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Stand By Me 27
Sorry it took so long to update--my brains aren't wishing to work with me for some reason.
Clark crouched on the lakeshore and watched the waves subside. Out in the center of the lake, at a point where it was the deepest, ripples still marred the smooth surface, marking where Lionel disappeared. Clark thought to himself and if God is good, he’s gone forever. A ball of ice seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the center of his chest. He rubbed it absently…he’d been doing that for a while now, since the heavy rolled rug, tied and weighted with car parts had dropped from his hands to hit the black water and vanish.
He wiped at his mouth again, he’d been sick after dropping the rug, he still felt shaky. He stood and walked back among the trees and debated flying back or running back, and laughed a little, giddy at the choices possible-flying…god-he still couldn’t quite believe it…
He thought back to that morning, a few hours ago, another lifetime ago.
######
He was curled up in bed and listening to his parents talking, not *hearing* them, not *seeing* them, laying on his bed and trying hard to be *normal* again whatever the heck that was. Suddenly his dad’s voice rang out, loud enough that he heard him clearly. “As long as he’s under my roof, he’s not going to indulge in that—that filth!” And his mother’s voice, he couldn’t make out what she was saying, he refused to listen…He pulled the pillow up over his head and wondered what to do from this point on.
If he defied his parents, he wouldn’t be able to live in their house anymore—He couldn’t stay with Lex, he was afraid of his father, and besides he just couldn’t be that close to Lex and not want to *be* with him…he was pretty sure he could stay with Whitney if things got really bad... Clark felt like the worst kind of East End Kid, scheming and planning to break his parents rules…He stretched out and blocked the buzz of words, the endless creaking as one of them, Mom or Dad, paced constantly back and forth in the kitchen. He fought to ignore a nagging feeling of guilt and tried also to deny a feeling of anger and betrayal.
He felt himself drifting and was mildly surprised he could sleep, he drifted deeper into warmth and blackness and then-- odd images filled his mind, some were familiar—stars and ice and cold, cold water, some he knew and they made him afraid--blood, wet fur… some were strange and made him aroused-- women, girls smiling at him, his penis in wet tight heat, ice cubes on his skin, fingers in him, stretching him, feeling good and suddenly he started, wide awake and feeling like he’d dropped from a enormous height. He jerked upright on the bed—He’d been dreaming he heard Lex screaming, it was on the edge of his awareness when he awoke, it filled his mind now, Lex *was* screaming.
Clark reacted without thought, he dashed down the stairs ran into the kitchen. His parents stared at him, and he panted, “I-I’ve got to go! Now! Someone---someone needs my help.”
His parents were shocked to see him in the kitchen, and his dad looked angry. “What…Clark. I told you to stay in your room, why are you downstairs?”
“I have to go! He needs me now!” Clark was impatient, he knew there was no way he could explain so that they’d understand, he was beginning to resent taking the time to speak. He edged steadily to the door and tried to think of something, anything to say to make it better.
Jonathan sensed that Clark was undecided, highly upset, and he tried to frighten him into obeying. “ Clark, if you leave—don’t come back.”
Martha gasped, “Jonathan!” her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes were huge and filled with tears and she said not a word more.
Clark’s heart was breaking but he felt he was right. He had to go, he hesitated a minute more—but what could he say?
He was gone, out the door across the field; wind pulling at him and it wasn’t fast enough, not nearly fast enough. He crouched, screaming with frustration and then—he was hurtling skyward—he screamed in surprise, squeezed his eyes shut and immediately opened them, glanced about to make sure no one heard him shriek like a little girl and then burst into hysterical laughterwho was going to hear him, the other spaceman?
He tumbled and dipped and rolled before he managed to orient himself—Lex--the moment he thought of him, he could visualize his house, he knew which way to go, he could *feel* the direction-- far below he could see the thread that was the road to the Luthor house—landscape passed in a blur, wind ripped violently at his shirt pulling at the buttons and he had to grip it tightly to keep it from ripping off of him--and he was wobbling high in the air over the yard and dropping ungracefully as a stone and way too fast—he hit with a boom, he swore he felt the ground shake, and dirt exploded up around him in a thick cloud--he’d dug an impressive trench in the manicured lawn. He leaped up and raced for the stairs, but someone was there ahead of him…
Whitney! Clark gaped in horror –Whitney yelled, “you fucking bastard,” and brought Lionel’s cane down on his head, Clark recognized the silver top …there was screaming and Clark wasn’t sure if it was him or Whit or Lex or all of them-- there was blood, and Lex, and all he could see was Lex. All he cared about was Lex….
######
Clark shook his head. How was he supposed to forget? Was he supposed to act like nothing happened? They killed a man—it didn’t matter who did it—they all wanted him dead. God. He hoped he could find some way to live with it.
Stay tuned, darling ones!
