The Kiss Off
By CC Aiken and Erin Klingler
Fundraiser Fic, 2005
from part 1:
"So, do you want me to stick around? Walk you home?"
"No." She didn’t. She wasn’t any more ready to be alone with Clark than she was to be with Superman. "I’ll be fine. See you in the morning."
She moved to stand, looking down at her sore feet and new shoes with some chagrin. The high-heeled shoes made perfect sense for a car owner. But for someone who'd done more than their fair share of walking that day, they left something to be desired.
She limped out to catch a cab on sore feet and tried not to think of it as a metaphor for her life.
~*~*~*~*~
Now, on to part 2:
Day five.
Clark waited on the sidewalk outside the Planet, nodding hello to various co-workers as they hurried past. It was such a beautiful morning; he dared to let himself hope.
Maybe today would be better. Maybe it was the fifth day that was the charm. Maybe enough time had passed now that Lois, while perhaps not feeling completely reconciled to her current circumstances, would, nonetheless, be able to put it into perspective.
With the sun shining and the temperatures unseasonably warm, it didn’t seem to be that impossible an idea.
He heard her approach long before she rounded the corner. Her usual precision march footsteps, the accelerated heart rate...
He tilted his head. Was it just a tad faster today than in days past? No. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It was a beautiful morning in Metropolis; Lois wasn’t as immune to that as she liked to appear.
She wasn’t as immune to anything as she liked to appear.
Clark stifled a sigh and turned to meet her. The look on her face, the thundercloud hanging over her that one didn’t have to have X-Ray vision to see, told him clearly: day five was going to be a lot like days one through four.
He pasted on his warmest smile. It was worth a shot.
"You will not believe this!" she greeted him.
He smiled a bit harder. "Good morning, Lois."
"Right. Hi. I spoke to Stan the mechanic this morning--"
Which explained the thundercloud and erratic heart rhythm.
"--He said I woke him up. Can you believe that? What kind of hours do you think he keeps?"
"Daylight ones?" he ventured, hustling to stay in step with her.
"And you know what he said, when he was finally awake enough to say anything?" Lois wrenched open the doors, scowling.
"I can guess," Clark said quietly to the back of her head as she stomped through the lobby and towards the elevators. "The brakes are shot."
"He said the brakes are shot! So it’s lucky for me I was in that wreck in the first place!" Lois swept past several of their colleagues, who wisely moved to make way. "Do I look like I feel lucky to you?"
He was saved from having to respond by the elevator’s timely arrival.
When the doors closed behind them, though, Clark realized that, despite the long line, he and Lois were the only two who had stepped inside. Evidently no one else was feeling particularly ‘lucky’ today, either.
Unbidden, and most definitely unwisely, he chuckled.
Lois stopped talking at once, an accusing glare growing in her gaze. And yes, he had known it wasn’t smart, but they had started the last five days in just this way--reviewing Stan the mechanic’s daily assessment of Lois’s Land Cruiser. The brakes had come up more than once. In fact, the words ‘broken record’ sprang to mind. Or Mad Dog Lane. Though in this case, one meant the same as the other.
"So..." he said. The gathering storm pushed the word out quickly. "...you still think he’s running some kind of racket?"
Evidently satisfied that he understood the gravity of the situation, Lois nodded. And only then pushed the elevator button that would move them up a level.
It was symbolic, Clark thought idly. Then he frowned and tried to pin down precisely what that thought meant. Symbolic? Of what?
"You agree, then." Her tone was so even and devoid of anger now, he was tempted to look around for another speaker.
"Sorry?" he hedged, because he knew his mind had wandered. Clearly he had missed something.
"You’re frowning," she said. "You only frown when you’re trying to piece something together. Figure something out. The rest of the time you have that dopey, carefree, happy-with-the-world smile on your face. So, you must agree."
He sighed. "Lois, there are so many points of entry on that comment I don't even know where to begin. First, I do not have a dopey--"
"But you do think we should investigate," she interrupted.
For an instant he considered being irritated. But it was for just an instant. She was asking for his opinion. And she placed some value on it. The fact that she was asking for it rudely was actually a step forward for them.
She had been so nice to him lately. Too nice. Too careful.
When she wasn’t arguing the merits of a story with him, she was quiet, restrained. Closed off. Her shows of temper since the accident, while growing old, definitely, were at least something different. Perhaps they were finally moving away from the stiff, formal place they had landed in...right after Luthor had landed face down on the sidewalk.
