Title:
Ashamed
Part: IX
Author: Elizabeth Goode
Disclaimer: Don't
sue me. I have no
money.
Clark stretched out on his bed, thinking over the events of the day. He had slept in until 9:00, then come downstairs to eat the breakfast his father had prepared. Most of the daylight hours he had spent helping his father around the farm. The work had been therapeutic for Clark, helping to keep his mind from wandering to thoughts of Alicia. It had also been nice to spend time with his dad. He had held one end of the tractor up for close to an hour while his father repaired one of the blades and replaced a belt, and while they had worked, they had talked. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his father had carefully chosen some of the stories he had related, the underlying message being that no teenager is perfect, and that good parents love their children unconditionally. Without ever mentioning Alicia's name, Jonathan Kent had managed to convey to his son that he did not ever need to worry that his parents would react the way Alicia's had to their child having superhuman powers. One of the stories his father had told him had to do with a teenage Jonathan being caught sneaking out at night to attend a party. The way Grandpa Hiram had dealt with the situation left Clark chuckling and wishing he had known his paternal grandfather.
They had eaten ham and cheese sandwiches and leftover fruit salad for lunch, and had then resumed their work. At about three-thirty, Jonathan had called it quits on the work, stating that Clark's help had made the day's work fly past. The two Kent men had gone inside to get cleaned up, and then lounged around the house watching the Metropolis Sharks game on the television. Sometime during the game, Clark had fallen asleep on the couch, and his father had fallen asleep in the recliner.
The sound of the door swinging shut had awakened them, letting them know that Martha had returned from the coffee shop. After an excellent meal, the Kent family had cleared the table and brought out some board games to choose from.
Now, lying in his bed in warm, blue and red plaid pajamas, Clark felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. Alicia's death was still with him, still a raw, painful wound on his soul, but for the first time since her death, he was able to comprehend that his world was not entirely shattered. That his parents loved him and would continue to do so even when he made mistakes or decisions they did not understand.
Chloe's visit from the night before had also done wonders for Clark's spirit. He was now assured that Chloe would be his friend no matter what. She had proven that when she had tracked him down at the cemetery and offered her support. Somehow, knowing that he had at least one friend at school and the loving support of his parents to return home to every day eased the suffocating sense of loneliness that had become a regular part of his life. Chloe's support would make his return to school less miserable. With his thoughts leaning a little less toward the dark side for the first time in days, Clark closed his eyes and began to dream.
"No! Alicia, no ... don't be dead, you can't be dead! Alicia, you have to wake up!"
Martha was coming up the stairs to put away some freshly laundered towels when she heard her son's cry. Tears welled in her eyes at the desperation in his voice, and again the unwanted image of her devastated son cradling Alicia's lifeless body invaded her mind. She dropped the towels on the stairs and ran to Clark's room. Under normal circumstances she would never have invaded his privacy without knocking or calling out first, but her mothering instincts would not allow for such cursory politeness, not when her child was in such obvious distress.
Clark lay tangled in his sheets and blanket, tears streaking down his cheeks and soaking his pillow. "Alicia! No! Oh, God. She's dead, she's dead!"
With firm determination, Martha placed a hand on her son's arm and shook it. "Clark. Wake up, sweetheart. You have to wake up. It's just a dream!"
His eyes shot open, and he sat up with a gasp. His breathing was too fast, and he looked wildly from side to side. Martha ran a supportive arm around his shoulders. "Shh, shh, baby. It's all right, I'm here."
Clark went from rigid panic to boneless relief in mere seconds. He practically melted into his mother's arms and let out a shuddering sob. "I saw her hanging ... dead. She's dead ..."
Martha stroked his hair gently, rocking him back and forth. "You were dreaming, sweetheart."
He shook his head, "But she really is dead. I saw her. I could have saved her if I'd been there."
"Martha!"
A cry from downstairs filled the air.
"Martha! Where are you?"
"Up here, Jonathan! In Clark's room!"
Jonathan looked slightly sheepish when he found his wife and son unharmed. "The laundry on the stairs ... the overturned basket ... I thought something happened ..." He paused, taking in his son's disheveled state and the tear tracks on his cheeks. "What happened?"
Still stroking Clark's hair, Martha replied, "Nightmare. I heard him cry out and I was on my way up with the laundry."
"Sorry." Clark mumbled exhaustedly.
"No need to apologize, son. I worry because I'm your father and it's part of my job. If I'm not worrying, I'm not doing my job." He ruffled Clark's hair affectionately. "Was it about Alicia?"
Clark nodded. "I dreamed about - about when I found her."
Neither parent knew what to say to take away the hurt they so desperately wanted to take from their son. All they could do was stay with him until he fell asleep again, and hope that this time, he would be permitted to rest without fear.