Clark crouched on the lakeshore and watched the waves subside. Out in the center of the lake, at a point where it was the deepest, ripples still marred the smooth surface, marking where Lionel disappeared. Clark thought to himself and if God is good, he’s gone forever. A ball of ice seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the center of his chest. He rubbed it absently…he’d been doing that for a while now, since the heavy rolled rug, tied and weighted with car parts had dropped from his hands to hit the black water and vanish.
He wiped at his mouth again, he’d been sick after dropping the rug, he still felt shaky. He stood and walked back among the trees and debated flying back or running back, and laughed a little, giddy at the choices possible-flying…god-he still couldn’t quite believe it…
He thought back to that morning, a few hours ago, another lifetime ago.
######
He was curled up in bed and listening to his parents talking, not *hearing* them, not *seeing* them, laying on his bed and trying hard to be *normal* again whatever the heck that was. Suddenly his dad’s voice rang out, loud enough that he heard him clearly. “As long as he’s under my roof, he’s not going to indulge in that—that filth!” And his mother’s voice, he couldn’t make out what she was saying, he refused to listen…He pulled the pillow up over his head and wondered what to do from this point on.
If he defied his parents, he wouldn’t be able to live in their house anymore—He couldn’t stay with Lex, he was afraid of his father, and besides he just couldn’t be that close to Lex and not want to *be* with him…he was pretty sure he could stay with Whitney if things got really bad... Clark felt like the worst kind of East End Kid, scheming and planning to break his parents rules…He stretched out and blocked the buzz of words, the endless creaking as one of them, Mom or Dad, paced constantly back and forth in the kitchen. He fought to ignore a nagging feeling of guilt and tried also to deny a feeling of anger and betrayal.
He felt himself drifting and was mildly surprised he could sleep, he drifted deeper into warmth and blackness and then-- odd images filled his mind, some were familiar—stars and ice and cold, cold water, some he knew and they made him afraid--blood, wet fur… some were strange and made him aroused-- women, girls smiling at him, his penis in wet tight heat, ice cubes on his skin, fingers in him, stretching him, feeling good and suddenly he started, wide awake and feeling like he’d dropped from a enormous height. He jerked upright on the bed—He’d been dreaming he heard Lex screaming, it was on the edge of his awareness when he awoke, it filled his mind now, Lex *was* screaming.
Clark reacted without thought, he dashed down the stairs ran into the kitchen. His parents stared at him, and he panted, “I-I’ve got to go! Now! Someone---someone needs my help.”
His parents were shocked to see him in the kitchen, and his dad looked angry. “What…Clark. I told you to stay in your room, why are you downstairs?”
“I have to go! He needs me now!” Clark was impatient, he knew there was no way he could explain so that they’d understand, he was beginning to resent taking the time to speak. He edged steadily to the door and tried to think of something, anything to say to make it better.
Jonathan sensed that Clark was undecided, highly upset, and he tried to frighten him into obeying. “ Clark, if you leave—don’t come back.”
Martha gasped, “Jonathan!” her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes were huge and filled with tears and she said not a word more.
Clark’s heart was breaking but he felt he was right. He had to go, he hesitated a minute more—but what could he say?
He was gone, out the door across the field; wind pulling at him and it wasn’t fast enough, not nearly fast enough. He crouched, screaming with frustration and then—he was hurtling skyward—he screamed in surprise, squeezed his eyes shut and immediately opened them, glanced about to make sure no one heard him shriek like a little girl and then burst into hysterical laughterwho was going to hear him, the other spaceman?
He tumbled and dipped and rolled before he managed to orient himself—Lex--the moment he thought of him, he could visualize his house, he knew which way to go, he could *feel* the direction-- far below he could see the thread that was the road to the Luthor house—landscape passed in a blur, wind ripped violently at his shirt pulling at the buttons and he had to grip it tightly to keep it from ripping off of him--and he was wobbling high in the air over the yard and dropping ungracefully as a stone and way too fast—he hit with a boom, he swore he felt the ground shake, and dirt exploded up around him in a thick cloud--he’d dug an impressive trench in the manicured lawn. He leaped up and raced for the stairs, but someone was there ahead of him…
Whitney! Clark gaped in horror –Whitney yelled, “you fucking bastard,” and brought Lionel’s cane down on his head, Clark recognized the silver top …there was screaming and Clark wasn’t sure if it was him or Whit or Lex or all of them-- there was blood, and Lex, and all he could see was Lex. All he cared about was Lex….
######
Clark shook his head. How was he supposed to forget? Was he supposed to act like nothing happened? They killed a man—it didn’t matter who did it—they all wanted him dead. God. He hoped he could find some way to live with it.
Stay tuned, darling ones!
no subject
I shall wait for more with my trademark patience.
no subject
I shall wait for more with my trademark patience.
And it is the most awesomely patiently patience ever!