Clark was struggling to believe what he had heard. He had returned home and left the car in the drive. He could feel his pulse quickening, urging him to make some form of destruction. All he wanted at that moment was to go into the forest and pull trees from their roots. All he wanted was a way to vent the frustration which he felt. The frustration he had for Mr and Mrs Lowe. The frustration he had for his unread letters. But mostly the frustration for himself.
He did none of those things. He pulled the keys from the ignition and walked back into his house. He left the keys on the sideboard, hearing his mother in the kitchen, slamming pots and pans around. Calmly, he walked towards her, his footsteps quiet as he came to see her chopping up carrots. She dropped the knife as soon as she saw her son, drying her hands on the towel.
"What happened?" she wondered.
"They've kept the letter from her," Clark whispered. "They had someone intercept them whilst she was at college. They...they did it to protect her."
"What?" Martha wondered, not too sure how that was protecting. "Why would they do that? She has a right to speak with you-"
"-Whitney Fordman beat her because of me," Clark whispered; his voice calm and collected. His mother had never heard him like that before. He had left her two years ago with desperation, and now he had come back, the same desperation occupying his features. "She was hurt trying to defend me. Her parents wanted me gone as soon as that happened. She spent that summer in her room, crying over me, mom...I did that to her..."
"Clark," Martha whispered, moving to her son. "You didn't do that to her."
"I may as well have," Clark replied as his mother wrapped him into her arms. "I hurt her, mom...I knew that she would be sad...I just didn't know how much...I told her that I would come back...I promised her that..."
"But you didn't say when," Martha said. "I know how she feels, Clark. I've spent most of my time wondering when you could come back to me."
"I wrote to you," Clark defended. "She heard nothing from me. They kept the letters from her to make her carry on. They couldn't stand to see her upset. I understand why they did it, mom. Lizzie shouldn't spend her time waiting for me, should she? That would be selfish of me. I couldn't cope if that happened."
Martha pulled back from her son for a moment, looking at him as a small tear rolled down his cheek. She pushed it away from his pale skin, a lump forming in her throat.
"What are you going to do, Clark?"
He said nothing for a moment, wondering what would be the best thing for him to do. He wasn't staying in the states. He was going back to his job, and he was going to try and find himself. Lizzie was important to him, but his father had been important too. It was his father who wanted him to find out the truth. Clark had to do that.
"If I see her then I risk ruining what she has," Clark spoke. "She was happy, mom. She had someone who was there for her constantly. I can't be that to her...I can't...she can't spend another summer in her room because of me."
Martha couldn't say anything in response to her son. It was his decision, he had to be the one to decide what was for the best.
"Even after two years...you still love her..." Martha whispered to her son.
Clark couldn't say anything to that. Did he love Lizzie? Did he know what love was? Clark didn't know, but he didn't doubt what his mother had said.
...
Lizzie yawned loudly as she went down to check for her mail. It was kept in pigeonholes in the college building, building up and waiting for students to get it. She yawned as she held her satchel tight on her body. She wore her leather jacket over her black vest top and blue skinny jeans. She was heading out for her first lecture of the final semester. She had been at university for three years, still managing to come top in her class. She had a lack of a social life because of it.
Most of the times she went out with James. She couldn't believe that she was with him after a full year. She had never seen that happening.
Shaking her head, she reached into the pigeonhole where all of the surnames beginning with L were collected. She flicked through them until she came to Lowe. There was a Mary Lowe, but nothing for a Elizabeth Lowe. She didn't know why she bothered checking her mail, there never was anything. Placing it back, she noted a small letter which had found itself stuffed at the back of the pigeonhole, folded in half. She picked it up and unfolded it, preparing to put it back on the pile before she saw who it was addressed to her.
It was for her. Elizabeth Lowe. She placed all of the other letters back, looking at the handwriting on the front of it. She felt her heart quicken. She knew that writing from anywhere. She knew it instantly. The letter was old, she could tell from when it had been dated on the envelope. It had been in that pigeonhole since winter.
Elizabeth left the mailroom, the letter in her shaking hands before she rushed back to her room, completely forgetting about the lecture she was supposed to be on the way to. She dug into her jean pocket, pulling the key out and unlocking her shared room. She was glad Amelia had already left for Biology that morning. Dumping her satchel on the ground, she took a seat on her bed, tearing at the envelope. She ripped it to shreds, dragging the letter out from its hiding place.
She read and re-read it, unable to believe what she was seeing. It was him. He had written to her. He hadn't forgotten her. Lizzie kept hold of the letter with both hands, her eyes scanning Clark's words as she read them. He had sent letters to her at college and at home. He had begged her to reply, urging her to tell him that she wasn't mad at him leaving. He left his address at the end of the letter after saying how he had been away on a fishing boat. He'd been working to earn some money to come and visit her.
