DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.

KISS ME

oXo

CHAPTER NINE

CLARK

My parents will be happy. I'm seeing something not many people get to see in Europe. An actual dungeon. That should get me at least five hundred words on a college essay. If I throw in my capture and imprisonment for imagined deflowering of a three hundred year-old Princess - easy thousand worder at least.

I won't even need a Thesaurus for all the words I can call Lois.

It's not like I'd have pictured a dungeon. Unfortunately, playing Dungeons & Dragons with Pete, Greg Arkin, Eric Summers and Ian Randall when we were in middle school didn't prepare me for this. I knew I should've been the Dungeon Master instead of Greg. Something about him always bugged me.

It's so dark I can't see my own blue tights or red cape - and seriously, who can miss me in this - much less any bed of nails or cat-o'-nine-tails or that thing where they stretch people like Plastic Man.

They can forget that. I'm not a Comic Book Character.

And it's quiet. I never really thought about quiet before. At home there's always the sounds of the Farm - the crow of the rooster; the hens clucking; the cows mooing; the horses neighing and whinnying; my Dad working on the old green tractor when he's home in Smallville from Topeka because he refuses to get rid of it because it belonged to Grandpa Hiram. But there's nothing except silence here and I have nothing to do but think about it. The walls are thick around me and the ceiling is thick above me - and I can't see beyond. There is no one here but me.

And the rats.

The more I get tuned in to the silence the more I realize there are noises after all. Little ones. Little ones like feet. Scurrying feet.

I bet the rats are really hungry after sleeping for three hundred years.

And my skin is no longer my shield.

I can't believe they threw me in a dungeon with rats! Aren't there rules about how you have to treat Foreign Nationals when being held Prisoner? Yes! There are. There are rules about how you have to treat Prisoners. I read about it in school. Geneva Convention. Except I'm not sure the Geneva Convention has been invented here yet. Also...that's for Prisoners of War.

Although I feel like a POW fighting with Lois...I'm not. I'm a Prisoner of Love. True Love according to Lois and the Fairies. Except there is no such thing as Fairies.

If only there was no such thing as Lois.

I feel scorching hot liquid on my arm.

"Ow! What the hell!" The fact that I can feel it scares me more than it hurts. Are they torturing me with scalding oil? Great. I'm at Gitmo. I'm kind of thirsty but I'm definitely not asking for water.

"Shhh! Keep it down Smallville! You will get us caught!" A voice whispers. It's Lois. And the hits just keep on coming.

I lower my voice to a whisper. "But that hurt!" Surprisingly.

"It is just a candle. The wax dripped. Stop being such a baby."

"I'm in a dungeon! With rats!"

"Do you wish to escape?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"Then you must speak to me and hear me out. If not, then I shall be forced to..."

"Looo-is..."

"But only if you do not let me stay and talk to you and explain."

"You know, you're not as sweet as I thought you were."

"I am sweet."

"Could've fooled me."

"I am. Sweet and compliant. Or I was - my first sixteen years - the most docile, malleable creature one can imagine."

"OK, now I know you're lying."

"Fine. Maybe not sweet and compliant. Or docile and malleable. But I would have made someone a decent wife. I am a Princess. And I am me."

"I see you and modesty are still on bad terms."

"But then everything changed. Or rather, nothing did. I am grown up, ready to be married, take a husband, and yet I am still being treated like a child - or worse, an animal! Do you know what it is to be treated as chattel?"

"We have plenty of cattle on the Farm. We don't treat them as good as pets like Shelby, but we treat them pretty good."

"Not cattle Smallville, chattel. Property."

"My bad. This whole being-locked-in-a-dungeon thing really has its drawbacks. The acoustics down here are horrible."

"To be treated like you have no choice in what you do in life?"

"My biological Father already has my future mapped out for me for when I grow up. He wants to start training me for it. I hate it but he won't take no for an answer."

"Is that when he was a jerk to all the muscles on your chest?"

"Pretty much. I guess what he wants is irrelevant though if I'm going to die here."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. I shall help you escape...on one condition."

I think I know what the condition is.

"You must take me with you."

Ding, Ding, Ding! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!

I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I just can't. "Yeah...about that...I know you think I'm your True Love and I'm supposed to marry you and all, but I'm only seventeen. It might be perfectly normal to get married at seventeen three hundred years ago, but nobody gets married that young anymore. Unless they're high and have no inhibitions and are in Vegas. Because what happens there stays there."

Lois starts laughing. "I do not want to marry you."

She doesn't need to laugh that much. "You don't?"

"Hardly. Let us not forget that you were the one who kissed me."

"Oh, I get it. It's because I'm not a Prince. Just a mere commoner - a former Farmer's son. I knew you were stuck-up."

"First of all Smallville, calling me stuck-up when I am trying to help you escape is rude. Secondly, it does not signify. My being a Princess and you not being a Prince does not matter. I do not want to marry you and you do not want to marry me...but I do want you to take me with you when you go."

"Your Father will never let you go away with me - especially if we're not married! He thinks I deflowered and defiled you before dinner while he took a nap!"

"No, of course The General will not let me leave with you."

"OK. So we understand each other. Good to know we're on the same page. Anyway...it was nice meeting you. Good luck with the whole Who Wants To Marry A Princess thing. Now if you can just get your Father to let me out of here..."

"No!" She grasps one of my hands with both of hers. "I am not asking to marry you...nor am I going to ask The General's permission to leave with you...or let you go. I want to sneak out...under the cover of darkness...and leave Pandora. I want to go with you...not as husband and wife...but merely as friends...partners...travel companions." She grips my hand even harder. "You owe me, Smallville."

"Are you freaking kidding me! I owe you! I'm in a rat infested dungeon! What dyslexic Disney Fairytale are you reading because you have things backwards and upside down! We definitely aren't on the same page! We're not even in the same book!"

"You woke me up. You ruined everything. Had you not come along with your pillow soft lips and searched for a piece of apple in my mouth with your tongue, someone else would have woken me, someone who loves me and could have saved me and Pandora. Or perhaps we would have slept forever."

"And that would be a good thing? Again with the dyslexia."

"It seems preferable to waking and having everyone know that I am the ruin of my Kingdom, to having my Father despise me. Clark, you want to escape. Well so do I."

"And if I don't take you with me?"

"Well...then...I shall run away on own...by myself...all alone...all by my lonesome."

"Those all mean the same thing."

"Venturing out into the cold, cruel world of buses and telephones and other matters of which I know nothing. I have no map and no money, save a large quantity of priceless jewels. Without you, I might be robbed for my jewels...or actually deflowered and defiled. Unless somebody does something about it."

I feel her shoulders go up as she shrugs since she still has my hand in a death grip. I sigh. There's no way out of this. "You win Lois. I guess I'm the somebody - "

"Who saves me?"

Ugh. Am I really destined to spend the rest of my life walking into that one?

I reply the only way I can. "Road Trip?"