EPISODE TWENTY-ONE
A Day in the Life
Say a prayer for me
Help me to feel the strength I did
My identity has it been taken
Is my heart breaking on me
Empty (The Cranberries)
6:18AM
I wake up with AJ licking my fingers, which are hanging over the edge of the hammock. Grumbling at him about 'doggy germs', I pull my arm back up against me, and tuck my head away from the gray dawn that is streaming in through the window, in an attempt to go back to sleep. Shifting uncomfortably, I realize the warmth that had been pressed against me all night is missing. I sigh, knowing that Lex had told me he wouldn't be here when I woke up, but that didn't mean I hadn't held out hope that he would be.
Flopping over onto my back, I open my eyes and stare up at the dusty rafters where the web of a spider gleams like silver thread from the morning light. I'm going to have to get a broom to take care of that since there is nothing less pleasant than the thought of being watched by spiders while sleeping. Well, aside from sleeping with said spiders. I allow a quick shudder as outside the barn our rooster crows its morning wake up call. I'm late, as usual.
I sit up and glance around the loft, hoping for some evidence that Lex had been there last night, but the area is sadly devoid of anything remotely reminiscent of him. He has a way of doing that; when he stayed with us for the few days his father had disowned him, there was no trace of him after he'd left. It was like it had never happened. And that's kind of how last night feels to me, as if he had never really been here. It was all just some fabrication of my hopeful and overactive imagination. I'm beginning to realize that I'm craving forgiveness from Lex the way I once craved his love, and the strength to tell him the truth. I succeeded in acquiring both of those, so perhaps it is only a matter of time before Lex will truly put all of this behind us, and we can move on.
I don't know what it is specifically that I am hoping for from him. But I do know that I haven't gotten it, yet.
Hearing my father enter the barn beneath me, I quickly slip off of the hammock and search for my ropers, grabbing and tugging them on as I hop on first one foot, and then the other, toward the stairs.
"I'm up!" I holler down to him. "And on my way down."
"Hudson Kent, did you sleep in the barn again?" My dad is looking up at me with an expression of extreme exasperation as I hurry down the steps. "Contrary to popular opinion, you aren't a horse. You have a bed, you know."
I stick my tongue out at him.
"No one thinks I'm a horse," I grumble, even though I've referred to myself in that term on more than one occasion. It's the legs I'll never grow into, though Dad claims it's my appetite.
"And Lex came over late. We talked, and then fell asleep."
"Lex?" My dad looks at me warily, and then glances up at the loft.
"He left early, I guess." Shrugging, I move past him and grab the wheelbarrow to fill with grain.
"H.C., just because Lex now knows doesn't make everything hunky dory, you know."
I blink and glance over my shoulder. "Dad, did you just say 'hunky dory'?"
Slipping on his gloves, he shakes his head. "Don't change the subject. This doesn't make Lex Luthor your best friend and confidant. It doesn't mean you should suddenly trust him with everything."
I sigh. "Dad, Lex is my best friend, and has been for a very long time. If I don't trust him with everything, then how is he supposed to ever trust me?"
"Just… be careful, H.C."
"Always," I reply with a grin.
Of course, what no one seems to understand is that I trust Lex a hell of a lot more than myself at the moment. If I decide to go off half-cocked on another red Kryptonite spree, then it might very well take my parents, Lana and Lex all working together to bring me down from it. And I'm not completely too sure of myself just yet to say I'm not capable of doing bad things without the influence of the Kryptonite. My parents believe in me and the choices I make because they weren't there, they didn't see the things that I did and they sure as hell had no idea what I was thinking. That's the scariest part of all – my thoughts. I had a few of them when it came to dealing with Van; the desire to take the easy way out and just snap a few of his bones. It never lasted, and I was horrified every time my mind went in that direction. But still, the fact that they existed at all is what is truly terrifying. And I think Lex might be the only person in the world who might understand that.
What that says about either of us, I really don't know.
Chores go by quickly, especially since I speed through them whenever my dad isn't looking. Generally he doesn't like it when I do things like that, but getting up late has put me behind and I'm hungry and… well, it's just easier this way. Still, I get the look from him whenever he goes to do something I've already done in the last few seconds, that familiar expression that tells me he's caught between the desire to yell at me and pat me on the back. I get that look from just about everyone I know, now that I think about it.
After the animals are fed and everything is picked up, I head inside to shower and change. The routine that I've known all of my life isn't very easy to fall back into, and there are mornings when I'm showering that I feel as if I'm still washing away my sins of the summer, cleansing myself or whatever. I'm sure Lex would have something to say about that if I ever told him my thoughts, but there are things that are better left to yourself, I guess. I've given him too much information to process as it is. I'm fairly certain he's sitting in his study right now, staring at his desk, processing everything I've told him and coming up with question after question that he wants to ask me. Unfortunately, Lex isn't the type to just be upfront like that. Only a few times has he ever actually come to me and asked for the answers he's sought. Normally, he dances around such things, maneuvering you into position until you offer the information without him ever bringing the subject up. I've seen him do it to others, and I know he's done it to me. I bet he's hell in a boardroom.
Mom's making French toast for breakfast, with sausage and bacon. The smell of the food causes me to move just a little faster as I'm getting ready, and I realize that was something I missed a lot during my time in Metropolis. Well, mom's cooking, of course, but mostly breakfast. I can't remember ever sitting down and eating breakfast in the entire summer that I was there.
"Good morning, honey," my mom greets as I jog down the back stairwell into the kitchen. "I hear you slept in the barn, again."
I glance back at my dad, who's reading the paper at the table. "Tattle-tale."
Mom smiles. "Juice or milk? Bacon or sausage?"
"Yes," I reply with a nod as I sit down at the table in front of my plate, which is piled high with a couple sandwiches' worth of French toast.
"You know, honey, one of these days your metabolism might just catch up with your eating habits," she tells me as she sets a couple of pieces of bacon and sausage on my plate.
"Not gonna happen."
Reaching out, I grab the powdered sugar to sprinkle over my toast, and then top that with the homemade maple syrup over both my toast and the sausage and bacon. Mom watches me with an horrific expression on her face before shaking her head and walking off to pour me my requested glasses of milk and orange juice.
"Get your homework finished?" Dad asks from behind his paper.
I swallow the quarter slice of toast that suddenly appears stuck in my throat, and shrug. "Umm, mostly."
The paper lowers and I get that other look – like I'm about to be grounded. "H.C., you're starting out the school year on rocky ground. You've already missed a week – "
"I know." I swirl a piece of bacon around in the syrup gathered on my plate. "I'll get it done before class today."
"Be sure that you do. You don't want to be held back a year, do you?"
"God, no!" I widen my eyes in horror at the thought. "Four years of high school will be quite enough, thank you very much."
"Don't wish for high school to be over too soon, H.C.," my mom tells me as she hands me the juice and milk, and then sits down at the other side of the table. "You're going to miss it when it's gone."
Somehow, I doubt that. I mean, it's not like I'm Miss Popularity or anything like that. And I've had just about enough of teenage angst that I think I can take. Adults always like to pretend that being a teenager is like the greatest part of your life, but I think it's simply because they don't remember what it was like. But, I'm not about to get into that argument again because I invariably always lose. Parents like to believe they know everything.
The phone rings, and mom is first to her feet to get it while my dad and I continue to eat. I add some more powdered sugar and ponder the feasibility of having my homework done before class. There are some lab questions for Biology that I need to get typed out and, in English, and our teacher wanted us to find a poem to present orally to the class.
A poem, for crying out loud! As if that's going to happen! I hate poetry. I think I'd rather spend a quiet evening with a case of Kryptonite.
"H.C.?" Mom holds the phone out toward me. "It's Lex."
All thoughts of poetry gone, I jump up from my seat and take the phone from her hand, quickly picking a sliver of bacon from my front teeth. "Hi, Lex."
"Good morning," he replies, all proper and gentleman-like. Sometimes Lex just cracks me up. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah. Well, when you weren't snoring in my ear."
I can actually hear Lex twitch. I swear I can!
"I do not snore, Hudson Kent."
"Yeah? Neither does my dad." I dip a sausage link into the syrup. "And I've got a piece of pretty ocean front property to sell both of you."
Mom laughs beside me while my dad snaps the paper loudly. Lex just sighs in my ear. "And here I was going to ask you if you'd like a ride to school."
Like I'm going to turn that one down. "Yes! I'd love one."
"Except, I didn't ask you."
I chew on the sausage. "Except, you did, and you're just teasing me anyway. Beside, at the rate I'm moving, I'll probably miss the bus and I need a ride. And you're a nice guy like that."
"Hudson?"
"Hmmm?"
"Are you eating in my ear?"
"Nooooo. I'm eating into the phone. You just happen to have your ear pressed against it."
Lex makes a noise of disgust. "And how the hell does the fastest being on the planet miss her bus so often?"
I make a face and take another bite, chewing loudly. "Lex, your phone better not be tapped."