"You’re frowning again," Lois noted, just as the elevators doors slid open and the bullpen came into view.
"Look, Lois..." He stepped out behind her, hesitating. He didn’t want to take any steps backwards, if this was, indeed, progress. But he couldn’t exactly sacrifice Stan the mechanic to recover his and Lois’s easy friendship.
Resolved, he wrapped a gentle, careful hand around her elbow, pasted a ‘dopey’ smile on his face, and began steering her towards the conference room.
It felt nice. Superman had held her the day of the accident, though that had only been to keep her from gouging out the other guy’s eyes. Still, he couldn’t remember the last time he, Clark, had touched her.
And nicer still, she lit up immediately. Turning on a smile of her own. One which could never be categorized as ‘dopey.’ How long had it been since he’d seen that?
"You get the coffee," she said breathlessly. "I’ll grab the donuts. We’ll nail Stan to the wall in time for the late edition!"
He grabbed her other arm now, to stop her from practically running away. "Wait, wait, wait...no. I was just going to say..."
She fixed him with a stare that fairly vibrated with impatience, but she stopped wiggling. "I was just going to say--" he continued, releasing her and running a nervous hand through his hair. "--that I think Stan might be right about your brakes, Lois. I know you’d only had the car a few months before the accident, but you did buy it used and you did...drive it pretty hard."
He watched as the excited energy drained from her, his heart sinking along with it. She had two speeds lately. She was either full-tilt angry or she was...nothing. Barely there. As much as he’d come to dread her morning rants this week--her single-minded obsession with getting her car back--he liked her better that way. And he knew why it was so important. The SUV was much more than just a means of transport for her.
He knew all about her late night drives this past summer. Her sleepless nights. The miles she had traveled under the cover of darkness with no apparent destination; just a need to keep going.
He knew because Superman had been doing the same. In the wake of the Lane-Luthor wedding debacle, Superman’s evening patrols had stretched late into the night, eventually extending until sunrise. For much of that time, he had followed Lois. Keeping an eye on her, staying out of sight, knowing exactly what was driving her.
And wishing with all his heart he knew how to be the one to help her stop. To make it ok for her to be still. But if he couldn’t find those answers for himself, he didn’t know how he could do that for her.
"How--what--what do you mean I’ve driven it hard?" she asked tightly.
"I’ve been your passenger. Don’t forget." He tried for a lighter note. "I think I’ve shaved a decade off my life. Not to mention the threat to pedestrians."
"Pedestrians walk at their own risk," she retorted, though there was no heat behind it. "You really don’t think Stan is running some sort of scam? Deceiving customers who have no choice but to fix their already wrecked cars if they ever want to drive them again?"
"I don’t," he said simply, anticipating the return of her anger. Her outrage.
It didn’t come. And he was almost sorry.
Instead, Lois drew in a long, slow breath and fixed her eyes over his shoulder. Maybe he was imagining the glint of moisture in them, but something in his chest tightened. After the wedding, after Luthor’s fall, after those first few minutes when he’d held her in her wedding dress, she’d never shown him her grief.
Superman had seen signs of it at the accident site. Her sorrow as she watched the SUV hauled away, but he, Clark, had not been privy to that. She didn’t let him.
Lois blinked, and whatever emotion had been threatening was nowhere in evidence. Her dark stare held his steadily. "I need that car, Clark. I just...need it. I don’t know if I can wait for the repairs, the insurance...all of it."
"I know." He moved his hands slowly, carefully, to take hers, squeezing her cold fingers between his own. "We’ll think of something."
After a long minute, she nodded and blew out a short breath. "Ok."
He didn’t even try to hide his surprise. "Ok?"
"You need it in writing?" she grumbled.
And while he thought that wasn’t such a bad idea, he simply grinned at her. "Maybe Stan will be so grateful for the reprieve, he’ll work a little faster."
She removed her hands from his, but she laughed and had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Glaciers melt faster than Stan works," she said, but the scowl she had in place was merely for show. He knew that, and he felt his heart grow lighter. "If I have to stop harassing him, maybe I’ll just move on to Porsche-guy. Doesn’t seem fair to let him off so easy."
"Oh, Lois," he groaned, falling into step with her, following her back to her desk.
They were met on the way by Jimmy. Clark didn’t want to say his young friend bounded over. That was how Lois would describe it, and that would sound too unfair and far too puppy-like. However, there was a very definite sort of spring in the cub reporter’s step.
"Hey guys, did you see this?" Jimmy waved the morning paper so close Clark had to step back. Lois was already swatting at it.
