from last time...
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She turned so her back rested in the corner. She looked at the empty table one more time before lowering herself to the floor and hugging her knees to her chest. “No, no, no, no, no, no,” she kept muttering quietly, her mind racing. She couldn’t take this. Not this. He had been dead before, she knew that… but this, this was too much! She just kept thinking about how she couldn’t say goodbye to him now. She had left him alone too long. She hadn’t even told him how much he meant to her. And now he was gone… not just dead, but physically gone forever. All evidence that he had even existed at all, washed away. Sure, she had a few photographs of him and she had her memories… but photos yellow and fade and memories grow dim with time.
She closed her eyes, desperately trying to imagine him, his smile and his eyes, his kindness… even remember the end and how he lay, looking so peaceful as if he were sleeping. She couldn’t see his peaceful face, though, just the face that was twisted in agony. The face from the video that she was trying so hard to forget. Memories and the video and their final week—his voice shaking both times she extricated him from her life; that look in his eyes at those two horrible moments—rushed through her mind in a mad frenzy, and finally it was too much to bear. “No!” she screamed out loud, burying her face in her hands, shaking all over.
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HAVE A LITTLE FAITH IN ME
PART 11
He could hear voices, but it sounded like he was hearing them from under water. Blackness surrounded him. What was going on? Familiar feelings of fear paralyzed him.
“Open your eyes,” he told himself… but to no avail. He could not process how to open them. Try as he might, the connection between the part of his mind that was living and aware, was not connecting with his body, which seemed to be in a deep sleep… or worse…
“Concentrate on the voices,” he told himself, when his attempt to open his eyes failed. He wanted to know where he was, if he had died, if was just sleeping… he just wasn’t sure…
“How… long… should… we…. wait,” it sounded like one of the voices was saying. He just wasn’t sure who was talking. The voices sounded so distorted… they sounded deep and as if they had been slowed down.
He willed himself to open his eyes again…
They wouldn’t open…
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Silence, pain and blackness. That was all Lois Lane knew at this dark hour. Still huddled in the corner with her eyes squeezed tightly, she could see only blackness, hear nothing but her own breathing, and feel nothing but intense, cold, unending pain. It just wouldn’t go away. She really felt as if her heart were broken— literally broken. It sure felt that way. She had never experienced anything like this before.
When her dad had left when she was still just a child, she had huddled in a corner then, too, feeling twinges of pain and anger and guilt in her chest and in her heart. And she had cried, even as she tried to tell herself she didn’t care. But the feeling inside did not even come close to comparing to the feelings that were paralyzing her now.
When Claude had betrayed her, making her feel so cheap, so used and so stupid, she had cried a little and felt something aching inside. It wasn’t pain. She knew that now without a doubt. It was hurt. She had been hurt. Her heart hadn’t been hurt really; just her pride. She thought she’d felt something real with him. Worse even, she was convinced he had felt something real with her...
He came into her life with his accent and European charm and exotic ways. He was handsome and intelligent and could have had any woman he wanted. But he had wanted her. Lois Lane. Eager, young journalist and not-about-to-ever-admit-it hopeless romantic. She had met him and he had inspired her in ways she had never known, prompting her to start exploring the romance in her heart, leading her to do things she had never dared to do before. Like starting her romance novel. And putting herself out there where he was concerned. Putting her heart out there. After her bad college experience with Paul, she had closed herself off quite a bit where men were concerned. But Claude somehow felt real. When she met him, something inside had told her to forget about Paul and let down her barriers again. Let down her guard. She told herself that he was different. She was writing better work, hoping to impress him and climb higher on the ladder of success for herself in the process. She had poured her heart into the first few chapters of a novel she had always dreamed of writing, but had felt foolish ever really starting. Claude… he was the real thing. She was sure of it.
Now, she hated him.
And not because he had romanced her and taken her vulnerable heart and bruised it terribly, leaving her in an empty bed with the realization that everything was gone… him, her sure-fire award-winning story, her pride and her inspiration.
She remembered that day clearly… that day that was such a turning point… the day that would now make her hate him with a stronger vengeance than she had ever even known she possessed.
She had gotten out of the bed, standing on suddenly shaky legs, wrapped the loose, white sheet around her naked body and looked around her small apartment. Clutching the fabric to herself, she looked at the table where they had shared a beautiful candlelight meal the night before… the empty bottle of wine still stood atop it. She had told him, over an exquisite meal, all about her new story. She had told him all her leads, all her evidence, the interesting spin she was going to take on the story, which would make her stand apart from all the other reporters that would even touch on the topic of that story. He had sounded so impressed and so genuinely interested. In everything she had to say. When they had later made love, she was secretly disappointed, but she told herself that she was just being too romantic; too ideal. She shouldn’t hope for this perfect experience, just because he was so perfect. But the experience really had been such a letdown, and she hadn’t even enjoyed any part of it. If she was honest with herself, she had hoped that they wouldn’t do it that night actually. She had just wanted to talk and get to know him on a personal, intimate level, talking and kissing and soul searching. But he had seemed to want something more than that. Or less, really. She wanted a grand romance and he wanted a simple act. And that is what he got. Clutching the sheet to her even tighter still, she looked at her small desk, where she had written for countless hours a romance that Claude had inspired in her. She knew, looking at that desk on that day, that she would most likely not touch that novel for a long time, if ever again. She noticed that the hard copy of her news story was no longer next to her computer anymore either.
