Coming back to what I once called home left a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. It wasn't home anymore, not without Mom there. It was just a pit stop, a quick grab-and-go mission. Mom's blanket, a handful of clothes to crash at Pete's. And textbooks, couldn't forget those damn textbooks.
Helena, in a rare act of mercy, offered to help me wade through the lecture swamp I'd missed. Mid-terms loomed large, and with my scholarship hanging by a thread, getting back on track was non-negotiable.
When I arrived at the front door, Jake was hunched over, attempting to fix the busted lock. He grunted as he struggled, beads of sweat dripping down his neck despite the biting cold.
Damn him. How was I supposed to face this dirtbag after the hell he'd put me through? Memories of the lab flooded back, syringes piercing my skin, the stone burning every vein in my body. All because of that fucking piece of shit.
Caught in a moment of awkward paralysis, I stood there, a burning ball of anger lodged in my chest.
I was toying with the idea of climbing an upper window to avoid him altogether when he sensed my presence and turned towards me. His bleary eyes, fresh from a day-long beer binge, suddenly snapped into focus. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a grimy hand, leaving a streak of dirt, and took a long, slow swig from his beer can.
"Get it over with, then," he muttered, his voice rough with disuse.
I frowned in confusion. "What?"
He let out a humorless chuckle, crushing his empty beer can and tossing it carelessly onto the porch.
"Whatever you're plannin' to do to me, boy. I'm sick of waitin', wonderin' when you'll finally snap."
My fists clenched at the accusation. "I'm not some damn monster," I shot back sharply. "That's not why I'm here."
He let out a subtle scoff. "Not a mon–" he started, then swallowed down the retort, his heartbeat picking up a notch. The bravado drained from his face without the safety net of the alien rock.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I said through gritted teeth. "I just need to grab a few things and get out." I took a step closer, and he stiffened. "But you better not fucking push me." I added, staring him down, daring him to try.
"You're leavin'?" he asked quietly. I could practically smell the relief emanating from his body.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I cocked my head slightly. Let him think I might be back any day to haunt him. It was the least he deserved. "Just move so I can go inside."
He shuffled to the side, his wary eyes locking on me as I brushed past.
I stormed upstairs, the damaged stairs creaking underfoot with each step. I grabbed Mom's toiletries and clothes with swift, efficient movements. I winced at the broken faucet. Jake must be fuming. Not that I cared. Not anymore. Loading my backpack with essentials, I snatched the lavender-scented blanket from Mom's armchair.
In seconds, I was back at the half-repaired door, ready to hightail it out of there and put as much distance between me and Jake as inhumanly possible.
"I'd hug you goodbye," I called over my shoulder, "but we both know you wouldn't survive it."
The TV was blaring the latest news when I stepped into Mom's hospital room. "…two bodies outside an underground fight club near Westwood Bridge, wearing the signature carved smile. This brings the tally up to 37 since the infamous Joker hit the scene..."
Joker. "So, that's what they call this psycho," I muttered, squinting at the screen. His creepy smile smeared with red lipstick made my fists itch. I wanted to punch it right off him. I swore. I had to find that lunatic before he claimed more innocent lives.
Mom lay in the bed, bathed in the glow of the news. Her eyes lit up as I sidled in.
"You shouldn't be watching this," I said gently, reaching for the remote to silence the TV. "It'll give you nightmares."
I knelt beside the bed, placing the blanket over her and unpacking the few things I'd managed to grab.
"Thank you, son," Mom said, reaching for my hand and giving it a weak squeeze.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, forcing a smile.
"Like I took a tumble down a flight of stairs," she admitted with a grimace, wincing as she shifted slightly. "But at least I'm alive, unlike those poor souls." She nodded towards the TV.
"Thank God you're okay," I choked out, guilt chewing at me. "I'm sorry I wasn't there… I–," I trailed off, not wanting to pile more on her plate. She had been through enough. But she had to know the truth.
"It's not your fault, sweetie," she said softly. "You can't be everywhere at once." Her gaze softened with concern. "But where were you? You didn't come home for days. I thought..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes searching mine. She thought I had left her.