Lizzie's brow furrowed as she thought about his comments. She had never heard of him writing to her. She hadn't been given any letters.
She dived onto the floor, rummaging through her satchel for her cell. She pulled it out, instantly scrolling down to find her home phone number in Kansas. She dialled it, waiting for someone to answer her call. She failed to care about the one hour time difference as her father picked the phone up.
"Hello?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Lizzie snapped, standing back on her feet as she paced her room, her eyes still looking at the letters. "Clark said that had written to me. He said that he wrote to me here and at home."
"Lizzie," Daniel sighed, shaking his head as she heard him sigh down the phone. "We didn't want you to keep in contact with him, Liz. He was trouble for you. You saw what he did to you over the summer. You couldn't spend your entire life waiting for him, could you?"
Lizzie glowered, shaking her head back and forth as she snarled back; "That was not your decision to make! I am old enough to open my own mail! I thought that he hated me! I thought that he had left me and forgotten about me! And how did you stop the mail at my college? Don't tell me you had someone intercept it?"
A silence fell over the pair of them, Lizzie shaking her head in disbelief as she clutched the phone tightly in her grasp.
"We tried to do the best for you," he replied to her. "We love you, Lizzie. You're our little girl."
"I am almost twenty one," Lizzie replied. "You don't tell me what to do, dad. You don't get to keep things from me...things which can change everything..."
"We thought that we were helping you," Daniel admitted. "Clark destroyed you, Lizzie. You've managed to get over him now. You have James and a good chance at education. You know that. Don't throw it all away because of him."
Lizzie could say nothing back to her father, the shock only just beginning to sink in about what she had just heard. She still struggled to believe what her parents had done. She hadn't thought it possible.
"Just send me the letters," Lizzie sighed. "I have lectures go to."
"Liz, honey, please listen to me-"
"-Like I said," she interrupted, "I have lectures to go to. Send me them."
"Don't let him ruin you again, Liz. Don't let him do that. He came here before the summer...he...he knows that we kept them from you."
"He knows," Lizzie whispered. "What did he say? What did you tell him?"
"We told him to leave you alone," Daniel admitted. "We told him not to contact you. He knows that you've moved on past him. He is willing to accept that, Lizzie. The letters mean nothing now. He's gone again...no one knows where...don't try to trace him, Lizzie. He's not worth it, honey."
"Don't tell me if he is worth it. Clark...my God...Don't bother trying to change anything. Send me the letters."
"No, Lizzie-"
"-Send them to me," Lizzie demanded again, hanging up on her father without any goodbyes. She shook her head, unable to believe what she had just heard. She needed to write to him as soon as possible. She scrambled around her room, pulling out a piece of paper from her notebook. She began to write on it, pleading with Clark not to be angry with her, telling him that she had no idea what had happened.
She grabbed the envelope and scribbled down his name and address, rushing out of her room to send it as soon as she could.
...
Clark had been working as a waiter for quite some time now. He had moved from his old apartment, having no choice but to do that. He had saved people from an oil rig explosion. They thought him dead. He couldn't work on the boat anymore after that. He packed up and left, gathering his possessions in a duffel bag. The woman who owned the apartment where he lived looked at him with an arched brow.
"Do you want us to send you any post which comes to your new address?" he asked her.
He shook his head, moving from the apartment to the open world once.
It was the following day when Lizzie's letter arrived and was left there to gather dust.
...
Lizzie waited for days on end for Clark to write back to her, but it never came. He never replied to her, and she could feel herself losing hope. She spent the rest of the semester holding onto his letters, clutching them to her chest and reading them over and over again. She did her best in lectures, but struggled. She struggled with everything as she waited for Clark to respond.
It never happened. He never wrote back to her. She thought that he had given up on her then. She couldn't help but think of that. She urged him not to listen to her parents; she did want to speak with him. She couldn't move on knowing what they had done to her, knowing that they had lied to her.
It was during the course of her final year when she fell apart. Her grades slipped, her attendance slipped. She was distracted, she knew that much. She ended up spending as much time as possible in the library, trying to make sense of everything which she was reading. But none of it made that much sense.
Her parents were worried for her, constantly urging her to forget about Clark Kent. He wasn't around her anymore. He was a childhood crush, a futile fancy, not someone who she could ever love. Lizzie did her best to ignore her parents, refusing to speak to them after what they had done.
And all they could do was watch as their daughter went back into her state of longing for Clark Kent.
...
A/N: Thank you to everyone reading and I hope you'll let me know what you think so far!