She had walked to the corner of her bedroom and fell to the floor, crying into the sheets where she had so foolishly given something special to a man who she had misjudged so badly. A man who hurt her more than she had been hurt in her life. On the floor, in her empty apartment, which was so small, but felt so big in that moment, she vowed to create a new Lois Lane. A woman who did not under any circumstances let any man get into her heart. A woman who never trusted anyone—not really—at work or personally. She would not talk about her stories with anyone but her editor-in-chief, and even that was only because she had to for her job’s sake. She would not ever, EVER, again sleep with a colleague… even KISS a colleague, unless it were a ruse on the way to getting a story. And she would be the best reporter, on her own.
With her new Mary Tyler Moore “I’m Gonna Make It On My Own” outlook on life, she started, that day, to look for a new apartment, in a new part of town, to be the new, “improved” Lois Lane, leaving the bad memory in another place, which she couldn’t bear to look at. She cut her long, mid-back length raven locks into a more professional, more prim and proper do, just below her ears. It was less sexy, less fun… less youthful and vibrant. She looked beautiful all the same and still got now-unwanted attention from men, but it was not, in her opinion, as promiscuous. She was a new woman…
She hated Claude…
She hated him that day, and a little more every day after that.
Until a couple of years later, when a new male reporter joined the Daily Planet and entered her life, and somewhere between not wanting to even grace him with a conversation and bouncing ideas off him daily, she forgot about Claude. She no longer hated him.
But today, looking at the empty table that had held that same man who had helped her forget Claude… the one honest man that had ever, and probably would ever, come into her life… she hated Claude more than ever before.
Clark had started at the Planet and she did not want to work with him, even on one story. She did not talk about a story with anyone she worked with. Not her details and leads. Those were as personal to her as her romance novel and the secrets in her heart. Those were hers. She did not want to talk to Clark. She tried to force him to back off. She wasn’t stupid; she knew the novice reporter, fresh off the Smallville Gazette, was attracted to her. And she couldn’t have any repeat performances where her heart was concerned.
***”Don’t fall for me, Farmboy, I don’t have time for it…”***
Her own voice echoed in her mind, accompanied by the image of his face, when she said that. He hadn’t looked hurt, exactly, just… well, a certain look of hope—romantic hope—that shone in his eyes, and she was oh so familiar with, was extinguished when she said that.
She casually mentioned her personal “rules” to him, so that he would not try to even pursue her. She made it clear that she knew how men were and was not about to put up with it. She practically yawned and rolled her eyes at his obvious attraction to her, yelping “get over it soon, buddy”. Despite her many efforts, she still caught that look in his eyes, later. And what shocked her was that the look didn’t threaten her or lead her to be wary of him. In the eyes of any other man that she had ever worked at the Planet with, the look needed to be removed and she did her best to remove it. She had a ninety-nine percent success rate at that. But Clark… he was her one percent. The only one who she had put the effort forth to remove the look, and while she had succeeded at the time to remove it, it had come back. He was the only one who it didn’t bother her, knowing it was there. In his eyes, it was endearing and innocent. She had decided at one point, that she would not even dream of trying to snap him out of it anymore. She feared that the closer they got, the more his hope grew, and she couldn’t help but relate to him… sympathize with him. She had been like that at one point too. She was like that where Superman was concerned as well. And she did not ever want to hurt him. She felt so ashamed that in his first few months on the job, she had probably hurt him repeatedly. But he had never given up on her, which she was so thankful for. While she had held him at arms length, he had somehow still gotten inside, with all his teasing and playfulness, charm, friendship and quiet strength. Inside her heart. He had become the most wonderful friend, and the most trustworthy partner. She didn’t even realize it, but while she was idolizing and obsessing over Superman, who was so unattainable and therefore so safe, she had fallen madly in love with Clark. But he embodied everything that she had sworn off, that day that Claude pushed her to create a new Lois Lane. This Lois Lane did not get involved with colleagues, or allow anyone to get her off her career path. While she trusted Clark with her stories, and even admitted her work was better when she combined her talents with his, and she even openly admitted he had become a great friend—her best friend—he was still a man. A man at work. Deep down, she knew that he was different from Claude. He was different from anyone she had ever met. There was something so honest and pure about Clark Kent. When Lois allowed her mind to go there, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Clark would never do what Claude had done, any part of it. He would never sleep with her and leave in the early twilight of the morning, taking her story with him and writing it as his own. He would never do that to anyone, let alone her. She knew he would never sleep with someone at all unless he was in a meaningful relationship with her. She also knew—as it was evident in his eyes—that he wasn’t just attracted to her and didn’t see her as a goal or a conquest. He loved her. Really loved her. He was the real thing, and she pushed him away because of a scar that never fully healed that she had received worlds ago. In a world where Clark Kent was not in her life and she had not been shown the strength and power of love.
