Somebody Save Me
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The pain starts again. I almost welcome it, but I know what must follow and for that I loathe the fire that spreads through my chest. Let it burn, let it burn... I grit my teeth and vow to withstand it this time, even if it kills me, because the alternative is that much worse. Screw the world. Can't stay inside. Too painful now, people will notice. I stagger out into the cold night air, it must be cold, but not enough because I'm on fire. Hurts. I twist and writhe and try to embrace it, but it's too much. Stumble into a phone booth and pull the door behind me, how suiting, me and my shame locked in this small space alone. Hurts so much. The mere touch of my shirt is like shards of glass on my skin and I rip it open, anything to ease the pain. Shouldn't have done that. That scar, I can't bear the look of that scar. Punishing me. Mocking me. Jor-El, father, flesh of my flesh, how I hate your guts. I will not bend to your will. Stay dead and leave me alone. I will not bend. I will not.
God, hurts.
Hurts so bad that the world shrinks to the pain in my chest, that bone-deep, soul-deep pain that's eating me from inside and it won't kill me, because thanks to my son-of-a-bitch father I can't die, no, the pain will only grow worse and worse and I can't take it anymore I must --
Oh, the relief. That cursed ring lies loose in the palm of my hand. The night air is cold. I can breathe.
And then the real pain begins.
God, what have I done? I curl up in a ball of misery and lie shivering on the floor of the phone booth. What have I done? My parents... Lana... Chloe... Pete... How could I betray, how could I -- Everything they taught me -- Everything they've given me -- All turned to ashes in one single explosion that was my fault, my fault, my fault... I look up because I want to scream at the sky, but my stare falls on the black receiver that looms over me. Oh, God, I need... something... a touch, a voice, a breath... something...
The ring-less fingers that dial the number are not mine, not really. I cling to the receiver like a freezing man might hold on to an ember.
"Hello?"
Oh, that voice. How I've missed that voice. But I cannot answer her, not from here, not from the heart of my shame and weakness and misery. How can I enjoy her voice when each of her words bleeds with pain? Selfish, still selfish.
"Clark... Is that you?"
It's warm on the other side, I can sense it, and I long for that warmth so much that the need freezes the blood in my veins. My breath explodes in misty huffs. Just answer her. One word. Mom. How hard can that be. But it's hard, harder than shifting the course of the Earth, because I know that one word will unravel me. Breathing hurts as if the tears that clog my throat have frozen over, like small icy knives.
"Please, come home..."
How can she still ask? After everything I've done to her, how can she still ask? How can she know what I've been dying, literally dying to do in the last three months? And how can she not understand that I just can't, can't, can't look her in the eye and go on living? It is I who should be dead. How can she still ask?
And suddenly her voice is too much joy, too much anguish for me. I slam the receiver down and press my forehead to it. Spineless junkie. You said yesterday was the last dose. Oh, Mom, life is the punish I must withstand for what I've done. How easier death would have been. But I cannot stand the thought of aggrieving you even more for my comfort. Not that selfish. Not yet. I'll live on, Mom, but not like this, I can't, not like this. I wonder if you'd ever know how much I hate myself now, as I slip the ring back on and take cold, fresh breath.
Fuck you, Jor-El.
:: end ::