"Watch it," she warned.
"My first byline," Jimmy said, undeterred. "Page three. Go ahead."
Since he knew Lois wouldn’t, Clark took the paper and obediently flipped it open. "Page three, huh? Impressive."
Jimmy’s grin split ear to ear. "Thanks. Did you notice the headline?"
"'Kiss Off Kicks Off This Saturday,'" Clark read aloud.
"A bit heavy on the alliteration, don’t you think?" Lois injected, settling into her chair. "And what the heck is a Kiss Off?"
"Oh, it’s great. In fact, Lois, I thought you might be interested. It’s a contest. You pick someone to be your partner and--"
She was back on her feet immediately. "You tell them to kiss off? Seriously? That’s a contest? As in, who can tell someone off the best?"
"No, no, not *that* kind of kiss off," Jimmy hastened to explain. He shot Clark a look of appeal, but Clark just shrugged.
‘On your own,’ Clark mouthed, reading through the article quickly.
"I could pick my mother," Lois said thoughtfully, pacing in circles around them now. "Or Lucy. Wait. No. Linda!"
"Linda?" he and Jimmy asked as one.
"Or...ohhhhh. Perfect. The jerk with the Porsche!" she crowed as she gave Clark a solid, albeit friendly, thump on the back. "He owes me, and I bet if I tricked him, he would show up and I could--"
He was almost enjoying this as much as Jimmy, but he knew if he let her go on much longer, she’d kill him for it. He put out his hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. "Trust me, Lois. I don’t think you’d want any of those people as your partner on this."
"It is a great prize, though," Jimmy offered.
"Lois, it’s a--"
"What’s the prize?" She grabbed the paper from Clark’s hands, searching for the article.
"Any vehicle of your choice from Dealin' Dan's car lot. They’re the sponsors."
Her jaw dropped open in disbelief. "This is perfect! Made for me! I need a car, and I have any number of people I’d like to tell to kiss off...and I’d win. I *know* I would win!"
"Uh, Lois," Clark tried once more. "There’s just one thing wrong with that."
"Wrong nothing," Jimmy laughed. "You heard her, CK. It’s perfect!"
He shot a warning glare in Jimmy’s direction, but Lois intercepted it just as she snapped her head out of the folds of the paper. She had a look of horror on her face. "What kind of sick sideshow are these people promoting?"
"It’s a kissing contest. I’d hardly call that sick," Jimmy said. "Certainly not any sicker than a contest for yelling at someone, right, CK?"
Clark made a noncommittal noise. It seemed safest.
"See, you pick a partner and kiss them. It’s an endurance contest. Whoever kisses the longest wins the car of their choice," Jimmy explained.
"Oh." Lois collapsed back into her chair.
"Free wheels." Jimmy moved to stand across from her, leaning against her desk. "Lots of fun. What do you say?"
"Who...on earth...would I pick to kiss?" She looked away from Jimmy and directly at Clark. And then straight through him.
For some reason, the blank stare, the question...just did him in. Was the answer to that really that hard? Was it that impossible to imagine?
It was. Clark knew it was. She had made that clear. And she had never altered her position or pulled back from the truth of it. She didn’t love him. Had never loved him. Certainly didn’t consider him a possibility in any way...or at least she didn’t when he wasn’t wearing the cape, the boots, the spandex...
He turned abruptly, moving back towards his desk. She and Jimmy could talk it out. He didn’t want to hear any more. He wasn’t interested. He just wanted their friendship and working partnership back in a good place. That was it. Anything else was…off limits. He knew that. He had learned that the hard way. He wasn’t dumb enough to need re-teaching so soon.
"It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?" he was dimly aware of Jimmy saying. "When you thought it was about yelling at people, any number of potential partners came to mind. But when it comes to kissing...?"
Clark didn’t turn around; he recognized the quality of silence that had met that comment.
"Hey!" Jimmy said defensively. "I said it was just *kind* of funny."
~*~*~*~*~
The world was a small place. Her world, anyway. Lately it consisted only of herself, anyone within shouting distance of her desk, her sources, Stan the mechanic…
She stopped on that thought for a second and tried to imagine Stan without the greasy coveralls and the irritating non-progress reports on her car. If she kissed him for hours, would he be willing to hurry up the repairs? Though if he would just do that, she wouldn’t need to kiss him. If he would just fix her Land Cruiser, she wouldn’t need the new car, at all.
