breathed out the words "I have to."
Exhaling his breath, he snaps back into the moment, knowing he cannot succumb to the fears raging in his mind, or the memories haunting it. He cannot look back, knowing he must be there for Lana now. Meet her needs now, regardless of how much he feels their actions, her choice, have parted them. If tomorrow proves a different path lays before them where a fork in the road will forever divide their futures, he would
deal with that then. But while he has her, while he can, he will give her everything he has left in his heart, even if he knows it's too late.
Turning back to the mirror now obscured by the steam of the running water, he grabs the rubber water bottle out of the bag, filling it to the brim with hot water.
Tightening the lid, he wraps the bottle within the plush pink
towel, carefully following the instructions given to him at the clinic, wanting nothing more than to heal her hurt.
Tiptoeing back to her side, he hesitates opening his lips, seeing her eyes closed, relieved for a moment that she has finally allowed herself to find sleep. Yet, as though she's able to sense his presence, her eyes blink open revealing a new level of pain within them.
Beginning to writhe within the sheets that embrace her, her
pretty face twists in agony, the stabbing pain in her abdomen making her believe she is being torn in two. As the blood vessels within her constrict, causing her body to cramp, she kicks her legs against the bed, fighting the imaginary beasts that stab into her.
Praying he can help ease some of her torment, he gently pulls back the sheet, tucking the warm bottle in the bed next to her, all the while watching her with eyes that are no longer innocent.
Unable to endure much more, Lana leans up, throwing her hand over her mouth as once again the horrible sound of wretching fills Clark's ears. In record speed he brings the plastic bucket up to meet her, holding her hair out of the way as she vomits up the remnants of medication.
Carefully he rubs her back as she fights to catch her breath, the violence of her heaves dizzying her practically to delirium.
"Are you okay?" he asks, gently wiping her lips with a
Kleenex.
Feeling her stomach slowly settle back down within in her, she nods away the bucket, not able to commit to being okay.
"Lay down," he whispers, bringing the sheet up to her
shoulders, wiping her forehead with the damp rag from the nightstand.
Laying a spare towel over the bucket, he sets it in the bathroom, anxious to return to her, needing to be there should she want him.
Back at her side, he sees her small frame curled around the warm bottle, allowing the heat to ease the twisting pain within her. Her eyes have closed again, as she hopes to block away every memory of the day.
Exhausted by the journey that seems to stretch on forever, Clark softly sits upon the corner of the bed, allowing his head to fall into this hands, escaping to the darkness in his mind, if only for a minute.
