Chapter 38 - Chasm

Clark wiped away the last of his tears as he settled down on the couch in the loft to write his letter. He was thankful his parents didn't ban him from the loft when he was grounded.

There was a pretty big difference between just a grounding, and a grounding with extra chores. Being grounded really wasn't bad on its own. He just read books or shot hoops alone for a few days. But extra chores meant working from the time he woke up—two hours earlier than usual—to the time he went to bed. His dad didn't try to exhaust him with difficult chores when he was being punished, but simply gave him all the worst ones. Nauseating work, like cleaning out stables and spreading manure; tedious work, like weeding; time consuming work, like doing repairs. His powers helped, but not as much as he would like, and if his dad was going for a worse punishment, he made Clark stop using them all together.

He knew better than to dawdle on the letter or the essay, though. His dad probably wouldn't notice, but his mom would.

He propped up the book he was using as a flat surface for the paper, and began the letter:

Dear Lex,

I'm sorry I broke into your house today. Can I pay you back for the lock I broke?

That was a direct start, but direct was probably a good thing.

I know my family has lied to you in the past, but I don't want us to lie to each other anymore. You were trying to explain what that room was about, but I didn't listen to you. I would like to hear what you have to say. Can you come to dinner sometime this week? If not, can I at least come to the mansion and talk to you sometime? I'm sorry for hitting you, and I promise never to do it again.

He hadn't wanted to imply any promises that he'd forgive Lex, but as he wrote, he realized he'd already forgiven him without even realizing it. It didn't seem appropriate to write that directly, though. This wasn't the first apology letter Clark's parents had made him write—apology letters weren't supposed to have accusations in them. Apology letters were supposed to offer to make restorations, though. Clark winced a little and added:

I'll understand if you want to hit me back.

In some ways, it felt unfair, because he wouldn't feel it physically like Lex had. At the same time, he didn't think he could bear the emotional pain of his best friend punching him. He was about to erase the sentence, but his stomach squirmed—thanks to Clark, Lex had already felt that pain.

If you want me to come to your house, can you call my parents and tell them? I'm grounded for the next week.

That was an embarrassing sentence to write, but it would probably make Lex feel a little better to know that Clark's parents were taking this seriously.

Please respond soon. Mom and Dad both really miss you. So do I. The baby deserves to get to know both of his or her big brothers.

Clark took a deep breath and debated with himself about the next sentence, but ultimately decided to write it.

Promise not to tell my parents, but if you come home, I'll tell you anything you want to know about my secrets.

That was a good ending. If nothing else, it would definitely get Lex to come home. Clark knew telling anyone his secret was a risk, but it was his parents who had said that Lex was a part of their family now. And at the end of the day, it was his secret to tell.

Sincerely,

He erased that word.

Your brother,

Better.

Clark Kent

He read back over the letter twice. He couldn't imagine Lex refusing it. He put it into an envelope, then left the loft to bring it to his mom.

Lex stood in front of the mirror, dabbing at his swollen, bleeding lip with a damp rag. He swore as the fabric made contact with the broken skin.

Physically, it had probably been the most painful punch he'd ever taken, besides maybe that one from his father that had left a scar. Most punches were more jarring than actually painful—slaps stung more, and backhanded slaps were the worst of both worlds—but all bets were off when it came to a hard punch in the mouth. Split lips stung and throbbed for hours.

He'd also become spoiled. It had been a long time since he'd been hurt and unable to go to anyone for comfort. He knew he could probably talk to Helen, but he didn't want to. She knew about the Room of Obsession, but he'd mostly managed to convince her it wasn't a big deal. This would only show her how wrong he had been.

Emotionally, Clark's punch shouldn't have stood out in Lex's mind. It should have just been one blow of dozens, maybe hundreds he'd received in his lifetime. But instead, it felt like the most debilitating blow of his life. It was a symbol of Clark's denial of forgiveness, a permanent end to their friendship and to Lex's place in their family. A final answer to Lex's question of whether he could ever redeem himself in their eyes.

"You've known that answer for a long time."

Lex rinsed out the bloody rag. "Shut up."

"No, I won't! There was nothing to redeem, Lex! They never loved you. They were only trying to keep you from the truth."