She hated Claude so much now, because he had caused her to ignore—at first so meanly, and later just blindly—the feelings for Clark which she harbored almost immediately, right from the start. They were perfect… perfect from the start… and she would not give them the chance to be what she now knew they had been destined to be. Together. They were destined to be together, and her heart had only accepted the truth it had always been trying to tell her, once it was too late. Much, much too late.
She hated Claude so much right now. Huddled in a corner on the hospital room floor, with all the thoughts in the world she could be having, that was the one thought in the forefront of her mind . She hated Claude.
Because of Clark, she had finally been able to forget about Claude. Really forget about him. To use the energy she used to put into keeping others away, instead into being a better reporter and a better friend. She laughed more and felt more like herself than she had in years. Maybe more like herself than she had ever felt in her life. With Clark, she never really guarded anything the way she did with her family and most of her coworkers and the few friends she did have. He was the one person she let see her, in all her glory and with all her faults. And he seemed to always love and treasure what he saw of her. He made her realize that she was a good person, worthy of love and friendship and success. He taught her to relax a little, not governing her life so strictly by self-set rules and distrust for all. He encouraged her, instead of intimidated her. He was never her competition and she knew that without him ever having to explain it. He changed her in so many ways, for the better, while always making sure she knew that he loved her just as she was, and because of him, she learned to like herself, just as she was. That was the best change of all, leading her to truly put the whole Claude experience behind her. In this past year, when Claude’s name would come up among some of her coworkers or if she would happen to see an article that was his, she would not get that sick feeling inside and remind herself that men at work and most men in general were evil and she should never trust again. She would honestly shrug and go about her day, and the thought of him would truly be gone as soon as it had come into her mind. She thought she had just gotten over it, which was partly true. Looking back now, she realized it was because of the kindness and trustworthiness of another man that she was able to get over it. This man was a friend, a confidante, and a kind soul. She was no longer affected by Claude because someone else had shown her that she was worth more than letting that man affect her in any way. Clark had given her love, and it was so strong that the weak hold that Claude had over her heart was forced to succumb to that love and die away completely. But Claude still maintained a strong influence in her subconscious. And that is why she hated him now.
She hated Claude….
She had never known true pain, until this moment. She had never known a broken—shattered—heart, until this moment. What she had felt for Claude was infatuation; that was clearer now than it had ever been before. She had thought herself so smart and worldly and her ego had suffered a huge setback when he left her. But he had left her heart intact, because despite what she told herself, he had never gotten inside of it. He had never really touched her. Never understood her. He couldn’t break her heart, because she never even really cared about him. He was just a catalyst for her; something hurtful enough to force her to change herself so it would never happen again. If she made her heart a ‘no entry’ zone, it couldn’t be broken. But Clark had touched her. He touched her more deeply than anyone ever would, leaving imprints in her heart. Clark had entered her ‘no entry’ zone in the quietest, sweetest and most selfless way, and that zone… her heart… had been shattered beyond repair, leaving her with regrets, and hatred for the man who had caused her to become a cynical, blind woman.
“Clark…” she sobbed, into her hands. She knew she would forever grieve for the love she had lost before ever even experiencing it.
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“Jonathan, we can’t stay in here, forever,” Martha said, starting to grow weary and claustrophobic.
“Martha, we can’t take any chances and you know that,” Jonathan said, in a more calm tone than he actually felt.
Martha looked around the small elevator. As far as elevators went, it was actually big, as most were in hospitals. But with Clark on a stretcher in front of them and the fact that they had been in there for almost a half hour, it seemed to be rapidly growing smaller. “Honey, someone is bound to catch on that this elevator isn’t operating and they are going to try to open it. I would much rather control where it opens, personally. We can’t take any chances, you’re right, but there is a chance that someone could fix this elevator from the outside, and open it onto the bottom floor… where HE could be.”
Jonathan sighed, clearly torn. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I just don’t know what to do, here.”
“Well, put your trust in me, honey. We will get this elevator operating again, and take it up to the fourth floor… I will take the stairs down and poke around and make sure he is nowhere to be found and see if I can find that detective we saw when we came in. You wait in an empty room on the fourth floor with Clark, okay?”