There's a loud clatter from my dad dropping his fork, and my mom is looking up at me anxiously. I grin and wave my hand toward them, indicating that I'm just teasing. Neither of them look very amused. In fact, I can see the lecture building in my dad's mind already. Hell.
"You don't think I keep track of such things?" Lex asks, obviously offended.
I continue munching on the sausage link, licking the syrup off of my fingers, wondering just how honest he wants me to be in this newly formed relationship of honesty that we have. There have to be limits, right? Surely he doesn't want me to tell him every little thought that I have.
"Don't answer that," Lex remarks suddenly with a sigh.
Apparently the answer to my question would be no. "When are you going to be here?"
"Mmm. Five minutes."
I frown and move back to the table to grab my glass of milk. "Make it ten. I still have to do my hair and type up my Science homework."
"And then there's the fact that you obviously haven't finished your breakfast."
"That, too." I grin.
It's so much easier now that Lex knows the truth. It's like this enormous weight has been lifted off of my shoulders, and I never realized just how upsetting lying to him all of this time has been to me. I have to admit, I feel a little safer knowing that Lex is on my side, that he's looking out for me. At first, I thought my admission would destroy us, and everything that had ever existed between us. But now I know that isn't true. Lex has been incredible about everything, and just when I thought I couldn't possibly love him more, I realize that I do.
Not that such a realization makes everything any easier, but there it is. I love Lex. And I can't imagine that there will ever be a time in my life when I don't love him.
"I'll see you in ten minutes, then."
"Drive the Ferrari."
Lex sighs. "Hudson, I'm not driving the Ferrari."
"Oh, come on. It's the only car of yours with any real flash."
"I'm hanging up now, Hudson."
"Killjoy."
The phone goes dead in my ear. I pull the receiver away and stick my tongue out at it. Sure, Lex can't see it, but it makes me feel better.
6:43AM
"See you later, Mom!" I call out as the screen door slams behind me and I make my way across the yard to Lex's car. It's a black Mercedes, which I guess is more appropriate for working in Metropolis and all, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
Pulling the door open myself, I slide into the seat and comment, "Chivalry is dead."
"But Women's Lib lives on," he replies dryly, shifting the gears into reverse. "And since when did you become incapable of opening your own door?"
"I don't know. I thought it would be nice."
Lex ignores that, and I take the moment of silence to settle into my seat and get comfortable. It's weird not leaning over for a kiss or having Lex reach out to touch me in some manner or anything like that. I have trouble understanding how it was that we were once so close, and now it's as if we can hardly think of anything to say to one another. I know it's going to take time and stuff, but that doesn't mean I don't wish Lex would just smile at me or touch my hand or relax around me, at least.
"I was thinking over our conversation last night," Lex begins quietly. "The time you spent with Lucas… You were careful around him?"
I chew on my lower lip a moment, realizing that the offer for the ride to school wasn't as altruistic as I'd originally believed. As suspected, Lex hasn't stopped thinking about everything I've told him.
"Well, umm, what do you consider 'careful'?"
Lex glances over at me. "The things you've done around me? Not careful."
"Ah." I make a face. "Well, then… kind of."
"Christ, Hudson." Lex sighs and shakes his head, glancing out the windshield for the next few seconds as he focuses on the road. "I can't locate Lucas. He's disappeared off of the radar completely. And while I can't help but wonder if my father finally got a hold of him, I'm more concerned that he's off looking for ways to capitalize on his information regarding you."
"He doesn't know anything specific."
"He doesn't need to. I didn't know anything specific, either, Hudson." He stabs a finger at me as he speaks. "And I want you to remember that Lucas doesn't care about you the way that I – " He stops abruptly and clenches his jaw.
I bite back the smile that threatens. It's mean of me to feel so victorious when Lex accidentally reveals his true feelings. It doesn't happen much, and when it does, it's always tempting to do a little victory dance. I swear this must be how a prisoner on Death Row feels when granted a pardon.
"He's dangerous, Hudson," Lex continues when he appears to have collected himself. "Don't think that just because my father didn't raise him that he hasn't been influenced by the man. Lucas is my father -- if he'd been raised on the streets."
"Lucas won't hurt me," I assure him with a slight nod.
"Why, Hudson? Because you gave him a nice fucking blow job?"
Wow. He really isn't going to let that go, is he? Face burning in a mixture of humiliation and anger, I turn and glance out the window, eyes widening as I catch the scene in the field we're passing.
"Lex, stop the car."
"Look, I'm sorry about what – "
"Stop the car!"
Before the tires come to a complete rest, I push the door open and speed away, ignoring Lex's call from behind me. Just up ahead, the Miller's barn is engulfed in flames. I stop behind the tractor, watching as the family races frantically to stop the burning, but the water from their simple hose isn't doing anything. The sound of approaching sirens can be heard in the distance but I know they won't reach the farm in time, and the panicked cry of their horses from inside the barn spurs me into action.
Both doors are blocked with flames but the window for the grain elevator around back is open. While the family is occupied, I leap up through the opening, only to land in a burning stack of hay bales. Cursing once at the stupidity of farmers that still insist on keeping their hay near their livestock, I push away from the fire, smacking at the burning sleeves of my jacket as I hurry to the stalls.
The horses are freaking out, and remain unwilling to move out of their stalls even as I open the doors. Above us, pieces of the roof begin falling in, raining a debris of burning wood onto my head. I slip off my jacket and toss it over the head of the first horse, covering its eyes and pulling it out of the stall. Quickly, I repeat this process with the other three horses until they are all out of the confining space of their stalls. And then I speed through the far wall, bursting the burning slats of wood into a gaping hole in the hope that the horses will follow. I race back behind the tractor and stop to watch as Anna Miller calls out to her husband that they can get inside, and then the horses come galloping out.
It'd be nice if I could stick around and help the family catch them, but I know Lex is probably three seconds short of a nuclear meltdown, so I turn and speed back to where the car is parked on the shoulder of the road.
"What the hell was that!" Lex demands as I near the Mercedes.
"There was a fire – "
"I can see that!" Lex stalks over to me and takes my jacket from my hands, shaking it at me. "And you and your parents wonder how I could have possibly known when you run around pulling stunts like this! What if someone had seen you?"
"They didn't." I take my jacket back from him. "And they'll just think the horses broke their way through that wall and everyone will be happy."
"That was stupid, Hudson!"
"I couldn't let the horses die…"
Lex glares at me before turning to walk back to the car.
Noting the set of his shoulders, I call out, "I'm okay, you know. Fire doesn't hurt me."
He stops at my words, hesitating only a moment before turning back to me. "And that," he tells me, "Is the most difficult thing to get used to."
I smile. "I know. Mom still panics over these things."
"You'll have to tell me about some of those moments," he responds with a half-smile. "Come on. Get in the car."
Lex moves back to his door and I climb in on the passenger side, tossing my burned jacket behind the seat. We sit there quietly, and I wonder how late I'm going to be to school today, when he angles slightly in his seat to face me. Astonishment fills me when he pulls out his handkerchief and begins wiping at my cheek.
"You have soot on you," he tells me.
"Spit on that thing like my mother does and I won't be responsible for my actions."
Lex smiles and grabs my chin, turning my head to get at the other cheek and a spot just above my eyebrow. "You're going to tell me that this is just a typical day for you, aren't you?"
"Something like that." I wrap my hand around his and squeeze it gently. "I'm okay, Lex. Really."
He visibly relaxes and I'm amazed by the fact that even though he knows what I am and what I can do, Lex is still worried about me getting hurt. I know that says something about the connection between us, that no matter the anger and hurt we might cause one another, the love and caring is still there. It's different now, there's no arguing that. And maybe it's going to take me a little getting used to when all I want to do is lean over and kiss him, and climb into his lap and let him do all of those amazing things to my body that I know he can do. Instead, I just have to sit here, and let him clean my face off, and try to forget how good he smells or the way the morning light causes flecks of gold in the blue of his eyes.
Dammit.
"We probably ought to get you to school," Lex tells me softly before slipping his handkerchief back into his pocket and straightening in his seat. He flashes me a quick smile. "Let's try to make it there without pulling over for another emergency, all right?"
"All right."
7:12AM
Principal Reynolds is glaring at me as I walk through the doors. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's standing feet apart, like some gladiator waiting to take on the next lion. I offer him a sheepish smile as I skirt around him toward the hall.
"Nice of you to join us, Miss Kent."
Stopping at his words, I turn back, my face warming slightly under his scrutiny. "Uh, yeah. I was, uh, running late this morning. Stuff on the farm. You know how it is." Okay, he doesn't live on a farm so he probably doesn't know how it is.
"Was that Lex Luthor's car that just drove off?"
I hold back the sigh that threatens. "Yes. He gave me a ride."
Reynolds nods once before turning on his heel and starting past me. "I'd like to see you in my office, Miss Kent."
"But, I should really get to cl – "
"Now!"