"What kind of car are we talking about?" she asked Jimmy, who was inexplicably still there, having moved to perch on the corner of her desk. 'Must be a slow news day, because Perry would never let Jimmy get away with so obviously doing nothing,' she thought.
"Any kind you want," Jimmy enthused. "That’s part of what’s so great. They’ll have a wide variety; you choose your favorite."
The world was a small place, but not so small there wouldn’t be loads of people in the competition. Though none of them could be as desperate for a car as she was, could they? And sheer desperation had to count for something.
She went back to her roll call of potentials, ruling out Stan because, well, she hated his guts. That still left her with plenty of possibilities. There was Jimmy, who was smirking at her but would probably insist they kiss for the latest two-seater sports car, or worse, for a Harley.
She squinted and tried that one on. Lois Lane, Fool No More, riding her motorcycle through the streets of Metropolis...
It had a certain ring to it.
Until it rained. Or snowed. Or she got bugs in her teeth.
Besides...kissing Jimmy? Really? Jimmy? She studied his big, cheerful smile through her lashes. How long could she look at that without just wanting to...rip it off his face?
She grimaced. It was possible that Lucy was right about her. She might have some anger issues left unresolved. But who could blame her? And more pressing still...who could she stand to let kiss her? Whose lips could she put up with for what would clearly be hours and hours if they intended to win, which she very much intended to do.
Her gaze went of its own volition across the aisle, across the other desks. Like a stone skipping on water, it went right over Ralph without pausing. As if. Right past Eduardo, happily married...and heavily mustached, besides. Lois rubbed her upper lip. That would irritate after a while, definitely.
Eventually her gaze reached its destination. Not *her* destination, because her gaze’s chosen target was not under consideration. No way, no how, no matter what. No.
"No," she reiterated under her breath, just to keep things straight. "I can’t."
"No?" repeated Jimmy incredulously. "Come on. Think, Lois! There has to be someone!"
And there was. Or at least her eyes told her so. But she knew better, so she squeezed them closed and ordered them to behave.
It was a small world and her choices were limited, yes, but she would pick Stan and his coveralls before she picked...him.
~*~*~*~*~
'Pick me. Pick me. Pick me.'
Clark projected the thought towards her desk, willing it to land squarely in its center, wave a flag, blow a whistle, dance a quick two-step. Anything to get her attention.
For her part, Lois, who he’d always found especially resistant to mental suggestions, was still making skeptical noises. "I don’t think so, Jimmy. And anyway, kissing for a car sounds kind of--"
"Free after taxes?" supplied Jimmy. "Incredible?" he guessed again. "Like my wildest dream come true?"
Clark shook his head and hoped it was only his imagination; that Jimmy wasn’t actually puckering-up and looking at Lois...the way Clark tried not looked at Lois.
He ducked his head and went back to pounding out nonsense on his keyboard. He was letting them talk it out, he reminded himself. He wasn’t about to stand there and set himself up for more rejection. However, the words ‘Pick me. Pick me. Pick me’ seemed to have inserted themselves into his article.
Maybe if he just emailed them to Lois? Maybe then? Might be subtle enough for her...
He shot another fast glance out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t really staring. He was merely a guy writing an article, who, incidentally, wanted nothing more than a return to friendship. He was just in time to see Lois sigh heavily and take out her rolodex. He barely suppressed a groan.
'Not the rolodex! Not the rolodex!' his thoughts shouted in her direction. 'Me! Pick me!'
"This is complicated," Lois was telling Jimmy. "Tricky. It couldn’t be just anyone. It would have to be someone with a lot of--"
"Sex appeal?" Jimmy, definitely interested, definitely moving himself closer to her from where he sat on the corner of her desk. Her desk! Right in Clark’s old spot.
Sure, he hadn’t used it for a while, but...it was his spot.
He considered a short puff of superbreath; just blowing Jimmy to the floor...across the room...out the door. Maybe no one would notice? It was only Jimmy after all...
He squelched the urge and went back to pounding. The words ‘Die Jimmy Die’ seemed a bit extreme. Especially since Jimmy was his friend. A good friend. And Superman would never do anyone violence. It was anathema to everything he was. Still...
Clark hit delete and exhaled shakily. He couldn’t do this anymore. Not for another day. Not for another hour. Not for however long it would take Lois to work through her rolodex and find someone she could boss around; someone who, in return, would get the chance to…
He stood up. He had made such a mess of things with her...made so many mistakes he couldn’t possibly count them. But he wasn’t past learning from them. And if he had learned anything in the last year, it was that sitting and wishing would get him nowhere. In fact, it would net him pure misery.
