"Hey there, stranger."
Lizzie joked with Clark as she nudged him in the shoulder. The end of term was looming upon them, exams had begun, and Lizzie had barely seen Clark. She had to admit that she had spent most of her time in the library, or at home studying. She sometimes went around to Clark's house, trying to urge him to study, but he wouldn't listen to her. He was still set on leaving Smallville to find out the truth of his heritage.
Clark smirked back at hearing her, the sound of her voice something which filled him with happiness. He had missed her for the past few weeks, but he too had been busy. He just hadn't been busy studying. He looked across to Lizzie as she stood at her locker, depositing her history book inside of it.
"I haven't seen you in a while," Clark commented.
"I know," Lizzie admitted; a small amount of guilt inside of her. "I've been busy studying. I would come and study with you, but I'm too stressed. I need to get into college with these grades. At the moment, it isn't going too well."
"I doubt that," Clark said to her. "You're the smartest girl I know."
"I'm the only girl you know," Lizzie said, her head disappearing into her locker to search for her math book. Clark cocked a brow.
"I suppose so," he agreed lamely with her. "That is not the point though."
"It sort of is," Lizzie muttered, pulling back out the locker with the book in tow. "Anyway, how has your revision been going?"
"You know there is no point to me revising," Clark said. "I don't intend to go to college."
"That does not mean that you should slack," Lizzie mumbled back, flicking the book open to the correct page. Clark leant against the locker next to hers, his book under his arm as she glanced to him whilst searching her notes. "Besides, you might need those grades one day."
"I doubt it," he said. "Anyway, I imagine that you are doing enough revision for the pair of us."
"Not at all," Lizzie said. "I'm only doing enough for me."
"Whatever you say," Clark shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Anyway, when is your last exam?"
"Tomorrow," she complained. "Advanced math. I don't know why I agreed to take it. Math is not related to politics."
"You took it to show off," Clark said.
She slammed the locker door shut, locking it again and holding her book tight to her side. She moved off down the hallway with Clark in tow.
"Did not," Lizzie protested. "Anyway, when is your last one?"
"This afternoon," Clark said, a smug smirk on his face. "It's a normal math exam."
"Damn those normal math exams," Lizzie grumbled.
Clark chuckled, walking slowly by her side. "Anyway, I'll pick you up tomorrow night at about eight?"
Lizzie stood still, her brow furrowing as she thought about what Clark had just said. Why was he picking her up? Was something happening that she didn't know about? Clark took in the confused expression which sat on her pale face, a sly grin forming on his lips. She had completely forgotten.
"Lizzie, it is prom tomorrow night. It seems silly to have a graduation prom before we graduate, but that is Smallville High, I suppose."
"It's technically just a leaver's prom," Lizzie clarified. "Graduation is just a fancier word. Anyway, I haven't even bought a dress. I don't have any shoes...or my hair booked in to be cut..."
"I told you at Christmas that I would take you." Clark reminded her.
"I know," she drawled. "I just...well...I thought that you had other things on your mind, Clark. I didn't think that you would care about a stupid prom."
"So it is stupid now?"
"It's hardly intelligent, is it?" Lizzie retorted. "Besides...it doesn't matter, Clark. I don't mind if you really don't want to go."
"I told you that I would," Clark reminded her. "Besides, you'll have something inside of your wardrobe, won't you? You're a girl."
"Very observant," Lizzie whispered, thinking that he didn't hear her. "Fine. Fine, I will find something. I will find an outfit."
"Good," Clark said, about to turn off for the exam room. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck with advanced math."
"Good luck with math for beginners," she replied, her lips tugged up at the side as she did so.
"You wound me."
"I think we both know that is impossible," Lizzie responded with a knowing smile. She watched on as Clark turned off the corridor, leaving to complete his last exam of school.
...
The halls were deserted when Clark finished the exam. It lasted half an hour after the finish time for school. He wandered back to his bike, knowing full well that the exam hadn't particularly gone to plan. If he failed math then he wondered how hard advanced math was. Clark grabbed his bag from his locker on the way, rummaging around in it to find his bike lock key. He pulled it out to unlock it, the sound of footsteps behind him.
"Looks like we'll never be seeing each other again then, freak."