Wincing slightly at his tone, I let out the sigh I've been holding and follow behind him, past the classrooms to the principal's office. I swear, nothing can make you feel like you're eight-years old again more than walking by those secretaries in the office, while they stare at you behind their pointed-glasses, obviously knowing you're about to be lectured. The first time I was ever sent to the principal's office, I was six-years old and got in trouble for bragging that I could run faster than any boy there, which I then proved over and over again. But bragging wasn't accepted in Kindergarten, and since I was a year older and supposed to know better, it didn't go over very well. That was my first lesson in humility. I suspect there'll be plenty more before my school career is over.
"Have a seat, Miss Kent," Principal Reynolds invites as he closes the door behind me.
I slump into the chair across from his desk, slipping my backpack between my feet and fixing my gaze on the window behind him. At least I don't have to watch my fellow classmates outside playing dodge ball or swinging on the bars. They're in class, and I'm not. And the only thing that sucks about that is the work I'm going to have to make up.
"Do you know why I asked to speak with you?" He begins as he sits down and leans forward across his desk.
"Because I was tardy?"
He flips open a folder in front of him, and I suppose I should feel an ounce of pride for being important enough to have my file as a permanent fixture on his desk. Or maybe not.
"You've already missed more than a week of school this semester, and the year has just begun," he points out, glancing up at me.
"My parents spoke with you about that."
Reynolds nods. "Yes. You ran away from home." Folding his hands, he fixes me with a steady gaze. "I understand that being a teenager can sometimes be difficult, but often teens choose to deal with their problems in ways that only lead to more problems. A slump in grades, rebelling against parents, running away from home, juvenile delinquency – you're on a steady path toward your own destruction, Miss Kent, and I don't want to see that happen. You're a bright girl, with plenty of potential, and I'd like to help you reach that potential."
I wrinkle my nose, not liking where this conversation is heading at all. "What happened over the summer won't happen again, Mr. Reynolds. It was just... circumstances. Things are better now."
Another nod, and I can tell that he doesn't believe me.
"Just the same, Miss Kent, I want you to begin meeting with the school counselor on a weekly basis – "
"What!"
"Beginning this afternoon after school lets out," he finishes, picking up a pen to scribble something in my file.
"That isn't fair," I argue, knowing that by now Kaela would have just tossed him out the window and been done with it. "Just because I was late this morning – "
"If the trend continues throughout this semester, Miss Kent, I can assure you that you won't be moving up to the twelfth grade at the end of the year." He holds an envelope out to me. "This is a letter to take home to your parents regarding your sessions. I expect you to bring their signed acknowledgment back to me in the morning – on time."
The anger in me is so quick to flare anymore that I'm a bit surprised when I succeed in tamping it back down. I grudgingly take the letter from him, contemplate ripping it in two, and then finally stow it away in my backpack. The school counselor. I can't believe he thinks I need to see the high school equivalent of a shrink. I'm not insane – I'm an alien! There's a big difference.
My parents are going to flip!
"I know you think this is some form of punishment I'm inflicting on you," Reynolds begins. "But I'm trying to help. It's obvious there are things going on in your life that you don't know how to deal with."
He has no idea.
"I believe talking to someone might help."
I don't bother laughing. He wouldn't get the joke, anyway. "Can I go now? I'm late for class."
Reynolds frowns at me for a moment before nodding and closing my file. "I expect you to make your appointment, Miss Kent."
Gritting my teeth, I stand and grab my bag, saying nothing in response as I exit the office.
9:24AM
"Where were you this morning?" Lana whispers as she slips into the desk beside me.
"Lex drove me to school and there was this… thing that I had to take care of on the way."
She raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Is that what they call it now?"
I roll my eyes and lower my voice further, "A barn was on fire."
"Oh." She looks disappointed that Lex and I weren't having sex in the front seat of his car. I know how she feels.
"Then Reynolds caught me coming in late."
Lana winces in obvious sympathy. "You can copy my History notes over lunch. You didn't miss much. Just another discussion on the Fall of the Roman Empire. Tomorrow we're supposed to be watching a video about it, so at least there's no homework."
I nod, glancing up as Mrs. Henderson enters the room and the last few students take their seats. She turns to the chalkboard and writes "Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood", as the chatter in the classroom slowly diminishes. Setting the chalk down, she turns to face us.
"T.S. Eliot wrote this. What do you think it means?... Lana?"
"That the beauty of the words can mean something to the reader long before they actually understand the meaning behind them."
Mrs. Henderson smiles and nods. "W.H. Auden said of poetry "One demands two things of a poem. Firstly, it must be a well-made verbal object that does honor to the language in which it is written. Secondly, it must say something significant about a reality common to us all, but perceived from a unique perspective. What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves." Now, I'm hoping that each and every one of you has found a poem that speaks to you in its own way, one that is valid for your life. Lana, would you like to come up here and be the first to share yours with us?"
Nodding, Lana picks up the slim notebook from her desk and heads up to the front of the class. I probably should have asked her for help with finding a poem to read, but I ask for her assistance with schoolwork too much as it is. Someday, she's going to think we're friends simply so I can have her help me graduate. I mean, it's not like I'm stupid or anything – I can pass any test they hand me in math or science without thinking about it. And if I have time to read through the textbooks, I can make it through anything else, too. The problem is, I don't always have time -- even if I can read faster than anyone else; and I have a horrible habit of forgetting. After all, it's not like studying is the highest of priorities on my list; other things seem to command my attention most of the time. What am I supposed to do? Let someone die because I have a history exam the next morning? What's more important – homework or looking after those I love?
I glance back toward the front, focusing my attention on my friend as Lana begins to read her poem:
"Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid Love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.
Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
And so more steadily to have gone,
With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love's penance overfraught;
Ev'ry thy hair for love to work upon
Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;
For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;
Then, as an angel, face, and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure, doth wear,
So thy love may be my love's sphere;
Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,
'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be."
"That was 'Air and Angels' by John Donne," she tells us.
"And why did you choose this particular poet?" Mrs. Henderson asks.
"He's always been a favorite of mine. His words are just so lyrical, they're like music."
"And the poem?"
Lana's gaze catches mine for a moment before she looks back to Mrs. Henderson. "I chose this poem because it reminds me of how I feel about someone close to me. The love I feel for them, how I view them is otherworldly, like an angel. And yet it's something that will never truly be tangible between us, like air; I can grasp at it all I want and come away with nothing."
See, now I didn't get any of that out of the poem she just read. In fact, it really didn't make any sense to me at all. I'm not ashamed to admit that my brain tuned out about halfway through her reading, and I spent most of my time zoning out on the poster of Shakespeare that is hanging on the wall behind her. But I am kind of curious as to who Lana is attributing her poem to. Is it Whitney? Though she claims to only regard him as a friend any longer, I can see how she would regard her love for him like air, and something that might never be real again.
I tear out a piece of paper as Lana return to her seat and scribble So, who is such an angel to you? Folding the paper into a tiny slip, I pass it over to her desk when Mrs. Henderson isn't looking. As I wait for a reply, Scott Mallory stands up to read his poem, and I begin doodling on the back of my notebook, my mind wandering to what the counselor is going to speak to me about. Will they have me lay back on some couch and tell them about my childhood? I don't see how I'm supposed to discuss my problems with someone when I can never tell the truth about what's bothering me.
Lana slides our note under my hand before returning her attention to the front of the room. Making certain no one is watching, I open it to read:
No one. I just had to come up with something to tell her. I really think the poem is pretty, but I don't have anyone I think of when I read it. What did you choose?
I grab my pencil and respond, Nothing. You know me and poetry mix like Paris Hilton and class. I start to read one and my eyes cross.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lana shake her head as she reads the note, mouth pursing slightly. She flashes me a quick look of disappointment before quickly writing her response and handing it back to me.
I could have helped you pick something. Or you could have asked Lex. He probably has tons of poetry he could help you out with. Mrs. H isn't going to let you just skip this project, you know. Next week we're supposed to write our own poem, and what are you going to do then? H.C., you help everyone else out. Maybe you should let one of us help you once in a while.
It's a familiar lecture. From her, from my parents, from Lex. And I know they're all right. The only problem is, I'm this alien being who is capable of doing anything. Well, almost anything. It's kind of hard to ask for help when I expect so much from myself. Not to mention, it feels silly when it comes to school work. It's not like this stuff is necessarily difficult, I just don't care for poetry. It bores me. And I certainly don't have the time to just sit and pour through volume after volume of the boring stuff to find a couple of words that scream out with meaning to me. Math and science make sense. English makes sense if you want to be a journalist like Chloe. Poetry, just doesn't make any sense.
Or maybe I've just become jaded in my old age.
11:50AM
After piling my lunch tray with food, I head to the back of the cafeteria where Chloe and Lana are already seated in the far corner, the best place, according to Chloe, to view our classmates.
"Hey, guys," I greet as I slide into the chair and grab my milk to open it.
"So, what did Mrs. Henderson say to you when she kept you after class?" Lana immediately asks me.
I frown at the reminder. "That I have tonight to find a poem to present in class tomorrow or I get an 'F'."
