Chapter 14 - Confession

Lex kept his head down on the drive back to the farm, careful not to look out of the window. He didn't want to see the devastation from the storm—it only reminded him of the wreckage he'd pulled his father out of at the mansion.

Every once in awhile, at a stop light, Mrs. Kent reached over and rubbed Lex's shoulder. His muscles registered the comfort, but his soul seared with every touch.

"How's your head?" She pulled up in front of the house and turned toward him.

"It's fine." That was an honest answer. He hadn't felt the pain from the cut on his forehead since it had happened, not even while the doctors were cleaning and patching it up.

She started to get out of the car, and he numbly followed. "I can get you some ice if you need it."

"I really don't."

"Okay." She lead him into the house, and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. "Dinner isn't for a couple of hours. Clark and Jonathan are out repairing some damages, but I can send Clark in to sit with you for a bit."

He couldn't hold it in any longer. "Mrs. Kent, can we talk?"

"Of course, sweetie." She sat down beside him.

Even the endearment felt like acid. "Don't call me that."

She flinched. "I'm sorry, Lex."

He immediately regretted his tone. "No—no, it's just . . . I don't belong here."

She raised her eyebrows and put a hand on his arm. "This again?"

He shrugged away her hand. "No, you have to listen to me. This year alone, I've cheated, I've lied, I've blackmailed people, I had your family investigated behind your backs after you'd been nothing but kind to me. It's my fault your livestock died, if I hadn't been such a coward back at Club Zero I could have kept anyone from getting hurt. And if I didn't hit Clark with my car that day on the bridge, I know I came close. I almost killed your son. He never should have saved me. I should have died that day."

Mrs. Kent shook her head, her brow furrowed. "Lex, we've already talked about all of this."

"No, listen. 2500 people lost their jobs this week. I couldn't stop it. Maybe, if I hadn't spent so much time clubbing all night and sleeping with strangers back when I lived in Metropolis, I might have learned enough business sense to keep the plant open."

"But—"

"There's more. My father almost died during the storm, Mrs. Kent. A pillar fell on him, and a section of the ceiling was about to impale him, and . . . I saved him, but I almost didn't. I wanted him out of the way so badly, to save the plant, and I only saved him because I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I had watched him die."

She gave him a gentle smile. "I know he's hurt you, and he's hurt a lot of people, but I don't think it's wrong that you saved him, Lex. He is your father, and some part of you still cares about him."

He groaned in frustration. She didn't get it. Why couldn't she understand? "Nixon never would have been investigating your family if I hadn't told him to in the first place."

"Didn't you tell him to stop?"

"Yeah, but I could have tried harder—I still wanted to see what the investigations turned up. If it weren't for me, he and Mr. Kent wouldn't have fought in the storm, Mr. Kent never would have been lost during the tornado. And Nixon would still be alive."

"We've been over the investigations, Lex. You know it was wrong, and you've been forgiven. And Nixon made his own choices. You killed him to save Jonathan."

He buried his head in his palms and cried out in distress before throwing his hands down and looking her in the eyes again. "This is what you keep doing! You keep seeing good in me, but you never know the whole story. Remember when Mr. Kent was sick a few months back, and I flew in all those specialists to research his condition? He never would have been sick if it weren't for the research I was doing. It was my fault that toxin was released in the first place."

"Lex, you can't blame yourself for—"

"Remember when those guys robbed the mansion, and Chloe ended up in the hospital, and I told Clark I didn't call the police because I cared more about Chloe than about what they stole? That was a lie. I only didn't call the police because those guys stole something they could use to blackmail me. It had nothing to do with caring about Chloe."

Mrs. Kent raised her eyebrows. "Okay. Did you care about her?"

He blinked. "Well, of course, but—"

"You visited and sent her flowers, you comforted Clark, and you sent in specialists to help her. Were you blackmailed to do that?"

His voice caught in his throat.

"How about the Palmer family? Your servants that stole from you? Were you blackmailed to pay for their daughter's medical bills?"

"Th-that costs me nothing! I'm talking about when it's something that matters!"

"Being kind to someone who hurt you always costs something, Lex."

"But—"

"What about Club Zero? You took the fall for Amanda."

"Didn't have to serve jail time," he mumbled.

"Okay, how about when Earl Jenkins took the factory hostage, and you went in there to trade your life for the hostages? Are you going to tell me you had some ulterior motive there?"

He swallowed. "I was angry with my father for doing nothing."

"Enough to risk your life?"

She had a point about that, but still, it had been different. It wasn't just any lives at stake; one of them had been Clark's. And besides, his plant was his responsibility.

"I know people are always expecting you to be your father, but you're not him. I've seen so much good in you."

He stood from the couch, shouting down at her, "That's because you're so good, you're desperate to just see good in everyone. Well, guess what? Today, I killed someone, and there was this piece of me that felt more joy than I have in—in years. This deep, twisted part of me that's wanted to be in control of something for so long. Watching Nixon bleed out because of a bullet in his head that I put there, that was the most alive it's ever felt. And it's not the first time I've ever killed someone! My baby brother died when I was twelve, and that was my fault, too!"

There was a long silence. Lex trembled, waiting for her to shrink away in disgust, to yell at him to get out of her home, maybe even to hit him.

Finally, she stood. "Oh, Lex," she said, and reached out to embrace him.

"Stop, stop, stop!" He pushed back against her, his fists striking her arms harder than he meant to. "You're not listening to me!"

She pulled back all but one hand on his shoulder. "I'm listening. You're trying to tell me you're unforgivable."

"I am!"

"Well, I forgive you."

He froze, his breaths coming short.

"Do you hear me, Lex? I forgive you."