In three strides he reached her desk just as Lois began lecturing, "Not sex appeal, you idiot. Stamina! And he would have to understand this would just be business--"
"*I* understand," Clark said quickly before he could lose his nerve--or before he could let common sense catch up to him. The time for sitting and waiting was over. "Pick me, Lois."
~*~*~*~*~
She would kiss anyone else. Anyone. Jimmy and his grin that ate Metropolis. Stan and his non-car repairing cussedness. Ralph and his obvious unfitness to be a member of the human race...or...ok. Not Ralph. Under no circumstances. But anyone else--almost everyone else--would be better than Clark. He was her partner. Her friend. And the one she had wronged.
The two of them could hardly hold an unselfconscious conversation, so how were they supposed to kiss for hours? Although, kissing pretty much ruled out talking, didn’t it? So maybe...
"No." She said it to herself as much as to Clark. Because something inside her, something in collusion with her gaze, which had picked him first and foremost, was leaning towards ‘Yes.’ Leaning hard towards ‘yes.’ In fact, wanting very badly to just say, ‘Yes.’
"No," she said again, louder, more firmly, just so all members of her psyche could get on board. "It’s a stupid idea." She swept the article into the waste basket. "I’ll just find another way. Wait for the insurance to pay out. Let Stan fix the damned brakes..."
"Oh. Well...ok, then." Clark turned to leave, and she could have sworn she could read the dejection in his shoulders. For an instant, just a blink, something in his posture, something in those shoulders, slammed into her with overwhelming, disheartening familiarity. Whatever it was, it was another dismissal at her hands. Something she was all together too good at.
"Wait!" She leapt to her feet, grabbing for his arm and halting his retreat. "I didn’t mean picking you was stupid, Clark. Just...the whole idea. Kissing for a car."
"But this would solve your problem, wouldn’t it?" Jimmy piped up, and only then did Lois remember he was sitting right there between them and she was practically standing on him. "Besides guys, I saw the article first. It was my idea, so I should be the one to help Lois win the car... Whoa." Jimmy came to his feet in a swift, abrupt motion, as if he were a puppet and someone had jerked his strings.
Lois raised a puzzled eyebrow in her partner’s direction. Odd, how he appeared to be holding Jimmy by the collar. Clark was smiling, though, albeit through gritted teeth.
She watched as he gave Jimmy a clap on the back, which sent the cub reporter staggering on his way.
"I think Lois and I can take it from here, Jim," Clark said. "Thanks a lot for your help."
~*~*~*~*~
Jimmy let the momentum of Clark’s send-off take him to the door of the Chief’s office. He knocked once, and the blinds that had been parted enough for Perry to observe the goings-on fell back into place immediately.
Perry pulled the door open and gestured him inside. "Well?"
Jimmy collapsed onto the sofa. "Mission accomplished."
Perry smiled. "Good job, son."
Jimmy shook his head ruefully. "Just tell me this, Chief. How did you know?" He caught the twinkle in his boss’s eye as Perry rounded his desk and took his chair.
"How did I know what, Jimmy?"
"You know what," Jimmy laughed. "You told me all I had to do was show Lois and Clark the article, then flirt with Lois and--"
Perry cleared his throat loudly. "You think I became the editor of a great metropolitan newspaper just because I know how to--"
"--Yodel. Right. But how did you know? CK practically threw me off the desk."
Perry chuckled and lowered his voice. "Sitting on the desk was a nice touch."
Jimmy grinned. "I was improvising. Why are we whispering?"
Perry straightened and picked up a stack of papers, shuffling them blindly. "Ah...no reason. Anyway, those two have needed a push for a while now. We’ve forced their hand. You think Kent is going to sit back and let some other guy take his place again?"
"Knowing CK?" Jimmy took his cue and stood to leave. "He might have."
Perry stabbed his finger in the air. "Exactly. He needed to find that out as much as Lois did--if he’s finished being a bystander and ready to get in the game."
Jimmy rubbed his sore neck where he could still feel the imprint of Clark’s fingers. "I’d say his bystander days are over." And he half-suspected he would have the bruises to prove it.
"Then our work here is done," said Perry with rich satisfaction. "Now we just sit back and let nature take its course."
~*~*~*~*~
When they weren’t working together, Clark spent the rest of the week trying to stay out of Lois’s sight, anticipating and dreading her inevitable change of mind. So much about Lois had been unpredictable lately. But that she would chicken out of the contest and try to call it off was no mystery. However, if he was never around, she couldn’t actually do that.