"Rumor has it one Hudson Kent was seen being dragged into the principal's office early this morning," Chloe remarks with her eyebrows raised. "Care to comment? Or would you prefer to let conjecture run wild?"
"You two are trying to ruin my appetite, aren't you?" I demand.
Chloe smirks at me. "Like such a thing would be possible."
Flashing a quick glare toward her, I dig into my spaghetti for a moment, wondering why I don't bring my lunch anymore, especially when this stuff tastes like noodles with ketchup poured over them. Chloe begins to tap her fork impatiently against her plate as she waits for an answer. I continue to take my time, washing the bland lunch down with a sip of milk as I think about my reply.
Finally, I admit, "Mr. Reynolds wants me to start sessions with the school counselor."
"No way!" Chloe eyes widen as if this tidbit is much juicer than she anticipated it to be. "For being late?"
"No. He thinks I'm on the road to becoming a juvenile delinquent."
Lana chokes on her water at the comment and gives me an expression of disbelief. "You're kidding?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" I point toward my backpack at my feet. "He even wrote a letter to my parents that I'm supposed to give them. My first session is today, after school."
Lana's brow furrows and she shoots me a quick look, filled with meaning. Like me, she's wondering how, exactly, I'm supposed to discuss my problems and my feelings. And if I don't communicate, it will likely only make things worse for me. Like the school counselor might decide I need to be put on drugs or something, and then would come doctors' visits and more complications and maybe my parents should have just considered home-schooling to begin with?
Chloe waves a hand in dismissal. "Eh. It'll be nothing, H.C. You'll see. You'll be asked how you feel about school, how you're doing, do you have friends, do you have suicidal urges, stuff like that. It's par for the course. If you weren't considered psycho, you wouldn't be a teenager."
"I've never been told to visit the school counselor," Lana points out.
"Exactly." Chloe pops a French fry into her mouth and smiles.
Lana makes a face at her before turning back to me. "I'm sure Chloe's right, Hudson. Everything will be fine. And I'm sure your parents will understand. Who knows? They could tell Principal Reynolds that they don't feel you need to talk to anyone and the sessions will end. Just make it through today, and you can have your parents step in for you."
"Right." I push the spaghetti away and start in on the chocolate pudding.
"Oh! H.C., do you think you could handle the story on the basketball try-outs this afternoon?" Chloe asks, pulling her bag on to the table to dig through it. "I'm supposed to meet with my contact at the Ledger about that story they ran on the farm animal attacks last week."
"Yeah, I read about that," Lana comments. "Aunt Nell and I have been careful about locking the barn up tight every night."
"Well, I don't know if it will help or not."
I smirk. "Why? Can our mystery wolf now open doors?"
Chloe shrugs. "Possibly. I'm looking into it. I think we're either dealing with a mutated wolf or a human being who's into animal sacrifices."
"So, it's either a werewolf or a Druid," I quip.
"Oh, wonderful." Lana rolls her eyes. "Chloe, did you ever think of writing a human interest piece sometime? Something happy and positive and full of flowers and puppies?"
"That's why I have H.C." Smiling, Chloe gets to her feet, hooking her purse over her shoulder. "I've got to run by the Torch and get my recorder. See you in Science."
We wave goodbye as Chloe darts off, leaving her tray and half-eaten lunch behind in her haste. I reach out to grab the small plate of fries, making a face at my first bite as I realize they're barely warm. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see Lana watching me, shaking her head just a little as I continue to eat. She turns away to sort through her books, finally sliding a folder toward me.
"Here are my History notes. We're supposed to have our first test next week."
I nod and glance briefly at her notes, deciding that I can just as easily ask Lex for a quick history lesson. After all, he knows more than any of my teachers do, and he can probably cover a year's worth of Roman history in an hour-long discussion. Maybe less. Lex is brilliant like that.
"You're worried about the counselor session, aren't you?"
I glance up at Lana, brow furrowing at her question. "What makes you think that?"
"Because you just dipped a fry into your milk," she pointed out. "And ate it."
I shudder at the thought, and realize that there is this odd taste in my mouth that isn't entirely unpleasant, but very strange. No longer wishing to drink my now salted milk, I grab Lana's water to wash the flavor away.
"Nice," she comments with a sigh and shake of her head.
"Sorry."
I wipe my mouth and offer the bottle back to her. When she refuses it, I take another sip and go back to playing with my fries, though I make certain to stay away from the milk this time.
"I am a little nervous, I guess," I answer softly. "What if I'm asked something that I can't answer, and then they think I'm psychotic or something?"
Lana laughs. "No one is going to think you're psychotic, Hudson. They'll just chalk it up to you being a surly teenager, I'm sure. You never know – this could turn out to be a good thing. Maybe it will help to talk over the normal, every day teenager issues with someone, so you can deal with your special issues on your own."
"Special issues? Lana, you're already making me sound like a basket case."
"You said it, Hudson. Not me."
I stick my tongue out at her.
1:35PM
It's hard not to be a little jealous when I see all of the girls lining up for the girl's basketball try-outs. I mean, I'm not particularly fond of basketball as a sport, and can't imagine being totally dedicated to it, but that doesn't mean I don't wish I could join in, be a member of the team. Be noticed. There's nothing wrong with working on the school paper, it's a step above being a 'band buddy', which thankfully I have no musical talent whatsoever so it was never even considered as an option.
Coach Barrett is the girl's basketball coach. He's the freshman and sophomore gym teacher, and he also teaches Social Studies. He's the only teacher at Smallville High that regularly wears shorts to teach his class in, even in the middle of winter. And you can bribe him if you're late to class or decide to cut class by bringing him Krispy Kreme donuts. I've never met a student who didn't really like him.
"Coach B?" I call out as I approach the stands where he is resting one foot on the first row while watching some of the potential players.
"Kent." He nods as I walk up to him. "Here to try out finally?"
I shake my head regretfully. "No. I'm doing a story on the try-outs for the Torch."
"Damn shame," he replies, standing straight to talk to me. "You tower over more than eighty percent of the girls here. You'd be a natural."
It's nice to hear. "Sadly, I'm not very graceful, Coach. I'd just trip over my own feet constantly, and embarrass the team."
"We'd knock that right out of you." The coach slaps me on the shoulder as he moves past and blows the whistle around his neck. He looks back and tells me, "Stick around, write your story. And maybe I can convince you to give it a shot in the interim."
Smiling, I pull out my notebook and climb up to the third row to sit and watch as Coach Barrett begins dividing the potentials into groups for try-outs. He sets up two teams and pits them against one another, occasionally stopping the game to replace a player, mixing them up until he seems to find the perfect set. Then he pulls one of the groups out and starts all over again. I make a few notes on my paper as to who is present for try-outs, and who I remember from last year's team before quickly losing interest and doodling in the margins. It's one thing to play a sport; it's entirely another to watch try-outs for it. I think Chloe is giving me these kind of assignments to punish me for quitting last year or something.
"Hi, Hudson. Haven't seen you around the gym in a while."
I glance up to see Miss Watson walking up the bleachers to sit beside me. I give her a quick smile. "I've been… wrapped up in other things."
"That's too bad. I keep hoping each year that you'll decide to try-out for the cheerleading squad again."
The thought that she still wants me is kind of thrilling. And tempting, as well. I know that I once said it wasn't important to me anymore, and it really isn't; popularity isn't exactly the highest priority on my agenda. But it would still be fun to be a part of something, to get to know some of my classmates a little better before high school ends and we all move off into our own lives. As it is, the only people I get to know out of my circle of friends are the ones trying to kill me. And those really aren't the kind of memories I want to take with me from my high school years.
"It would be fun," I tell her honestly. "But I don't know if it's for me."
"Well, you'll never know until you try," Miss Watson responds with a smile. "Besides, you're far too bright and likeable to fade into the woodwork like you tend to do. You should be enjoying your high school years, Hudson. Making the most of them."
There's this sneaking suspicion in me that Principal Reynolds has been talking to her. Maybe he's been talking to all of the extracurricular instructors at Smallville High, and next someone will ask me to play on the football team. After all, such a thing isn't totally unheard of in middle Kansas.
"Maybe next year," I lie.
"I'm going to hold you to that," she replies with a smile, patting my knee before she gets up and walks off toward the exit.
Great. Basketball, cheerleading, and counseling. My parents will be so thrilled.
I return my attention to the try-outs, silently making my own picks of which students seem to be the most talented, and those who seem most enthusiastic about playing. There are a few who appear to have never played before, but are showing a natural talent that Coach Barrett is obviously taking an interest in. I recognize two of them, though I think the third is a sophomore. Sometimes, when I sit here and watch my classmates, dressed in their gym shorts and ponytails, and I think of Lex and the time I spend with him – one situation simply doesn't correlate with the other. It's like I live two different lives, as two different people. There's H.C. Kent – quiet student, beloved daughter, deliverer of produce and all-around likeable girl. And then there's Hudson Kent – one-time girlfriend to Lex Luthor, sort of pretty alien with superpowers who likes to run around and save people, and capable of wreaking unexpected havoc when slipped a chunk of red meteor rock.
