Quote:
What You Don’t See
Written By: Jennifer R. (Ferd)
Rating: PG-13
Current Timeline/No Spoilers
Brief Description: Exactly what the title says.  This story is all about what you don't see in Chloe's life behind closed doors.

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1

Chloe sits poised at her computer, her fingers quickly tapping the keyboard, capturing her thoughts as fast as they come to her. This is what fuels her, empowers her, makes her feel alive. Never did she look more radiant than now, when she’s in her element, an heir of confidence and wisdom beyond her years creating a glow that’s able to outshine all of the negativity in the world that she gets the pleasure to report on.

Clark stands in the doorway, careful to not let her see him. He knows better than to stop her when she was on a roll and up against a deadline, but he also loves the rare moments when he can just watch her in her natural habitat.

He leans his body against the door frame, quietly watching his best friend work. The lone light on in The Torch office illuminates her, allowing Clark to see her in what seemed like a new light. The clicks of her fingers on the keys tickled his ears, amusing him at how fast she could type. He had never noticed the way her lips mouthed the words as she spelled them out on the screen. It was an adorable little tick he couldn’t believe he had never noticed it.

Chloe, always in tune with what was going on in her office, is able to sense his presence.

“Clark! How long have you been standing there” she asks, looking up him.

“Only a second, Chloe, I didn’t want to interrupt you” Clark says, his eyes sparkling.

She instantly notices a change in his face. There was something in his smile, something in his stare, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

“What is it? Is there something on my face?” Chloe asks, rubbing under her nose like a crazy woman. “I had this mocha chino earlier, do I have foam on my lip?” she asks, licking her upper lip with her tongue.

Clark can’t help but laugh at her obsessive behavior. “No, you look beautiful” he says, offering her more of that smile that seemed to set her off.

Chloe doesn’t adjust to change well, especially when it involves Clark. She lived with the constant fear that one day he would see her like the rest of the world did, and stop being her friend. Her mind began to fly, assuming the worst. Wait! Did he say ‘beautiful’?

Chloe often felt she was hidden in the shadow of Lana Lang and the other beautiful girls that bounced down the hallway demanding the attention of all those they passed by. She never felt pretty, or good enough to catch the eye of any guy, much less those belonging to Clark Kent. For as much as she longed for guys to desire her, her self consciousness often made her seem unattractive, consigning her to the rank of good friend.

Raised by a single father, she was not afforded the luxury of make-up lessons, designer clothes and a mother’s gentle fashion advice. She was left to figure it out for herself, finding her own unique style. The combination of her mom’s vintage suit jackets with her latest thrift shop find melded together to create her signature style. Lacking the luxury of gold and silver she had to accessorize with plastic flowers she turned into a pins, or a funky purses she whipped up on her mom’s old singer. Funky, quirky, different clothes seemed to help her express all of the spirit and originality she has in her, just waiting to boil to the surface.

In the judgmental arena that is high school, Chloe’s second hand style of dress might be giggled about by those who followed the trends, the cookie-cutter Gap gang who made Smallville High appear that uniforms were in play, but actually they were the ones who appeared lacking in fashion.

Now, at seventeen, she was well adjusted to the looks and whispers of the pom-pom crowd, almost able to completely ignore them. All her life she had felt like an outsider, never really finding a clique that would accept her. Her intelligence often got in the way of the normal girl things. When she was twelve she had sealed her fate as a loner when she was asked out by a boy in her class. Not getting that this meant holding hands and passing notes, the literal, logical Chloe asked him how they were supposed to go anywhere considering he couldn’t drive. This honest question gave her a reputation of being a snob, and so she endured treatment similar to one who had been blacklisted.

Pete and Clark were the only boys that really even seemed to notice she existed. Yet, they only saw her as just another one of the guys, and so she played along, everyday hiding the heart within her that longed to be looked at like a rose, instead of just another stalk of corn.

The word 'beautiful' hung in the air, oddly making her the one who felt awkward, while he stood confidently beaming. Could the odd curve in his smile mean that he really did see her that way?

*******************************************************************

Chapter 2

Chloe’s cheeks pinken with embarrassment, seemingly lost in these uncharted waters. For as long as she had hoped that one day Clark’s feelings for her might shift, allowing him to see her in the same light she has always seen him, she couldn’t help but fear that it might be too risky a gamble to take. There was a certain comfort in knowing that what she and Clark shared was much deeper than the casual emotions involved in the week long flings that are the standard for teenage relationships.

Even though she had always resided on a different plane than her peers, sometimes her heart would allow her to feel the pangs of longing to be one of the normal girls who could find contentment in the silliness of youth. However, when it came to Chloe’s internal struggles her mind had a way of always winning out over her heart. She could only allow herself to dream about a life that was uncomplicated. For she had been dealt a difficult hand, and she would play it, even if it meant she was the one who would always end up losing.