"Maybe I didn't deserve the truth. Maybe I never earned their trust."

"Why should you? They never earned yours. They've left you with nothing. Nothing but emptiness and questions. Don't you want to see them answered?"

He wrung out the rag so hard, the corner ripped off. "I could still go back to them."

"No, you can't, Lex. They're not trustworthy."

He threw down the ripped rag and stormed away to his bedroom, where he slammed the door shut behind himself. "Maybe not, but I could trust them anyway."

The voice shouted with rage. "It'll kill you!"

"No, it'll kill you!"

"And DESTROY you!"

Lex reached for the decanter in his room and poured himself a shot, which he downed immediately. He was reaching for another when he realized it would numb the anger. He didn't want it to be numbed. It fed him, drove him . . .

No. It fed and drove the darkness inside of him. The darkness wasn't him.

He reached again for the liquor, but put it back down at the last moment. With or without the alcohol, the darkness would be stronger than usual today. He needed his wits about him if he wanted to avoid doing something he'd regret for life.

Lex lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. He could see the fire in Clark's eyes, hear his shouting insults, feel his fist connect . . .

Anguish filled him. He'd wanted so badly to forget. So, so desperately, to forget the Kents had ever lied, to run back into their home and their arms and their love. He'd chosen to stay away from them—why had he ever made that choice? Now he couldn't go back if he wanted to. They'd never take him back.

He tried to remember their comfort again, and just for a moment, he could feel it. Mrs. Kent's arms around him. Her fingers stroking his head, soothing the fear. Mr. Kent calling him his son.

Longing filled him, and his whole body felt like it was caving in. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, shaking, eyes watering. "Mom," he whispered, trying the name out on his tongue. He'd never called her that, and now he never would. Tears streamed down his face.

"You call yourself a man!"

"I miss them so bad . . . so bad . . ." He shook with sobs.

"Pull yourself together! They did this to you!"

He covered his face with his hands. "Maybe I deserved it."

"Clark pushed YOU away. For lying. For LYING!"

A pulse of anger made him shudder. Lex hadn't even lied. He'd kept the evidence from his investigations, but he hadn't sent investigators after Clark again.

But then, Lex had stolen that medical file, which Clark had probably seen in the Room of Obsession . . .

It didn't matter. It didn't compare to the number of times the Kents had lied. It never could. Never, ever, ever . . . He wiped away his tears. "It's not fair."

"They're hypocrites. Manipulators. Like your father."

"I fell for their trap . . . "

"You should have seen it coming. Your father's played this game with you enough."

"I should have known, I should have—"

"Then don't fall again!"

Fury coursed through his veins. He stood and pushed everything off his night stand. Glass from the lamp shattered.

He jumped back, his heart racing. That rage—that wasn't him. Not him.

"Oh, it's you. Haven't I been telling you all these years, Lex? I. AM. YOU."

He gripped his head. "Leave me alone! You're doing this to me!"

"No, I'm not. They did."

"But why . . . why would they do this to me?"

"You'll never know until you find the truth."

"I can't!"

"But I can."

Lex started to pace. He wanted to remember their love again, to reminisce in the beauty it had been, to let it fill him—but it burned out his insides, remembering what he had lost. The pain was killing him.

At the same time, anger over the lies and injustice boiled his blood. He wanted to know the truth, even if it meant stealing, or lying, or killing. No—especially if it meant stealing, lying, and killing. The anger was building the darkness inside him, unleashing it from the inner shadows in which he'd caged it.

"Pain or anger, Lex. One weakens you; one strengthens me. Make your choice."

Lex paced frantically. With one trip across the room, he doubled over, weeping uncontrollably as he lamented the loss of his family; with another, he picked up the glass decanter and threw it against the wall, smashing it and crying out in rage.

"PAIN OR ANGER, LEX. DEATH OR ME. CHOOSE NOW."

But he never got to choose.

There was a terrifying moment when he felt as though he were slipping down a great incline, hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding nothing, grasping at the ground beneath him as he peered down into a great abyss, a chasm leading to hell itself.

"Let go, Lex. Let me take you. I'll find the truth."

Lex gave one last feeble attempt to keep his grip on some semblance of control over his own life, then it slipped through his fingers, and he fell.

And the darkness became him.