Stand By Me 25
2/22/05 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyAaand here's the bit I didn't have trouble with *beeggrin*. Clark you little....grrr...
Parts 1--24 are here.
Whitney came awake with a jerk. His eyes flew open and he stared at the ceiling--for a moment he swore he was in a dark, dark place…he shivered. He hated dreams.
He got himself together, feeling pretty good that he was up so early. His folks would be still be home, for some strange reason he wanted to see them this morning. He snorted. That was even weirder than the dreams—maybe he was stuck in some story, some goofy thing from those magazines Clark read. Geez—he really needed to get him to read something decent…maybe that Steinback guy. He was really good—
He was freshly groomed and in an oddly upbeat mood. He walked into the dining room, but no plates were set out, no coffee or covered dishes sat on the sideboard, nothing. He wandered into the kitchen, and the maid whirled around with a tiny shriek.
“Goodness Mr. Whitney—I thought everyone was out already—what are you doin’ here?” She looked startled—actually, Whitney thought, she looked annoyed. He squinted against the blinding brightness of the light—“this is why I hate being up this early,” he groaned and rubbed his eyes.
Pauline looked blank.“Early…it’s ten o’clock, Mr. Whitney…”
Whitney looked at her—okay not as early as it felt. "… Is there coffee?”
######
Light poured in cold and bright through the open Dutch door and the bank of windows over the counters. It was bright—so bright…spotless gleaming white metal and glass cabinets, the huge white and chrome accented stove and fridge, the sparkling, clean enough to eat from white tiled floors and walls—God damn—it’s like a fucking hospital in here, he thought. This place has all the warmth of—my parents, he thought and sipped coffee from the white mug Pauline had dropped on the counter in front of him.
And it was perfectly clear to him--he had to get out of Smallville quick before it killed him—or he killed someone. The thought was like an itch under his skin, it grew and grew until it was hard to think of anything else….
He was going to go get Lex, and get the fuck out of town. And Clark—he was coming too, god-damn it. I can talk a cat out of it’s stripes-- I can talk Clark out of Smallville—I know I can.
The maid what the fuck is her name? Paula—Peggy, shit seemed to be waiting for him to get out of her kitchen. Time to ankle. He started to leave and then a wave of—something… a desire to be close to someone, anyone-- washed over him, leaving him feeling a little lost and a little sad.
He turned back to Pauline and took her hand. She looked at him like he was insane, hell, maybe he was.
“Listen, you could wait a lifetime and never hear it from my folks, but you’ve done a great job here. They’re both the biggest ass-holes ever, and God knows I’m not going to miss them, but I will miss your dinners.” He laughed a
little. “Thanks for keeping us fed.” He reached over and pulled her into a hug and released her, “Well, I gotta go now. Tell Mr. And Mrs. Fordman I said so long, will ya? Take care of yourself.”
He swept the kitchen with a wry look. He felt around for some feeling of-- leaving home, flying the coop—leaving the nest? Yeah. Sure. He grinned. “Assholes,” he laughed and walked out.
Pauline watched him go, shaking her head. That is one fucked up crazy white boy. He’s right though, they are ass-holes. She turned back to planning dinner. Not her business, what those people did.
Whitney packed everything he wanted to take and it was a miserably small bag. He shrugged. He’d get more stuff; there wasn’t anything he wanted here. He strolled into his parent’s bedroom, went through his mother’s vanity drawer and took the money she had taped under the bottom of it. Whitney knew from various…dates, a lady always had a little walking out money—just in case. He grinned. Thanks mom, this is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me. Besides leaving me the hell alone.
When Whitney shut the door behind him he wasted no more thought on the house, or the people in it. He was impatient to go. His real life lay ahead, he could feel it in his bones, feel it in his blood. Something big was going to happen, it was going to change his life.Good. It’s past time for a change.
######
Lex woke with a jerk. It was dark, why was it so dark…he tried to move his head and he couldn’t, the sheet under his open mouth was soaking wet and sticking to his cheek. He tried to move his hands—his feet—he couldn’t move.