It's a miracle I don't often confuse the two.
Certain that I have all that I need until the Coach releases his picks for the team, I pack my notebook and pen into my backpack and stand to head back to the Torch office. I still have some time before my session with the school counselor to copy Lana's notes from History and maybe get caught up on my Science homework.
I skirt the edge of the basketball court along the wall, making my way toward the gym doors when I hear a cracking sound above me. Turning, I look up toward the backboard above me, just as one of the girls makes a dunk shot into the hoop. The bolts on the poll either loosen or snap and suddenly the board is falling toward my unsuspecting classmate.
Tossing my backpack away, I race toward her, slowing just as I reach her to push her out of the way of danger. I feel the backboard glance off of my shoulder before it hits the ground, the wood splintering across the floor.
"Kent!"
I turn to see Coach Barrett is sprinting toward us as I reach out to help the girl – I think her name is Samantha – to her feet.
"Kent, are you all right?" He demands.
I nod. "Yeah. Fine."
"But I could have sworn that thing hit you." He reaches out to turn me around, checking my back.
I glance over at Samantha, who thankfully seems to shaken to have seen anything. "No, Coach. Nothing hit me. It was close, though."
He frowns as he turns me back around. "Too close. That was a brave thing to do, but stupid, too." The coach glances at Samantha. "You okay, Howell?"
"Y-yeah." She nods, eyes wide as she looks at the shattered backboard, and then at me. "Thanks for pushing me out of the way, H.C."
I give her a smile. "No problem. By the way, nice dunk."
She grins and I turn to collect my backpack when the coach calls out," Kent? You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Fine, Coach." I give him a quick wave before hurrying out of the gym.
2:50PM
The counselor's office is sparse and small, causing me to feel slightly claustrophobic. The shelves are empty, the desk uncluttered, but there are boxes in the corner that lead me to believe the person is new to Smallville High. I also get the feeling that I'm they're first victim. Or whatever. I sure as hell don't want to refer to myself as a patient. I'm just a student who missed a few days, and there is absolutely no reason for me to be here!
Repressing the urge to just get up and walk out considering the consequences of that action would likely be worse, I pull at a thread on my tennis shoes and squirm in the leather chair. The blinds behind the desk are open, and I can see into the parking lot as it fills with students getting into their cars or on the bus to head home. A few are hanging out, sitting on tailgates of pickup trucks, talking and laughing, sneaking cigarettes here and there. I envy them. Hell, I even envy my fellow classmates who are currently sitting in detention.
"Miss Kent? Hudson?"
I turn in the chair to see a man enter through the door behind me, the file that had previously been sitting on Principal Reynold's desk in his hand. He glances down at me, flashes a quick smile as I nod, and then pushes his glasses up on his nose as he moves around behind the desk.
Silently, I examine him, while he does the same to me, though more discreetly, pretending to look through the file when, in fact, his eyes are watching me. He's wearing the most horrid sweater vest known to humankind – it's bad enough that he's wearing one at all, but this particular abomination is in putrid shades of green, yellow and brown. His hair is kind of long, and parted down the middle, causing me to want to refer to him as Moe. I'll probably refrain from doing so, though, because behind the extremely thick bifocal glasses, he's kind of cute, in a Trekkie kind of way.
He finally closes the folder and meets my gaze, offering another small smile. "I'm Dr. Jones, but please feel free to call me J.J."
"Can I call you Indiana, instead?" I ask innocently.
Doctor Jones, or J.J., frowns in apparent confusion. "Pardon?"
Not only does he wear sweater vests, but he isn't up on his pop culture. Sad.
"Nothing." I shrug and slump further into my chair.
"Have you ever visited with a counselor before, Hudson?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Well, I don't want you to worry. I'm harmless." He smiles at his little joke, though it quickly fades when I don't respond. He makes another attempt at gaining my trust by telling me, "I'm new to Smallville. Just moved here last week. It seems like a nice little town. The people are certainly friendly."
"It's okay, I guess."
"Have you lived here all of your life?"
I nod. "My parents have a farm that's been in my dad's family for three generations." I frown as I realize he just succeeded in getting me to speak a full sentence.
"You're adopted, is that correct?"
"What's that have to do with anything?"
J.J. quickly shakes his head and gives me an apologetic smile. "Nothing. I'm just making conversation, Hudson. That's what these sessions are about – talking."
"You're not going to ask me what my childhood was like or anything, are you?"
He chuckles. "Only if you want me to. For now, I think we should just try to get to know one another. It'll make talking a little easier, don't you think?"
"I guess."
I toe the bottom of the desk in front of me for a moment while he continues to watch me. There's something unsettling about him, and I can't quite put my finger on it. I could swear that we've met before, but I would think I'd remember anyone that looked like him. I don't know what it is exactly about Dr. Jones that is making me feel this way, but there's this part of me that I can feel already beginning to trust him, and there's this other part of me that feels he's a threat to me. Maybe it's just the potential of alternately having someone I can talk to who, at the same time, could easily destroy my life if I told him too much.
"Would you like to ask me any questions?"
I consider that, knowing that he phrased it as a question to be nice, when in reality he's demanding that I ask him questions. It's the same psychology all adults like to pull, to make you think that you're in control, when in truth it's the exact opposite. Lex uses it all of the damn time.
"What made you decide to move to Smallville?" I ask curiously.
"That's a good question." He seems mildly surprised. "I wanted to go somewhere a little more quiet and peaceful than the city had to offer."
"I'd think counseling students about bringing guns to school and joining gangs would be infinitely more interesting than discussing their cow-tipping practices."
"I get the feeling there's a lot more going on in the lives of Smallville High's students than just cow-tipping," he comments quietly, eyebrows raising slightly as he regards me.
I shift uncomfortably as he continues, "I've been reading some of the back issues of your school paper, the Torch. There are some interesting stories there." J.J. pauses. "You're a staff member, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Kind of."
"Do you enjoy writing?"
I shrug. "Yeah. I guess. My friend, Chloe, runs the paper. And I kind of do it as a favor to her, since no one else wants to. She's the real reporter. All I'm really good at is sentence structure. She always accuses me of burying the lead, though."
The doctor laughs, and I find myself allowing a slight smile in response. "Do you think this is something you might want to do as a career?"
"No. I don't know. It's not like it's a passion of mine or anything," I tell him.
"What is a passion of yours?"
Lex Luthor.
"Hmmmm… I don't think there's anything I'm really passionate about."
Besides Lex. Well, and taking care of the people I love.
"You're young," he replies with a nod. "You still have time." Another pause as he watches me again, and then, "Do you have a boyfriend, Hudson?"
I suppose that's a harmless question.
"I did," I answer. "We… well, things just didn't work out and we broke it off last year. He, uh… " I don't really need to get into specifics. "We're friends now, though. In fact, he's my best friend."
"I was going to say, it must be tough to see someone you obviously cared about every day at school – "
"Oh, well, he isn't in school. He's… um, older."
"He's in college?"
"Well, no." I swallow and tell him, "He's graduated. He works for his dad. He's… uh, Lex Luthor, actually."
J.J. raises an eyebrow at me. "I think I remember reading something in the paper about a year ago or so. You were at a club together? So, you're that Hudson Kent?"
I force a smile. "Uh, yep. That's me."
He nods, continues to eye me thoughtfully. "It couldn't have been easy, dating someone so much older than you. Not to mention the simple fact of who he is. And the life he leads must be far different from your own."
He's starting to sound like my parents. And every other person who has ever judged the relationship Lex and I have shared. "We worked it out," I respond stiffly. "We've never really noticed those things about each other."
"I see." J.J. glances down at the folder beneath his hands, quietly formulating his next question. "Was his marriage last Spring a factor in your decision to run away?"
Wow. I really walked into that one, didn't I?
"No," I reply quickly.
J.J. stares at me, silently.
"Well, maybe. Partly," I add. "But there were a lot of other things going on in my life that you wouldn't understand."
"Hudson, I know that when you're young it's difficult to believe, but everyone has been a teenager, including myself." He smiles patiently. "You'd be surprised at how much I'd understand."
"You'd be surprised at how much you wouldn't," I snap, and inwardly curse at myself for responding. That was stupid.
Now he's really curious. I can see the questions forming in his eyes, but I think he's realized that I've reached my limit. I don't really want to talk about any of this anymore. Especially if he's going to continue to dwell on my summer in Metropolis. I don't need anyone to remind me of the mistakes I've made. All I need to do is look in the mirror, listening to the thoughts in my head, see my parents or my friends – it all comes back to me. No counselor, no matter what degrees they might hold, is going to sit there and tell me that what I did was wrong. I already know that. And I'm the only one suffering the consequences.
"You know, I kind of need to get home," I tell him. "My parents didn't know I had to stay after school, and they're expecting me to get my chores done."
Doctor Jones seems to consider this, and for a moment I think he's going to deny me, but then he nods and leans back in his chair. "Very well, Hudson. I think we've had a good start." He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pad of paper, scribbling onto the lines printed into it. "I want to meet with you again next week, same day, same time. Be sure to alert your parents ahead of time that you'll be late. All right?" He holds the appointment slip out to me.