Clark bit down on his lip, wondering why Whitney even bothered. Clark knew why deep down. He knew that Whitney wanted to be proven right. He wanted people to see Clark for the freak he was. He couldn't handle people debating whether or not he had seen the entire truth. But Whitney knew. He knew Clark wasn't normal, and he would prove it.
"That suits me fine," Clark said after a moment, placing the bike lock in his bag.
"I bet it does," Whitney said. "I wonder about Lizzie though. I hear she's going back to NYC. I also hear that you're leaving...but I don't know why. Are you going back to the asylum?"
"This is why you're so well liked," Clark said, "because of your ingenious wit."
"I'm better liked than you," Whitney said. "Perhaps Lizzie will come like me better. I'll be here when she comes home for Christmas and breaks. She's such a pretty thing, isn't she? Have you had her yet, farm boy?"
Clark's jaw began to tick, a sense of sickness rushed over him at the words he was listening to. It sickened him to think that Whitney could say such things. Clark tried to keep his temper under control, deciding to hold his jaw stiffly and glare ahead.
"No?" Whitney continued. "You haven't taken her? Now, that is a shame, isn't it, Kent? I bet she's quite the dirty little-"
Clark silenced Whitney, grabbing hold of his shirt in his hand and slamming the boy against the wall of the bike stand. Whitney laughed and Clark knew that he couldn't control his temper. He thought about Lizzie. He thought about what she would say if she was with him. What would she think? She'd tell him to calm down. She'd tell him that he wasn't worth it.
But she wasn't there.
She wasn't there, and Clark couldn't keep listening to the explicit things which Whitney was saying.
"You'd best keep your eye on her tomorrow night," Whitney whispered. "I'll be waiting...I'll show her what she missed out on at Christmas ball. I'll have her in the backseat...all to myself...underneath me..."
That was when Clark let out an annoyed roar. He moved his fist, aiming it straight to the middle of Whitney's forehead. But he didn't hit him. He dropped the boy to the ground, thinking about what his father would say. Whitney scrambled on the floor, his ears ringing as he heard the smashing sound of bricks around him.
Clark couldn't contain himself. His fist landed in the bricks, destroying them and leaving a large hole where his hand had lodged itself. He leant against the wall, closing his eyes to take a deep breath.
What had he done?
"I knew it!" Whitney shouted out. "I knew that you were a freak! You've been hiding behind your precious Elizabeth for so long...she was the only way to get to you, and it worked. Don't worry, Kent, you can keep the nerd. I bet she doesn't put out."
Clark felt his jaw slacken and he remained stood where he was, waiting for his anger to drop down. He couldn't believe what he had just done. He had been stupid. He had been completely foolish. He should never have gotten so angry. His father had died to stop this from happening.
The guilt he had been hiding rose to the surface again.
He grabbed his cycle, glad that Whitney had scampered off, and rushed away from school grounds. He cycled as fast as he could without look abnormal. His mind was a blur of activity, yelling at him to get away from Smallville. What choice did he have now? Whitney had all the evidence which he needed. It wouldn't be the first time he had been accused of being a freak. It would be a witch hunt for him.
And all because he couldn't control his temper. All because of his loyalty for Lizzie.
Clark dumped his cycle on the front porch and rushed into the house, breathing laboured breaths as he thought about what he needed to do. He had to disappear. There was no way he could live in the house where his father had sheltered him. He had protected him, only for Clark to shove it back in his face and rise to the taunts of a bully.
"Mom!" Clark shouted out.
Martha came rushing into the living room, a look of growing concern on her face as she looked at Clark with an arched brow.
"Where's the fire?"
"I...mom...I made a mistake."
Martha shook her head, slowly moving to her son as he ran a hand through his hair. She had seen Clark's tortured expression for months on end. She had watched her son blame himself for Jonathan's death. She had seen him cry himself to sleep, make plans about leaving to discover himself. All she could do was sit and watch nervously. She urged him to stay. She urged him to make plans to go to college, find a good job, try and be normal. She pleaded with him not to go, but he had his mind made up.
"What is it?" Martha wondered, her hand resting on Clark's shoulder. She guided him to the sofa, urging him to sit down as he dropped his head into his hands.
"Whitney Fordman." Clark whispered. "He...he saw what I did."