Fuck.
He wrenched his limbs again and realized he was tied to the bed, naked and his head was being held against the bed by his father’s hand.
“Good morning. You’re awake. Finally. What a sound sleeper you are. I really thought you’d wake with all the jostling.” Lionel was at the head of the bed, sitting back on the desk chair like he sat on a throne. Lex could just make him out in the gray light, dressed all in white, rolling a thin wand of wood between his fingers, a feral smile on his fox thin face.
Lex jerked his hands as hard as he could—the rope slipped and burned but held. He twisted his legs as hard as he could and the ties at his ankles dug in but didn’t loosen. “Let me go—this is crazy!”
“I’ve thought long and hard about you, son,” He sighed and walked around the room, examining and rearranging Lex’s things. “I’ve done my best to teach you, done my best to save you from your sins. But I know better now. The truth was revealed to me, and I understand.” He sounded thoughtful and slightly sorrowful…and that scared Lex more than Lionel in a rage. He sighed again. “'That which is crooked cannot be made straight’… You’re bent son, crooked. You’re like disease; you infect those around you with your evil. It needs to be cut out.”
“Please don’t kill me,” Lex begged quietly and hated that he begged, hated how weak he sounded.
“Kill you? What kind of parent kills their child? No, no. But come Sunday, I will sadly announce that you’ve gone on to Metropolis, for –oh let me see—how about college, study of theology…yes, I like that.” He stroked his fingers through his neatly trimmed beard and watched himself in the mirror, used Lex’s brush set to smooth his hair back from his face and smiled at himself. “I’m going to take out the part of you that dooms us both.”
“You can’t—you don’t want to kill me! That’s crazy!”
Lionel leaned down and gazed at Lex, his lips pursed in annoyance. “You keep saying that. It’s getting on my nerves, you know.”
He brought the thin rod down on Lex’s shoulder. He felt the skin split instantly and bit down on a fold of sheet. He shook as he tried not to make a sound.
“Brave boy,” Lionel said approvingly. He traced the rod along his spine. “All this is your fault, you know. I didn’t want this.” Lionel walked around to the opposite side of the bed and Lex felt the mattress sink, the springs creaked gently. “You—you drew me into it, the way you looked at me, the way you smiled at me, the way you walked-you knew. That first time—your little hands…You pulled me into the Pit with you…”
Lex worked violently not to puke—breathe, breathe, don’t listen-he repeated over and over trying to calm himself. He struggled not to scream. “I never had a choice—I was a child--” he gasped, his voice breaking. His face felt so hot, sweat ran into his mouth and he panted for air.
Lionel went on as if he hadn’t heard. “We've suffered all these years.” There was a whisper of sound and he felt something cold against his back, something pricked a line up his spine.
“You tried and tried to cut my heart out all these years.” And a hot shock of pain pushed into his shoulder. He jerked up against his bonds and bit down on a scream. Another punch to his ribs and he felt warm liquid run down his side, he could hear it spatter against the cotton.
“What—what are you doing?” he managed to gasp.
“I’m trying to find the point that you disappear, son. If I can find that, I’ll find myself.” Lionel sounded calm and a little sorrowful. He nodded and came around to where Lex could see him, held up a knife in his bloody fist, drops of red marring the white of his suit.
“We’re going to cut the devil out, boy.” He said in an entirely different tone of voice and jammed the knife into Lex’s bicep and left it, walked away. Lex ground his teeth in the sheet; ground so hard his teeth cut through the cotton. He let go when he was sure he wouldn’t scream aloud, panting and moaning quietly. He watched the knife move with each breath he pulled into his lungs, and his father whispered from a corner of the room, “What would happen if I let that heal in there? How long do you think it would take? What do you think it would feel like when I pulled it back out?”
Lex was sweating, cursing, praying he wouldn’t do that—Lionel was at his side again. He stroked Lex’s sweat wet hair from his brow. He moved his hand to Lex’s arm and yanked the knife back out. Lex couldn’t keep the scream in—it burst out before he was even aware he was screaming, and then he was tumbling into darkness.