Frowning, I take it from him, glance over his barely-legible scribbles, and shove it into my pocket. "Yeah. Sure."
I plan on having my parents get me out of these stupid sessions anyway.
3:51PM
Mom and Dad are in the barn when I get home, still laboring over emptying the boxes that were packed up, and deciding what to throw away. I made a comment the other day that we should be forced to sell the place more often, just to clean out the junk that gets collected. Unfortunately, neither of them thought my joke was very funny.
"Where've you been?" Dad asks as I enter the barn, tossing my backpack onto the work bench. "You were supposed to be home an hour ago."
"I had to stay after school," I explain.
"You didn't get detention again, did you?" Mom flashes me a worried look.
I sigh and pull open a box to begin emptying. "I wish. No, I was late to school this morning – "
"Why were you late?" My dad demands, turning to fix me with a stern gaze. "Lex was driving you – "
"I made him stop because the Miller's barn was on fire."
"I heard about that." Mom offers a smile in my direction. "Luckily, they didn't lose their horses, and now I see that's due to you."
I shake my head. "No, they didn't. But, the detour made me late, and Principal Reynolds was there when I walked in and, well… " Sighing, I move over to my backpack and dig through it for the letter he gave me. Shamefully, I hand it over to my dad.
Turning back to the box, I busy myself putting tools away on the wall over the workbench while my parents read over Principal Reynolds letter. I hear a grunt from my father, and a mew of sympathy from Mom. Unfortunately, they seem to be suppressing the expressions of outrage I was hoping to hear. I lean back against the bench to watch them, waiting for some vindication in my distress at the day's events.
"I think this is a good idea, H.C.," my mom begins, taking the letter from my dad to read over it again before lifting her eyes to mine. "We could all use someone to talk to."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I respond, holding my hands out. "I can't talk to anyone, Mom! You know that. And besides, I'm not crazy!"
"Seeing a counselor doesn't make you crazy, H.C." She laughs. "And while you can't talk to the doctor about certain issues regarding your life – "
"You mean, the alien issues?"
She ignores me and continues, "You can at least talk about school and friends and the usual problems associated with being a teenager."
"But all of those 'usual' problems," I reply with air quotes. "Are tightly wrapped up in those certain issues."
Mom laughs at my careful response, making me frown. I turn to my dad, instead.
"Dad, surely you see how this can't be a good thing, right?"
He rubs a hand over his face, sighing softly, and I'm already dreading his reply.
"Well, H.C., your mom may be right about this. Now, before you go getting yourself all worked up, just hear me out." He waves the letter toward me. "Principal Reynolds has obviously taken an interest in you, and the best thing we could do is just to go along with it, meet with this counselor, answer his questions and have done with it. We don't need to draw any more undue attention to you, H.C. And if your mom and I step in and refuse to allow you to attend these sessions, it might come back to bite us in the you-know-what."
My mouth moves for a moment before I realize nothing is coming out. I'm in shock at his reply. I was certain this would be something they'd back me on. "But… what if he asks me questions I can't answer?"
"I think as long as you keep him focused on school and your social interactions with friends, everything should be fine, H.C.," Mom assures me. "He has no reason to expect that your problems stem from anything other than usual teenage things. If he asks about why you ran away, there's no need to bring up Jor-El or the red Kryptonite."
"Your mom's right, H.C.," my dad agrees with a nod. "It would be safer if you just played along with this. I doubt it will continue very long. They just want to make certain that you aren't going to flunk out of high school, and frankly, I'd like to be certain of the same thing."
"I'm not going to flunk out," I mutter.
My mom walks up to me and gives me a hug, laughing softly. "Don't let it worry you. I'm sure you'll only be expected to attend a few sessions, at most." She pulls back and smiles. "I take it you had your first session today? Was the counselor nice?"
"Yeah. I guess." I shrug. "He seemed familiar somehow, though I can't quite put my finger on it. Anyway, his name is Doctor Jones. We talked about Lex, mostly."
"Is that so?" Dad raises his eyebrows, mouth tightening.
"There you go." Mom pats my arm. "Focusing on boyfriends is what any normal teenage girl would do."
"Except that Lex Luthor is far from the kind of boyfriend any normal teenage girl would have," my dad grunts.
"Oh, speaking of Lex, he called and left a message asking if you'd like to have dinner at the mansion tonight," Mom informs me as she starts out of the barn.
"Can I?" I glance at both her and my dad.
They exchange a quick look, one of those soundless conversations that has everything to do with living together for years and not wanting their daughter to hear what they really want to say. Invariably, my dad will look like he wants to say no, my mom will raise her eyebrows in encouragement and nod a little, he'll sigh and look away, and I'll flash them both one of my ultra-pleading expressions. Rarely have they ever denied me after one of their silent conversations, and it makes me wonder why we don't just skip straight to giving me what I want, and not waste time trying to make hand signals with our eyes.
It must be a parental thing.
They seem to be taking longer than usual to decide, and I'm sure it's because of the letter I just handed them. So, I add, "I missed History this morning because of being in the principal's office and it's on the Roman Empire, which Lex can help me out with. Plus, in English I have – "
"All right, all right," Dad finally agrees, throwing his hands up in resignation. "You can go to Lex's after you finish your chores and help your mom get dinner ready. But you'd better get an 'A' on your next History exam."
I grin. "Yes, sir!"
5:02PM
I blame habit for making me enter the mansion through the kitchen door. Ever since I returned to Smallville, I've been hoping to see Dodd, to question him about our encounter in Metropolis. That moment is still in there, with all of the other junk that's crowding my memories, and I want so badly to ask him about it, to ask him what he is, how it was that he could dematerialize like he did, and fly. Is he like me? Are we both Kryptonians? Or was he just affected by the meteors like so many others? If I'd been in my right mind, I would have questioned him then, instead of simply chasing him away. And now, it seems, I may never have the chance to get the answers I seek because he hasn't returned to Smallville.
There's an older guy who's in the kitchen now, a chef from Chicago named Sal. He's overweight and smiles a lot and always seems as if he's been getting into Lex's wine cellar. His apparent love for cooking with garlic will certainly keep the vampires clear of the mansion, if nothing else, and he seems determined to fatten Lex up -- which is a good thing considering he generally forgets to eat most of the time. I also have to give the guy props for his spaghetti which is ten times better than the stuff Dodd used to make.
"There's the little farm girl!" Sal greets loudly, giving me a big smile. I swear, one of these days he's going to start hugging me or something. "Lex informed me that you would be joining us for dinner. I was going to make chicken parmesan but do you know what he told me? That he is ordering out, instead!"
I smile at the indignation in his voice. "Lex doesn't do it often. Consider it a well-deserved vacation."
"Hmph," he snorts loudly. "Can I get you something to drink? A snack?"
"No, thanks." I wave at him as I hurry through the kitchen toward the hall. "I'd better wait to see what Lex has planned for dinner. Talk to you later, Sal!"
Lex is sitting at his desk when I walk into the study, frowning at something on his monitor. I toss my backpack onto the couch before approaching the desk.
"Where's Dodd?"
He glances up at me, and frowns some more. "Well, hello to you too, Hudson. My day was fine. How was yours?"
I roll my eyes. "Hi. It sucked. But seriously, where is he?"
Not even a minute in his presence and already he looks exasperated. I think that's a new record for me.
"I don't know, Hudson." He leans back in his chair. "Apparently Helen must have had him fired. I haven't seen or heard from him since I returned from the island. Why?"
I shrug. No reason to tell Lex anything if Dodd never did. "No reason. Just missed him. Sal's kind of… well, off-his-rocker, you know?"
"Not to mention he puts away a good deal of my wine," Lex mumbles.
I grin and sit down in the chair across from him. "So, what's for dinner?"
"I guess I should be thankful that wasn't the first question out of your mouth."
"Oh, ha. You're about as funny as a chunk of meteor rock, Lex."
He gives me a look that's impossible to interpret, and I find myself wondering if this is how our relationship will be from now on. I'm never really going to know what he's thinking, and I'll second guess everything, and he'll be equally certain that I'm always keeping things from him, or that there's a hidden meaning behind everything I say. It's like walking on egg shells, and I hate it. But, I tell myself again that I have to give it time; I have to give us time. I can't expect everything to magically be better overnight.
"We're having sushi," he responds finally, nodding toward the corner.
I follow his gaze to see a little table set up that I hadn't noticed on the way in. "Sushi?" I make a face. "The last time we had that, you made me drink acetone."
"That was saki, Hudson. And you don't have to drink it if you don't want to." He pauses as I turn back to face him, and inclines his head toward the couch. "I take it you have homework?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, mostly I just had to give my parents a good excuse for coming over." I stretch my legs out in front of me and settle down into the chair. "But, if you feel yourself longing for a little reminiscing of your time in high school, you could give me a lecture on the fall of the Roman Empire, or help me pick a poem to read and decipher to the class."