Jonathan nodded, although he looked still shaken by the turn of events in the already horrible day.
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With her eyes still closed, and blackness around her everywhere, Lois sat in a semi-conscious state, talking quietly to the empty air surrounding her, her head leaning against one of the walls in the corner she sat in.
“I’ve loved you always… I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. You have become as necessary to my life as breathing. I… I’m having trouble breathing,” she said, feeling something tightening in her gut, as if to prove she meant her words. “You see, something inside really is broken. It’s not your fault that you broke my heart. You only did it by touching my life with yours. But I’m broken now, all the same…” she trailed off, slurring her last words in a quiet voice…
“Lois?”
Lois shook her head as if coming out of a trance and opened her eyes, trying to focus on the person in the room with her. Before she had a chance to ask any questions about who it was and why they were in there with her, at such a personal time, the person was on the floor in front of her.
“Honey, you’re shaking!”
Martha… it was Martha, Lois realized. Lois tried to focus her eyes, but having just come from a practically dreamlike state her eyes were not cooperating. She blinked repeatedly, but Martha was not coming to full clarity. All Lois could really see were Martha’s concerned eyes. “Concentrate,” she told herself. She could hear Martha talking. The only word she made out, though, was ‘Lex’.
“Lex… he’s dead,” Lois muttered, sounding like she was still sleeping. Or almost sleeping. “Henderson, he had to…”
Martha was hugging Lois, telling her everything would be alright. She could hear her now.
“No,” Lois said calmly. “No, it won’t. He’s gone. He’s disappeared…” she trailed off.
“Honey, he was a madman… I know that he shouldn’t have died, but…”
“No… Clark….”
Martha pulled away from Lois to look at her more closely. “What about Clark, honey?”
“He…” Lois swallowed. “He’s disappeared… he died and his body disappeared,” Lois finished, her face crumpling, saying what had happened out loud. “Just like you said it would,” she sobbed, losing control again. “He’s gone, and I never got to even say goodbye…” she cried, louder.
Through her tears, she could see Martha’s horrified expression. Lois felt bad, having to tell her the horrible news. She could hear Martha saying no; it wasn’t true. Lois nodded, understanding why the woman would choose denial over the horrible truth. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Lois repeated again. “He died without ever knowing… I never told him…” she said, crying, holding Martha’s arms while she rambled.
She could hear Martha repeating with more conviction in her tone that it wasn’t true, that Clark was still here… she was saying he was upstairs. Lois just started crying harder, wishing so badly that it were true… that he was just upstairs. Waiting for her. But it wasn’t true… what was true was that she would never see his kind face again. The face that had become such a source of comfort for her at all times. The face she would give anything just to see… just to kiss. She started crying again, so hard, that whatever else Martha said, she couldn’t hear it anymore.
Finally Martha was running out of the room. Lois felt even more awful. On top of not being able to control her own emotions, she had obviously also sent Martha over the top, causing her to run from the scene frantically… run from the truth.
Lois put her head back against the wall, where it had been when Martha found her. Her crying slowed until her sobs no longer wracked her body, but became small hiccups; she could feel her whole body uncontrollably trembling. She had never felt like this before. Before, when Clark was dead, she felt horrible and more awful than she had ever felt in her entire life… but she could see him. She could even kiss him… and she did. He was there, his presence giving her hope, like it always did. Her belief that things would be okay and that he would be okay… that she would be okay… was strong when he was there, in front of her, making her believe. As fragile as she felt then, her belief that it wasn’t too late, that he could survive, was pulling her through it. But now… she would never see him again. That thought, and that thought alone, made her feel like her body was slowly shutting down, forgetting how to survive, starting with her heart. It was aching in such a strong way, that she wasn’t sure she would survive very long if it didn’t get better. But she shook her head, knowing it wouldn’t get better. Not without…
“Clark,” a warm voice said, breaking into her thoughts. Lois looked up, seeing Martha walking toward her. “He’s right here, Lois.”
Daring to hope, even a little, Lois looked in the direction that Martha was pointing, just as Jonathan backed through the doorway, pulling a stretcher with him. She could only see glimpses at first…
Red boots…
Black hair…
Naked chest…
Lois slowly stood, holding the wall for support, tears streaming down her shocked face. She ran forward, still thinking that maybe it wasn’t him… that it was just her imagination or… or just someone who appeared to be…
“Clark!” she cried, softly, as she approached the stretcher, realizing in a flash that it really was him. She bent over him, immediately, memorizing his beautiful face. As a million thoughts flew threw her mind and a million tears streamed down her cheeks from happy eyes, she started to kiss him. Every inch of his face. She held his face with her hands while kissing his forehead, his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his nose… just anywhere she could. She just kissed him and kissed him, repeating the words “I love you, I love you…” over and over again, so she would always at least know that she had told him, so that wherever he was, he knew.