Continued so soon as to be mind boggling--really!
Parts 1--24 are here.
Whitney came awake with a jerk. His eyes flew open and he stared at the ceiling--for a moment he swore he was in a dark, dark place…he shivered. He hated dreams.
He got himself together, feeling pretty good that he was up so early. His folks would be still be home, for some strange reason he wanted to see them this morning. He snorted. That was even weirder than the dreams—maybe he was stuck in some story, some goofy thing from those magazines Clark read. Geez—he really needed to get him to read something decent…maybe that Steinback guy. He was really good—
He was freshly groomed and in an oddly upbeat mood. He walked into the dining room, but no plates were set out, no coffee or covered dishes sat on the sideboard, nothing. He wandered into the kitchen, and the maid whirled around with a tiny shriek.
“Goodness Mr. Whitney—I thought everyone was out already—what are you doin’ here?” She looked startled—actually, Whitney thought, she looked annoyed. He squinted against the blinding brightness of the light—“this is why I hate being up this early,” he groaned and rubbed his eyes.
Pauline looked blank.“Early…it’s ten o’clock, Mr. Whitney…”
Whitney looked at her—okay not as early as it felt. "… Is there coffee?”
######
Light poured in cold and bright through the open Dutch door and the bank of windows over the counters. It was bright—so bright…spotless gleaming white metal and glass cabinets, the huge white and chrome accented stove and fridge, the sparkling, clean enough to eat from white tiled floors and walls—God damn—it’s like a fucking hospital in here, he thought. This place has all the warmth of—my parents, he thought and sipped coffee from the white mug Pauline had dropped on the counter in front of him.
And it was perfectly clear to him--he had to get out of Smallville quick before it killed him—or he killed someone. The thought was like an itch under his skin, it grew and grew until it was hard to think of anything else….
He was going to go get Lex, and get the fuck out of town. And Clark—he was coming too, god-damn it. I can talk a cat out of it’s stripes-- I can talk Clark out of Smallville—I know I can.
The maid what the fuck is her name? Paula—Peggy, shit seemed to be waiting for him to get out of her kitchen. Time to ankle. He started to leave and then a wave of—something… a desire to be close to someone, anyone-- washed over him, leaving him feeling a little lost and a little sad.
He turned back to Pauline and took her hand. She looked at him like he was insane, hell, maybe he was.
“Listen, you could wait a lifetime and never hear it from my folks, but you’ve done a great job here. They’re both the biggest ass-holes ever, and God knows I’m not going to miss them, but I will miss your dinners.” He laughed a
little. “Thanks for keeping us fed.” He reached over and pulled her into a hug and released her, “Well, I gotta go now. Tell Mr. And Mrs. Fordman I said so long, will ya? Take care of yourself.”
He swept the kitchen with a wry look. He felt around for some feeling of-- leaving home, flying the coop—leaving the nest? Yeah. Sure. He grinned. “Assholes,” he laughed and walked out.
Pauline watched him go, shaking her head. That is one fucked up crazy white boy. He’s right though, they are ass-holes. She turned back to planning dinner. Not her business, what those people did.
Whitney packed everything he wanted to take and it was a miserably small bag. He shrugged. He’d get more stuff; there wasn’t anything he wanted here. He strolled into his parent’s bedroom, went through his mother’s vanity drawer and took the money she had taped under the bottom of it. Whitney knew from various…dates, a lady always had a little walking out money—just in case. He grinned. Thanks mom, this is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me. Besides leaving me the hell alone.
When Whitney shut the door behind him he wasted no more thought on the house, or the people in it. He was impatient to go. His real life lay ahead, he could feel it in his bones, feel it in his blood. Something big was going to happen, it was going to change his life.Good. It’s past time for a change.
######
Lex woke with a jerk. It was dark, why was it so dark…he tried to move his head and he couldn’t, the sheet under his open mouth was soaking wet and sticking to his cheek. He tried to move his hands—his feet—he couldn’t move.
Fuck.
He wrenched his limbs again and realized he was tied to the bed, naked and his head was being held against the bed by his father’s hand.