Lex smiles, standing to move over to the bar and pour himself a glass of scotch. "Sounds like you had quite a day."
"You don't know the half of it!" I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand. "When I arrived this morning, Reynolds was waiting for me, like some predator ready to pounce. And then you know what he does? He tells me I have to start seeing a counselor! Can you believe it? Like I'm crazy or something!"
"I'd think Reynolds was conversing with my father, if I didn't know how much he hated him."
"Huh?"
Lex turns to face me, leaning back against the bar. "My father made the same request of me. He's claiming that Luthorcorp's insurance company won't sign off on me because of everything I've recently experienced. I'm a risk. And they want me to see a psychiatrist."
I can't help but find the humor in the situation, and smile up at him. "Well, I guess we might as well be crazy together, huh?"
"You can be crazy without me," he replies. "I told my father where to stick it."
I laugh. "Oh, I can't imagine he liked that at all. What'd he do?"
Lex shrugs. "He hasn't done anything yet, though I imagine he may decide that I can't work for him. And I'm reaching the point that I don't really give a damn anymore, not if I have to keep jumping through all of these hoops to do it." He takes a sip of his scotch before asking, "What about you? I can't imagine that your parents would agree to such a thing, considering."
"That's what I thought," I tell him with a sigh. "But they think it will be a good idea, and maybe they have a point. If we argue against it, it might raise more suspicions or they'd send child services after me or something. I guess I shouldn't go rocking any boats or anything until I'm at least eighteen."
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sure you're getting a lot of this undo attention from Reynolds because of me."
"I'm sure running away and missing the first week of school this year didn't help any."
"It's possible." Lex glances up as one of his housestaff enters the room.
"Mr. Luthor, your dinner has arrived. Shall I have it brought in here?"
Lex nods and I get to my feet to grab a bottle of water from the small refrigerator.
"Hungry?" He asks me as I move to stand beside him and watch as two Asian men enter, carrying a stack of containers between them.
"Even acetone is better than nothing," I reply with a grin.
"Brat," he mutters before taking my hand and pulling me toward the table.
7:35PM
"So, then he burnt this… symbol into my chest. It stands for the House of El – my father's family, I guess. And he told me I had to obey him or everyone I cared about would be hurt." I sigh and pick up my chopsticks to play with the tuna sashimi on my plate. "That was when I got the bright idea to destroy the ship, in the hope that it would make him go away."
Lex has been silent the last few minutes, simply listening to me as I fill him in on some of the gaps regarding who and what I am. He takes a sip of saki, brow creasing slightly in a frown as he reclines back across some silk pillows, still watching me. He's like some king regarding his subject, and god there are times when I think my heart will burst with love for him.
"And that didn't turn out very well," he comments softly.
"Not beyond putting a huge crater in the ground, knocking out the power around town and killing my mom's baby."
"That wasn't your fault, Hudson. You need to stop blaming yourself."
"That's… not an easy thing to do."
Lex reaches out and lays his hand over mine. The tips of his fingers are warm, and caress my skin gently. "I know. Sometimes guilt seems like the lesser evil, as opposed to admitting you made a mistake and moving on."
It's another one of those traits we have in common, Lex and I. Ever since the day we met at the bridge, I've known he wears his guilt for various infractions like a mantle around him, protecting him from admitting to the fact that he might be just as fallible as anyone else. And only recently have I come to realize that I do the same, that maybe I hold myself on some higher plane because I have these super abilities and I should be more careful and I shouldn't allow the people around me to be hurt, ever. My mom and dad would tell me that being an alien doesn't mean I have to hold myself to higher standards than everyone else around me. For some reason, I really don't think Lex holds that same opinion. After all, if, as a Luthor, he should be so different, than certainly he believes the same of someone who isn't even human?
And that just worries me that I won't always be able to live up to his expectations, now that he knows the truth.
"I talked about you… well, us, with Dr. Jones today," I admit quietly, my hand turning over beneath his to catch his fingers between mine.
"I thought my ears were burning." Lex allows a small smile. "What did you tell him?"
I shrug. "Just that we've never really looked at the huge differences that exist between our lives and ages and stuff. It's not like I can admit to the whole different species thing."
"Mmm. If you did, he'd probably think I was the one who wasn't human."
"Does it bother you?" I ask, meeting his gaze. "I mean, do you find it creepy or anything?"
His fingers squeeze mine. "No. Nothing like that." He sets his empty cup to the side and sits up, facing me. "It's fascinating, actually; how you're so strong and invulnerable, yet you're one of the most gentle people I've ever known."
"I'm not always gentle," I remind him.
Lex frowns, and nods slightly, gaze turning inward as he grows silent and thoughtful. I want to ask him what he's thinking, but a part of me is afraid to hear it. He's still working all of this stuff out in his mind, and I can only imagine what half of his thoughts are. It's not like I probably haven't thought of them myself, but it's still a little frightening to know that he's sitting there, contemplating the fact that I'm an alien and I can perform all of these feats of strength and speed and really, when it comes right down to it, no one can stop me.
That's my greatest fear. And I wonder, too, if that same fear doesn't live in the hearts of my parents, and Lana, and Lex.
As if uncomfortable by the sudden silence between us, Lex shifts, pulling away from me and climbing to his feet. He holds his hand out to help me up.
"So, what is this homework you need to do?" He asks, moving over to the couch where he sits and watches me.
"It's for English." I follow him over and open my backpack, rifling through it for the worksheet with the information on the project. "We were supposed to find a poem that 'speaks' to us or whatever, present it to the class, and explain what it means to us." I pull out a book and hand it to him. "This was something I checked out of the library but everything in it is so stupid. None of it means anything to me, that's for certain."
Lex chuckles as he reads, "'Best Loved Poems of the American People'." He glances over at me and shakes his head. "You can't really expect to find a poem with any meaning in a compilation, Hudson. Most of these are nursery rhymes to read to a child."
I roll my eyes. "I tried reading through one of Lana's books… Donne somebody or other – "
"John Donne."
"Yeah. Him. But it put me to sleep. I slept right through Lab today."
"Reading a poem silently instead of saying a poem is like the difference between staring at sheet music and actually humming or playing the music on an instrument," Lex responds, and I can tell by his voice and inflection that it's another quote.
I make a face. "So you're trying to tell me that if I read these stupid things out loud, they'll somehow sound better?"
Lex watches me silently for a long moment, and then begins, "Her mind is Tiffany twisted, she's got the Mercedes Benz, she's got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends. How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat, some dance to remember, some dance to forget."
"Wait. I know that." I frown as I think it over, repeating the words in my head before it finally hits me, and I glare at Lex. "Hey! That's 'Hotel California'."
He nods. "Sounds a little different when not paired with music, doesn't it? Maybe not as appealing?"
"I didn't know you listened to the Eagles."
"Show me a fifteen-year old teenager that hasn't," he responds as he stands and moves toward the book shelves near the door. "But that's not the point, Hudson."
"You mean, you have one?"
He pauses to give me one of his trademark 'You will bow before the wrath of me!' looks, before continuing, "Lyrics need music, just like poetry needs to be spoken aloud to have it's greatest impact."
"Oh." I glance at the book from the library and doubt that any of those could be saved by being read out loud.
"Here." Lex walks back over to the couch, sitting beside me and handing me another book, open to a specific page. "This was my mother's favorite."
"Leaves of Grass." I nod. "I remember you telling me about it. Walt Whitman, right?" I ask, checking the cover.
"Yes. This particular poem… " Lex hesitates and I glance up to find him watching me. His mouth tightens into a thin line as he admits, "It reminds me of you."
"Me?" My voice most certainly did not just squeak!
"Read it."
He stands and moves toward the bar, away from me, and I can see the tension in the set of his shoulders. He just gave away one of those secrets he so often closely guards. A little shiver runs through me and I glance down at the page.
"Aloud, Hudson," he reminds me from across the room.
"Oh. Right." I take a breath, and begin, "Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you. Your true Soul and Body appear before me. They stand forth out of affairs—out of commerce, shops, law, science, work, forms, clothes, the house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying…"
I pause, frowning, and suddenly Lex is standing over me, hand cupping my chin, continuing in a hushed voice, "Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you."
Swallowing at the sudden warmth in the room, I look back down at the poem quickly, noting he said each word perfectly. The next stanza catches my eye and I find myself reciting to him, "O I have been dilatory and dumb; I should have made my way straight to you long ago; I should have blabb'd nothing but you," I raise my eyes back to his and whisper, "I should have chanted nothing but you."
Lex's fingers are stroking my jaw line now, and it's the damned anticipation that's killing me. I know that look in his eyes, I've seen it so many times before, but I didn't believe it would ever be focused on me again. I thought that maybe I'd killed it between my lies and the truth. Except now he's looking at me just like he did earlier with the sushi, like he's going to play with me for a bit, stroke me with his chopsticks and catch me on his tongue and swallow me down all in one bite. And I'm using every ounce of control I have stored up within me not to be the one to make the first move, to just sweep him up in my arms and race for his bedroom and take everything that has been denied to me for so long. I quietly school myself to wait, though, because I know that Lex needs to be in control here. If I take that away from him now, I may never get him back.