"You shouldn't!" His voice cracked. "I'm just going to keep making the same mistakes over and over again. There's something in me, Mrs. Kent, this . . . this living darkness I can't control. Every day it gets stronger, and I can't keep my grip—the harder I try to fight it, the more it takes over. I can't stop it, I can't control it—"

"Lex—"

"—and it's only a matter of time before it wins."

"No, Lex—"

"I'm going to become a monster. Maybe I already am one."

She slid her hand to the back of his neck and squeezed hard. "Alexander Luthor, you listen to me."

He held his breath, his eyes suddenly locked onto hers.

"I will never, ever let that happen to you. Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

He nodded, his throat closing up.

"Never. If your father abandons you, if everyone in your life turns and walks out, if Clark turns his back on you—he never will—but even if he does, I am not going anywhere. I will be here every time. Every. Time. I will be here to help you pick up the pieces, and I will never let you fall."

"Okay. Okay." Hot chills and violent tremors spread all over his body, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the inner burn started up again.

She brought her hand around to the side of his head, and her thumb traced gentle circles on his temple. "Look at me, Lex."

He pried his eyes open, and the love in her gaze shone into his core. It was like looking directly into the sun. The darkness inside him screamed out, writhing in torment, as light filled every corner of it. It hurt like a piece of his soul was being cut away with a welding torch.

This time, when she took him into her arms, he clung to her, though his arms shook violently. The room swam, and he blinked rapidly, eyes stinging, as little by little, the pain began to melt away.

"I've got you," she whispered, rubbing his back. "I've got you. You're going to be over here a lot more often, okay?"

"Okay," he managed to choke out. Hot tears streamed down his face.

"Any time things get bad at home, or you fight with your father, or that . . . that darkness in you tells you to do something you know is wrong, you're going to drive yourself over here, and I'm going to help you and take care of you. Any time you do something wrong, we're going to talk about it, and we'll figure out how to fix it. And when you reopen the plant, you're going to call me, and we're going to invite you over and celebrate right."

He nodded, his cheek brushing against the side of her head as he did, wetting her hair.

"And don't you dare—" she reached up and squeezed the back of his neck once again, harder than before— "think I'm going to give up on you because you make a mistake, or because your motivations aren't perfect. Like it or not, you've proven to me that you're a good man, Lex. And even if I'm wrong, I'm still not giving up on you."

This time, between the trembling and the tears, he couldn't reply.

"You're stronger than your dark side, Lex." The hand that had been gripping the back of his neck relaxed, but remained in place. "And we're going to make sure it stays that way."

"Okay," he whispered, and he began to loosen his hold on her.

Very slowly, she withdrew her arms and guided him down onto the couch.

For a long time, he just sat, elbows resting on his knees, face in his hands. Mrs. Kent remained beside him. His shoulders were still shaking a little, but she put a hand on the back of his head, fingers stroking softly over the sensitive skin like only his mother had ever done. With every touch, cool waves of relief flooded down his spine and through his nerves, quieting his fears and soothing pain he'd carried for so long that he didn't even know it was still there.

Eventually, he sat up for long enough to adjust himself so his back rested against the cushions, and his eyes fluttered closed.

When she was sure that Lex was sound asleep on the couch, Martha carefully stood and walked over to the kitchen to start dinner.

Jonathan stood at the sink, arms crossed, staring out of the window.

Her heart pounded slow and hard. "How much did you hear?"

"I've been here since you came into the house."

"I see."

A long, long silence.

"Jonathan—"

"I had no idea." He turned around to face her. "You were right, Martha, he needs help. But honey . . . he needs more help than we can give."

"I can try to convince him to see a therapist, but I'm not sure how much good it will do if he's convinced no one loves him. Everyone keeps telling him he's like his father, and he believes it. He'd have a hard time finding a therapist who doesn't already believe it."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "I know, and I haven't been helping. I shouldn't . . . I should never have . . . I mean . . . He's not his father."

"No, he's not," Martha said, "but there's a part of him that is."

"And he hates it more than we do."

Martha's eyes stung. "He's so scared, Jonathan. He thinks it's going to take him over."

His brow furrowed. "The only way it's going to take over is if he lets it."

"I know. And eventually he will, if everyone expects him to." She gave him a pointed look.

Jonathan leaned back against the counter, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I get it."

Martha could see the conflict in his eyes. "But something's still bothering you."

His voice dropped to a low whisper. "He's . . . bound and determined to find out about Clark."

"Can you blame him? After everything he's seen?" She sighed. "But Lex killed his only source of information to keep you from getting hurt today. And that was after he tried to get Nixon to back off. I don't think he's going to keep investigating."

"Can you guarantee that?"

"No, I can't, but I think he's more likely to respect our privacy as a friend than as an enemy. He loves Clark, and he has a strong conscience."

"That, I picked up on." He rubbed his face. "He's got a guilt complex worse than Clark's, I think I could convince him the tornado was his fault."

"I know. I can usually reason with Clark. This was something else."

"But hearing everything you said . . . I'm amazed at how much good he's done, considering everything he's up against, inside and out. I've been . . . hard on him, to say the least."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm not the one who needs to hear it."

He kissed her on the top of her head, squeezed her, and let go. "I'll go talk to him, then."

"Let him sleep, I'm sure he hasn't since the tornado. Besides, I don't think an apology is going to cut it."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want us to do better. He needs a family, Jonathan."

He paused for a long, long moment, looking deep into her eyes.

She found herself holding her breath—had she really dared to say that?

Yes. Yes, of course she had. It was the right thing to say.

Finally, Jonathan glanced toward the living room and nodded. "Well, he's found one."