“Good morning. You’re awake. Finally. What a sound sleeper you are. I really thought you’d wake with all the jostling.” Lionel was at the head of the bed, sitting back on the desk chair like he sat on a throne. Lex could just make him out in the gray light, dressed all in white, rolling a thin wand of wood between his fingers, a feral smile on his fox thin face.
Lex jerked his hands as hard as he could—the rope slipped and burned but held. He twisted his legs as hard as he could and the ties at his ankles dug in but didn’t loosen. “Let me go—this is crazy!”
“I’ve thought long and hard about you, son,” He sighed and walked around the room, examining and rearranging Lex’s things. “I’ve done my best to teach you, done my best to save you from your sins. But I know better now. The truth was revealed to me, and I understand.” He sounded thoughtful and slightly sorrowful…and that scared Lex more than Lionel in a rage. He sighed again. “'That which is crooked cannot be made straight’… You’re bent son, crooked. You’re like disease; you infect those around you with your evil. It needs to be cut out.”
“Please don’t kill me,” Lex begged quietly and hated that he begged, hated how weak he sounded.
“Kill you? What kind of parent kills their child? No, no. But come Sunday, I will sadly announce that you’ve gone on to Metropolis, for –oh let me see—how about college, study of theology…yes, I like that.” He stroked his fingers through his neatly trimmed beard and watched himself in the mirror, used Lex’s brush set to smooth his hair back from his face and smiled at himself. “I’m going to take out the part of you that dooms us both.”
“You can’t—you don’t want to kill me! That’s crazy!”
Lionel leaned down and gazed at Lex, his lips pursed in annoyance. “You keep saying that. It’s getting on my nerves, you know.”
He brought the thin rod down on Lex’s shoulder. He felt the skin split instantly and bit down on a fold of sheet. He shook as he tried not to make a sound.
“Brave boy,” Lionel said approvingly. He traced the rod along his spine. “All this is your fault, you know. I didn’t want this.” Lionel walked around to the opposite side of the bed and Lex felt the mattress sink, the springs creaked gently. “You—you drew me into it, the way you looked at me, the way you smiled at me, the way you walked-you knew. That first time—your little hands…You pulled me into the Pit with you…”
Lex worked violently not to puke—breathe, breathe, don’t listen-he repeated over and over trying to calm himself. He struggled not to scream. “I never had a choice—I was a child--” he gasped, his voice breaking. His face felt so hot, sweat ran into his mouth and he panted for air.
Lionel went on as if he hadn’t heard. “We've suffered all these years.” There was a whisper of sound and he felt something cold against his back, something pricked a line up his spine.
“You tried and tried to cut my heart out all these years.” And a hot shock of pain pushed into his shoulder. He jerked up against his bonds and bit down on a scream. Another punch to his ribs and he felt warm liquid run down his side, he could hear it spatter against the cotton.
“What—what are you doing?” he managed to gasp.
“I’m trying to find the point that you disappear, son. If I can find that, I’ll find myself.” Lionel sounded calm and a little sorrowful. He nodded and came around to where Lex could see him, held up a knife in his bloody fist, drops of red marring the white of his suit.
“We’re going to cut the devil out, boy.” He said in an entirely different tone of voice and jammed the knife into Lex’s bicep and left it, walked away. Lex ground his teeth in the sheet; ground so hard his teeth cut through the cotton. He let go when he was sure he wouldn’t scream aloud, panting and moaning quietly. He watched the knife move with each breath he pulled into his lungs, and his father whispered from a corner of the room, “What would happen if I let that heal in there? How long do you think it would take? What do you think it would feel like when I pulled it back out?”
Lex was sweating, cursing, praying he wouldn’t do that—Lionel was at his side again. He stroked Lex’s sweat wet hair from his brow. He moved his hand to Lex’s arm and yanked the knife back out. Lex couldn’t keep the scream in—it burst out before he was even aware he was screaming, and then he was tumbling into darkness.
Continued so soon as to be mind boggling--really!
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2/22/05 09:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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