Lex crouches down in front of me, glass of scotch held carelessly in the hand between his legs while the other continues to stroke my jaw, fingers trailing down my neck.
"I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of you; None have understood you, but I understand you; None have done justice to you—you have not done justice to yourself; None but have found you imperfect—I only find no imperfection in you; None but would subordinate you—I only am he who will never consent to subordinate you; I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself."
I suck in a sharp breath at the words of the poem, and then his mouth is on mine and everything else is forgotten. He presses my legs apart, situating himself between my thighs while his hand curls in my hair and tugs me close. For a moment, I wish that I could feel pain, just to know what it's like to have him holding me like this, so possessively, and angrily. I can feel the heat of his remaining anger emanating from his skin, and I pretend that it burns me, like my father branded me with his name. Beneath Lex's onslaught, all I can do is respond; it's all that I want to do.
God, I'd forgotten how completely I belong to him.
"Lex… " I want to tell him it's okay to hurt me, that I deserve no less. "Lex… "
"Shhh." His teeth clamp down on my lower lip and he pulls until I meet his gaze.
"Don't ruin this," he whispers before kissing me again, gentling only slightly as if fearing he might have caused me pain.
I know he's right. Any words spoken now would only destroy what I know we both desperately want. There's been enough of recriminations, of guilt and accusations passed between us. What really matters is that we're past all of that; we've made it, we're here now, and we both still want and need each other.
9:52PM
I stomp into the kitchen and toss my backpack into the corner before toeing off my tennis shoes. It's tempting to slam the door behind me, but the kitchen light is off and it's quiet in the house, which means my parents are likely in bed. The last thing I need to do is wake my dad up and have him asking me all kinds of questions about homework and what happened over at the mansion. Especially when I'm just mad enough to tell him the truth.
Moving toward the front room to turn off the light my parents left on for me, I stop when I see my mom sitting in the easy chair, reading a book. She looks up and gives me a weary smile.
"Hi, honey. You're home early."
I look around for my dad as I plop onto the couch. "Yeah. Where's Dad?"
"He went to bed early." Mom sets her book on the end table, pausing for a moment before she adds, "He gets tired so easily lately. Ever since Jor-El… "
She trails off and that familiar flash of guilt echoes through me. I've noticed the same changes that she has, but I've tried to pretend they weren't really there. Dad sleeps a lot more than he used to, and sometimes during chores I'll see him just stop, and stand some where, like he's resting. It scares me; I'm so used to my dad being the hardest working person I've ever known.
"How was your evening?" Mom asks in a thinly veiled attempt to change the subject.
I shake my head. "Men are asses and I don't see the point in their existence."
My mom laughs. "I take that to mean you and Lex had a fight?"
"He's a jerk. And a selfish ass. And lots of other things I'd get in trouble for saying."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I rub at my eyes, sighing. "I don't know. I guess. It's just… it's like he's never going to let the fact that I kept the truth from him for so long go…."
The kissing had been nice. More than nice. I was all prepared to tell my parents that the homework took longer than I thought it would when Lex suddenly pulled away and stood up. He turned and moved toward his desk, and told me over his shoulder, "Well, I think you've found a poem you can work with."
I just sat there, like a bump on a log, unable to think of anything to say. Lex sat down at his desk and focused his attention on the monitor; I pulled out my notebook and began copying the poem. This continued for the next hour, this strained silence between us until I just wanted to jump up and scream at the top of my lungs. When I finally moved from the couch to put the book of poetry away, I seemed to find my voice again and marched over to confront him.
"Why did you do that?" I demanded.
He just smiled at me, like he does when he's inordinately pleased with himself and pissed off at the same time, and he replied, "Now you know how it feels to be teased, to have something dangled in front of you and yet, never quite getting it."
I thought my head was going to explode. "I gave the damned truth, Lex. What more do you want from me?"
Lex shrugged. "Maybe one day you'll get lucky, and I'll give in, too…."
"So I called him an ass and left," I tell her, concluding my story.
My mom shakes her head, smiling at me as she reaches out to pat my knee. "You learned your subtlety from your father, didn't you?"
"Well, seriously, Mom. It was rude."
"I'm not defending what he did, H.C., or his behavior in all of this. But I do think you need to take a moment with each of his outbursts to think how all of this must be making him feel. Aren't you the one always telling me that until you came along, Lex really had no one in his life he could trust? And then he even has that one person ripped away from him when he finds out you've been keeping this secret from him for so long. He's not going to just 'get over it' because you want him to."
I sigh, digging my toes into the rug beneath the coffee table as I think about what she's saying. "I know you're right. It's just… I'm so ready for everything to be okay between us and I think he knows that and now he's just using it to get back at me."
Mom flashes me a sympathetic look. "Sadly, I don't think he's been taught any other way to react, H.C. The only acceptable way to express your hurt is to hurt that person back." She pauses and purses her lips. "Sometimes I can't believe I worked for that monster of a father of his."
"I think it's hard for any of us to accept that Lionel Luthor really is as bad as the rumors say." I meet her gaze. "But Lex isn't like him, Mom."
She hesitates a moment before giving me a small smile and nodding. "I know, honey." Standing, she reaches behind the chair to turn out the light. "Come on. Let's get to bed. Maybe you can actually try to make it to school on time tomorrow?"
I say goodnight to my mother in the hall before heading into my bedroom and shutting the door behind me. Of course, I know she's right when it comes to giving Lex the time he needs to forgive me and allow us to move on. I do think we took a great step tonight when I allowed him complete control of the situation - even if I didn't respond very well by the end of it. Still, it's frustrating because I miss him so much. Having him kiss me tonight was just like that feeling you get when you've gone all day without food and you suddenly remember you haven't eaten and now you're starving and you take that first bite and swear it was the best thing you've ever tasted. And I totally don't think I'm exaggerating because Lex's kisses are just like that. I could live off of them.
As I change into my nightshirt, I imagine that – being a part of Lex's life day in and day out, kissing him whenever the need and desire strikes me, never having to go home, and knowing that he'll always be there. I can lay here in bed, and think about being married to him, and still be angry as hell at the way he treated me tonight. I guess that's what love is like. I guess that's why we continue to make it through so much together. I don't think it's possible for us to ever give up on each other.
The phone rings, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I jump to grab it before it wakes my father up.
"Hello?" I glance at the clock, wondering who would be calling this late.
"Hudson."
I consider hanging up on him, and I know that's about as childish a response as I could possibly conceive. Sure, my mom was right in that he has good reason to still be angry with me but I just hope, for his sake, that no one slips me any red Kryptonite as long as he keeps this crap up. I'd be far too tempted to get my own revenge in on his ass.
"Lex," I respond stiffly, laying back against the bed to stare up at the ceiling. "What do you want?"
I'm sure it's more than I could possibly hope for to hear an apology from him.
"What happened tonight… things got out of hand, Hudson."
"Oh? So, now you're going to just take it all back? Pretend it never happened?" I ask, unable to stave off the hurt and anger. A part of me wonders if maybe he doesn't really care about me like he once did, and I've simply been tricked into believing it.
"No, I didn't say that," he responds calmly. "What happened – it's what I wanted. I took what I wanted, do you understand that, Hudson? And I'd do the same damn thing again if given the chance.
"I miss touching you, Angel," he admits, albeit grudgingly by the tone of his voice. "I've missed the warmth of your mouth. And I would have taken it further but I realized what I was doing wasn't for the right reasons. I was still too angry with you. That's what I mean when I say things got out of hand."
Tears burn my eyes and throat. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. "You're going to hate me for the rest of my life because I lied to you, aren't you?"
"Dammit, Hudson," Lex snaps in frustration. "I don't hate you – God, not even close! My feelings for you haven't changed, but that doesn't make any of this any easier. Can't you understand that?"
I roll over onto my side, cradling the phone close to my cheek as I close my eyes. "Yes," I whisper, trying to understand what he's feeling. I know I can only marginally begin to do so. "I wish that it wasn't all so complicated."
Lex makes a noise of agreement. "Yes, it is complicated, Angel. But you were the one that taught me how to have faith in us. I find myself hoping that you haven't abandoned that now?"
"No!" I tell him earnestly, sitting up and wiping at the tears on my face. "More than anything I believe in us; I know that we can make it through this."
"Good. Because the moment Hudson Kent gives up, the world's in a lot of trouble."
I smile at his words, sniffling slightly.
"You're not crying, are you?"
"No."
Lex chuckles. "Get some sleep, Angel. I'll pick you up again in the morning."
"Okay. Uh… Lex?"
"Hmmm."
"I do love you. I hope you know that."
There's a moment of silence, and then, "Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love; But now I think there is no unreturn'd love—the pay is certain, one way or another."
My brow furrows as I try to make sense of the words. "Is that Whitman, again?"
"Goodnight, Angel," he replies.
And the phone goes dead in my ear.