In fact, he would swear he had seen the words "Forget it, Clark" starting to form on her lips more than once. And each time, he had ducked out of their range. Tugged at his tie, smiled sheepishly and shrugged, and taken off at a jog.
She was used to that, enough not to question it. Who’d have thought it would come in so handy now?
Clark wasn’t letting her back out. No way. He couldn’t shake the feeling this was a much-needed chance; be it a second chance or a last chance, he wasn’t sure. But the Kiss Off was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip by. He had let so many opportunities slip by and he could barely stomach the regrets.
Whatever else was going on in Lois’s mind, one thing had changed. Without the SUV, she seemed to be staying in one place. His initial fears--that she would take to wandering the dark streets of Metropolis, heedless of the dangers--had proven unfounded. For the most part, when he made the loop past her apartment on evening patrols, she appeared to be reading. Sleeping. Taking it easy. So he did too. For the first time in many weeks, when Superman wasn’t needed, Clark was resting.
As he should have been on this night. But with the Kiss Off now less than twelve hours away, he was the one who couldn’t sit still.
"I’m over-thinking it," he muttered to himself as he hovered over the quiet, darkened city, half-way wishing for a harmless fire, a sinking--though unoccupied--ship in the harbor. Just something to do. "It’s one pair of lips touching another pair. No thinking required."
The lights of her apartment were off. She was there and still. All was well.
He would just go home and get some sleep so he’d be ready and rested.
He meant that. And yet he found himself hurtling towards Smallville rather than his own bed. Dessert time at the farmhouse would be long finished, but if he was lucky, maybe his dad wouldn’t have eaten it all.
~*~*~*~*~
"For heaven’s sake, it’s just kissing!" Lois punched her pillow and tried once again to find a comfortable position. "You’ve certainly done that before."
She had. First kiss. Date kiss. Make-up kiss. Make-out kiss. Break-up kiss. She’d had all the usual kinds, some better than others, but such was the way of the world. The kissing, itself, was not the problem. Kissing was in the same category as learning how to ride a bicycle; it was a skill one didn’t forget.
Easy. But for one thing. The thing that had made her turn Clark down the first minute he had volunteered. The thing that made her want to call him right now and cancel, despite how much she wanted a car.
If learning how to ride a bike was an unforgettable exercise, so was kissing Clark.
Lois moaned and buried her face in the covers. Those past kisses hadn’t included a Kissing Your Partner as a Ruse and Secretly Loving it Kiss, but those kisses were on the list, too.
Top of the list, if she was being honest. Right next to the Drunk on Pheromones, Not Really Himself Kiss from...
Anyway...all the other kisses in her life’s history of kisses may as well have never happened. Starting with sweet, shy Tommy Kirk in his braces, and ending with the last man she had kissed. The man whose name she didn’t even let herself think any more.
"This is a mistake, a mistake, a mistake," Lois whimpered.
She knew a thing or two about mistakes, didn’t she? She couldn’t seem to make anything but mistakes, couldn’t seem to set a foot right. Being so wrong in her judgment of...the man whose name she was not thinking...had taken her confidence away. So completely away, he might as well have taken it over the side of the building with him when he threw himself to his death. He probably had, for all she knew. It would be just like him.
She tossed the covers off and threw on a sweat shirt and leggings. She would go for a drive, fight the claustrophobia that seemed to press on her late at night when she was alone in her small apartment. She’d take a different route tonight. Maybe try the northwest part of town that she had traveled the least...
She had one shoe tied before she remembered that the keys clutched in her fist were absolutely useless. That Stan the mechanic was holding her means of escape hostage.
"Damn." Expelling a frustrated sigh, she kicked the one shoe as far as she could, letting it hit the wall with a resounding thunk, and flopped back onto the bed. For the millionth time, she wished she could call Clark--not to back out of the contest, but just to hear his voice, maybe even vent her problems.
But this time he was part of the problem. Him. Superman. The man whose name she wouldn’t think. And what she had done to all of them.
Resigned, she shucked off the sweatshirt and picked up the battered copy of ‘War and Peace’ from her bedside table. It was penance. She would bore herself to sleep, or quite possibly to death, whichever came first. But she wouldn’t call Clark and whine about her life, or force him to try to make her feel better. She wouldn’t. Instead, she would just see him at the contest.
~*~*~*~*~
to be continued in part 3...