"What do you mean?" Martha asked, placing a hand over her mouth as she thought about what he had just said. "Clark, tell me you didn't hit him."
"No," Clark said. "I was going to. I wanted to, mom. I wanted to hit him...but...I thought of what dad would say...I thought of what Lizzie would say. I dropped him and punched the wall. He saw what I did. No doubt he's gone off to tell everyone what a freak I am. Most of them have suspicions."
"And we have dealt with their suspicions before," Martha said. "We can deal with them again, Clark."
"No," Clark shook his head adamantly. "You've been through enough. This time I'm old enough to speak for myself, and I don't want to, mom. I don't want people looking at me as if I am a freak. I've had enough of it."
"What are you saying, Clark?" Martha wondered, her voice low. "Clark, you have to stand up to them-"
"-No, I don't," Clark replied. "I want to go, mom. I want to leave now. I need to."
Martha looked startled for a moment. The thought had lurked in the back of her mind; she just hoped he wouldn't say it aloud. She wanted him to stay with her for the summer. She wanted to keep her son for as long as possible.
"Don't," she begged her son. "Clark, don't leave."
Clark kept quiet, knowing that he was breaking his mother's heart by what he was saying. He looked back to her, the pain on her face evident. He leaned over to take her hand into his, his eyes beginning to water with the task which faced him.
"I'm tired of not knowing who I am," Clark admitted to her. "I need an explanation...I need to go and find out...or...what if I hurt someone seriously next time?"
"You would never-"
"-You don't know what I would do," Clark said. "I've shocked myself. By now the whole town will have heard Whitney's tale. You don't deserve to defend me, mom. I don't want you to."
"I will," Martha said to him.
A small smile played on Clark's face. "I know you will." He agreed. "But you don't have to. I need to do this for dad. He died...believing in me...I feel as though I have let him down tonight by what I did. It makes me more determined to find the truth. You understand, don't you, mom?"
Martha could hardly disagree with him. Of course she understood. As much as it hurt her, she knew why Clark wanted to do this. She knew why he was acting this way. She had seen the guilt eat up at him in the past few months. He tried to hide it, of course, but he failed. She could see through him.
She moved her hand to his cheek, feeling tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision.
"You're only just turned eighteen, Clark," Martha whispered. "You're still my baby boy."
"I'll come back," Clark promised her. "I love you, mom."
The waterfall of tears came out then. Martha wrapped her arms around her son, holding her to him with as much force as she could muster. Clark held her back, resting his head on her shoulder as he thought about all that she had done for him.
"I love you, Clark," Martha whispered. "I'm proud of you, regardless of anything...so is your father."
Clark closed his eyes then, urging himself not to cry. He couldn't cry now. Pulling back from his mother, he looked to the doorway. A hanger balanced on top of it, his suit dangling from it. His suit for prom.
Martha followed his gaze. "I had it pressed this morning."
"I can't go," Clark said. "I can't take Lizzie...not now...Whitney...he'll make her life hell..."
"What are you going to tell her?" Martha wondered.
"I...how can I?" Clark wondered. "I can't say goodbye to her, mom."
"You have to," Martha said. "I know it will hurt her, Clark. It will hurt you too, but she deserves the truth. She deserves to know why you are going. Do that much for her."
Clark took a moment to think, his eyes closing and his breathing become sharp. He nodded in agreement with his mother and her conditions. Lizzie deserved to know the truth before he left her.
He just didn't want to imagine the look on her face when he told her. She knew what he planned to do. He had told her, and she had told him that she was going to New York. That was all there was to it.
"Go to her," Martha urged through her own sniffs. "Go and tell her."
Clark gave a solemn nod, stuffing his hands into his jean's pockets before walking towards the door.
"You were going to hit Whitney because of her, weren't you?" Martha suddenly wondered.
Clark turned back to look at his mother, his face one of confusion as he wondered how she knew that. She shrugged nonchalantly.
"She's the only one who you would protect and risk everything for."
Clark had no response to that. He turned back around and left the house, wondering how his mother knew everything about him.
...
A/N: Thanks to everyone reading and to all of my reviewers! I hope you'll stick with it and thank you for taking the time to review and read. I hope you'll let me know what you think.