Don’t Go Away
by coolgirl
‘Clark?’
‘Yes?’
‘I miss you.’
‘I miss you, too.’
Part 7 : I miss you
“Hello, Lexor Hotel? Could you please connect me to a Mr. Kent? Clark Kent. No, no Clark with a ‘C’ as in ‘chocolate’. C-L-A-R-K! No, don’t put me on hold… You don’t have an entry for Clark Kent. Did you look carefully? He would have checked-in this morning... No?”
A little later, she tried again.
“What? Still no one called Clark Kent? Are there any other hotels nearby? Could you get me the number? What? It isn’t your business? It isn’t your business to help a woman? What the hell – he has hung up? How dare he? That filthy, good-for-nothing, moron – Aaaaaghh!!!” she screamed, stomping her feet.
The third time, she wore whatever dress she could find from her partner’s cupboard and marched her way to Lexor.
“Hi. I have come to see Mr. Clark Kent. Could you please direct me to his room?” she asked a little too sweetly.
“Mr. Clark Kent? Clark Kent… hmm…” the receptionist said thoughtfully as he looked into the register and then ran a search on his computer.
BEEP! Beep! No results!
“I am sorry, ma’m. but we don’t have a person named Clark Kent lodged in our hotel for today.”
“Now look here, Mister. I know that you have a person here named Clark Kent and I need to see him even if he has ordered you not to send any visitors up! I am going to find him whether you like it or not!” she threatened no longer sticking to being sweet.
“But ma’m…”
Lois grabbed the register from him and went through it, batting his protesting hands away. There was no entry for a ‘Clark Kent’ but there was one ‘Charles King’. Hoping against hope, she marched off to Room No. 212, seventh floor. The lift was busy, so she decided to take the stairs. Running half of the way and panting away through the rest, she didn’t stop until she reached Room No.212.
“Open up! Clark Kent!” she shouted, as she banged the door off its hinges.
She raised her hand to knock again, when a stout, bald man opened the door.
“What do you want, miss?” the man questioned, his tone hardly polite.
“I came to see Claaar… umm… Charles King.”
“I am Charles King. What may I do for you?” he asked, still irritated at being interrupted.
“You are Charles King? But…” she started to say, suddenly uncertain of herself.
“Now see here miss, I have my passport, working identity-card and other identifications to prove I am Charles King. I am spending a quiet evening with my wife and I don’t want any such silly interruptions again. I am calling the hotel manager right now!” saying so, he banged the door shut across her stunned face.
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After searching in five hotels and three small inns in Metropolis, Lois rang up Perry to tell him that Clark hadn’t taken a room in Lexor or any of the nearby hotels, and to ask him if Clark had contacted him again.
Clark hadn’t contacted Perry over phone. Disappointed, she hung up. Walking along the pavement, she reached a park. Almost absent-mindedly, she strolled on the grass-covered land, mulling over her current predicament. She had never thought that she would have to hunt for her partner like this. He had always been there for her, like a solid rock, cushioning her every fall. He had tolerated her like nobody else.
She remembered how they argued over every silly thing. She loved the way he gave her that exasperated look whenever her tirades went on some wild tangent. She loved how he would buy her takeouts, how he would just know instinctively what she would like to eat. She remembered how he smelt – that strong masculine smell with just a tinge of his own flavor. She recalled his smile – that lovely full smile which accentuated that beautiful mole on his upper lip. And his laughter – lighting up the entire room, leaving no trace of melancholy. He had always been there. At work. During stakeouts. At home, whenever she had needed a friend or platonic company. Hell, he had even been there when she had cried. What man stayed when a woman cried? What man consoled a woman in distress? He did!
He had been there doing everything for her – big and small, without her knowing it. He had been there for her in ways even Superman hadn’t been. Superman had saved her life a countless times, but Clark, Clark had saved her soul. She remembered her pre-Clark days, how hard-bitten and ruthless she had been for just a story. Her life had revolved around a newspaper. But he had changed it all. He had come like a gentle wind and gotten inside her soul, slowly and surely. From just a reporter, he had made her a woman.
And now she was in distress, because of him, and he wasn’t here to console her. That constant in her life named Clark had suddenly vanished and she was left, helpless and desolate, with nobody else to turn to. She had lost him. As a partner. As a friend. And as a lover?
Without realizing she had reached the place where Clark had declared his love for her. Looking around, she saw that the park was almost empty since it was getting dark. She spotted the bench where they had had that talk. His declaration of love. Her refusal. And she had even asked the disappointed man to contact his friend Superman so she could convey her own love. No wonder she had lost them both. She must be the worst sort of woman in the world. The most cruel one. She had to be. Who else would ask the man who loved her to contact the man she loved, on the same day he had declared his love?
The man who loved her? Hell, she was talking as though Clark still loved her. He didn’t, remember? The letter! He had written that he didn’t love her. Feeling the breast-pocket of Clark’s jacket that she was wearing, she drew out the letter. She sat down, on the bench Clark had sat on that day, and unfolded the letter. Spreading it open she read it again. ‘How lovely Lois,’ she thought as the irony of the situation sank in, ‘He said he loved you here, and, you also get to read his letter saying he doesn’t love you here, in this same place. And you are sitting in his place, your positions exactly reversed. You love him now but he doesn’t love you.’
The tears fell, starting slowly from the corner of her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, leaving a wet, salty trail.
“I miss you, Clark!” she sobbed, her face buried in his letter. Then softly, “I love you, Clark!”
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High up, in the sky, a blue and red spandex-clothed man, Superman, hovered, looking down at that small, beautiful woman who had always held his attention. It was the first time she had stepped out of his apartment, and he wanted to see her back home – to his apartment – safely. That, only that had made him keep an eye on her. He didn’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever. If he got too close or talked to her, he didn’t think he would be able to control himself. Distance was safe.
All day long she had stepped in and out of so many hotels, no doubt searching for him. Then she had taken a walk in the park. He had seen her walk towards that special place where he had ripped open his heart, on that special day. He had been honest and earnest, but she hadn’t returned his feelings. Yet it would always be a special day for him and that bench would always be special, because that was the only time he had truly been himself with her. Just Clark. The man who loved her, and would love her always. And he would visit that place always and tell himself, ‘That’s the place, remember? That’s where you told her you love her.’
He slowly drifted down, still keeping track of her, to listen to her – her heartbeat, her breathing and everything that was ‘her’. He gasped softly when she opened his letter and read it. Then she cried and his heart twisted in his chest, threatening to burst. He heard her say she missed him, and he wanted to rush to her and hug her fiercely and pull her tight against him.
Then he heard it, soft but clear, ‘I love you, Clark!’
TBC