"Mom, I would never leave you," I rushed to assure her, my voice thick with emotion. "You know that. I would have been here, seen your message. It's just... it was Jake. He… he messed up, big time." My gaze dropped to our clasped hands.
I offered her a watered-down version of my stepdad's little stunt. A storm formed in her eyes as she processed the betrayal, her features twisting with anger and disbelief. Her protective motherly instincts flared when I finished recounting the story and she cursed Jake with a barrage of expletives.
"We'll have to leave Gotham," she said, voice trembling. "These monsters, they'll come after you!"
"It's okay," I reassured her. "I can handle myself. Lay low for a while, crash at Pete's."
"Clark..." Mom started, worry seeping from her pores.
"It's okay, there's no rush," I insisted. "We'll find somewhere. Right now, you need to focus on healing."
"But we can't stay with Jake!" Mom argued, her voice shaking with distress. "He's gone too far this time…" She paused looking straight into my eyes. "What if he talks? If we leave–,"
"He's already told the worst people he could have," I explained. "They won't come after me. We made… a deal. Jake doesn't have the stone anymore. He's scared..."
I looked into her eyes, bracing to find the same fear. But it wasn't fear I found; it was genuine concern.
"Mom..." I continued hesitantly. "The scientists at S.T.A.R. Labs, they... they said I wasn't human." I looked away, fumbling nervously with her sheet.
Mom's eyes widened, and then they brimmed with tears. She reached out and cupped my chin, making me face her.
"Oh, honey...," she said softly. "You're as much a part of this world as anyone else. You have the kindest heart I know, a heart far purer than most humans." She reached out and gently touched my cheek. "We knew you were different, but we never wanted you to feel defined by it. We wanted you to live a normal life."
Normal? My chest tightened. I was everything but fucking normal.
"You knew... this whole time," I said, a bitter edge in my voice, "and you kept this from me? I'd have understood why... why I'm like this," I said, looking down at my hands. Hands that had broken innocents' bodies. Hands that could destroy anything in existence.
"Clark, listen to me," Mom pleaded, her grip tightening on my hand. "You're my boy, and that's all that matters. Your father and I found you… it was close to our home," she began, a nostalgic smile momentarily replacing the worry lines on her face. "You were in a pod that fell from the heavens. Not a single scratch on you. The most beautiful baby I ever laid eyes on. A blessing, we thought–"
"All these years, I thought I was just some messed-up freak." I cut in. "But no, turns out, I'm a fucking alien!" I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.
"No, you're not!" Mom's eyes welled up again, the soft beep from the monitor beside her picking up pace. "Your father and I, we've always loved you for who you are. Our little miracle baby. We didn't want you to carry the weight of your past. Your future is here on Earth."
Her hands reached out to cup my face but I jerked away. "Dad…" I choked, a lump the size of a boulder constricting my throat. Oh God. I dreaded asking the next question. "Dad... Mom... did I kill Dad?" I forced myself to meet her eyes, pleading for a different answer. "The doctors said his body had... scorched marks. Dad died because of me, didn't he? Did I–" my voice cracked and I buried my face in the mattress, unable to face her.
Mom's arms wrapped around my head gently. "Don't you even think about that." She snapped, her voice trembling. "You'd never hurt your father, not in a million years! It was an accident, Clark. You adored him, and he loved you more than words can say. This was just... it was..." She paused, searching for the right words, her voice softening. "It was something we couldn't control, a part of you we didn't fully understand. But it doesn't change who you are." Her hand pressed firmly against my racing heart.
"Jake was right. I am a monster." I whispered, choking back a sob.
"You are not a monster, Clark," Mom held me tighter. "You are my son, my extraordinary, kind-hearted son. And you are loved. Unconditionally."
Hot and salty tears streamed down my face, blurring the wallpaper lilies into an impressionist mess. Ragged sobs shook my body, gradually fading into sniffles, then into shaky breaths. I lay with my arms on Mom's legs, the scent of lavender enveloping us both like a warm hug, a whisper of home.