Blinking away Clark’s mention of beauty, Chloe performs her role of sidekick tomboy, feeling security in the comfort of familiarity.

“Yeah, well flattery won’t get you anywhere here,” she says, flashing him her trademark smile. The smile that would have to continue to hide her secret, despite how much she wanted to explore what was hidden behind his. She could not will herself to risk losing Clark as her friend. He was a constant in her world full of chaos, and she had come to rely on him being there, needing his strength now more than ever.

Letting down her facade for one brief moment she says “Thanks for picking me up, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” her eyes pouring out a piece of her tender soul. If only he wasn’t too blind to see it.



******


Clark pulls up in front of the apartment complex, turning off the ignition. He unlocks his seat belt, ready to walk her up to the door.
“I’m a big girl, Clark,” she says, popping the door open, hopping out, surprising him with her speed. “I won’t get lost on the way up the stairs,” she smiles, peering through the window of the closed door. “Thanks again, for the ride,” she says, patting the truck in a ‘see ya’ kind of way. She turns away, running of the metal staircase in a way that can’t help but pique his interest.


******


Chloe lets herself into the apartment, feeling her way through the darkness for the light switch. She flicks it on, revealing the tiny old, cramped apartment she and her father now call home.

“Dad?” she calls out, wading through the sea of boxes and garbage that cover the floor, her face appearing to have aged ten years from the moment she walked through the door.

“Dad?!” she yells, setting down her backpack on the couch, grabbing up a trash bag. She starts tossing the beer bottles from the table into the bag, deliberately trying to make as much noise as possible.

Following the trail of alcohol she’s led to her father lying unconscious on the floor. Sadly the sight no longer strikes panic in her, for it was becoming a routine, one she wished she never had to perform, but one she was required to on a nightly basis.

Gabe Sullivan’s face is hardly recognizable as the man who had once been so respected around Smallville. His face now bloated and puffy, covered with day old stubble. His body clouding the room with the stench of one with no regard for their own appearance. This man who had once been so modest around his teenage daughter was passed out wearing only a stained undershirt and boxers, revealing to her a part of her dad she wished she never had to see.

As though by reflex, Chloe begins the chore of waking him up, having to ignore the incoherent slurs he spews as she fights him off the floor and into his bed. She’s able to tune out the harsh words he aims at her, yet the ones he speaks against her mother are difficult to swallow, striking her with the realization that she has somehow stepped into her mom’s role herself.

Coming out of the room, she continues trying to pick up the mess, quickly becoming defeated by the overwhelming task. So many times before she had spent the night dealing with whatever mess her father had created that day, but this night she didn’t have the energy. The strain of living a double life beginning to have an effect on her stamina.

She drags herself into the tiny kitchen; having not eaten all day, she was starving. Yet, the contents of the kitchen left much to be desired: a brown head of lettuce, a half empty bottle of ketchup, something unidentifiable in tin foil, and a couple bottles of beer. Not even Martha Stewart could whip something out of those ingredients, so Chloe saw no reason to try herself.

Not able to escape the silence of her loneliness with the luxuries of cable or internet, Chloe’s left to fill the void with the only thing that can’t be turned off by lack of payment. She opens her heart to the pages of her journal, revealing the truth of her sadness in the words she hides in the book of her life.

*******************************************************************

Chapter 3

The quiet stillness just before dawn is pierced by the shrill ringing of the alarm clock. The heavy dread of facing another day in this purgatory she’s been living seems almost too much to bear. Yet, the sanctuary of her pillow cannot suppress the flood of thoughts that have already begun to flow through her mind. She no longer has the luxury to live simply for herself, for she had to wake, depended upon by her father to be the strength for both of them.

In a single movement she flicks the alarm off, setting her feet on the ground. Stumbling through the darkness, she finds her way to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

As she gazes into the mirror at her own reflection she gently rubs the blackness of her day old mascara away from under her eyes. If only everything was so easy to clean up. The cold splash of water shocks the remnants of sleep out of her system, like the slap of reality recent events had given her. Ready or not she had to face another day, hiding behind the facade she had created, the smiling, bubbling girl who seemed to be taken for granted by everyone, including herself.

******


The walk to the store was actually one of the few things that Chloe enjoyed about her new living situation. She was actually beginning to relish the opportunity to be alone with her thoughts, warmed by the morning sunlight. It was hard to not be able to drive her car as much, having to continue bumming rides and making excuses. However it didn’t make sense to sacrifice precious money on gas considering she was able enough to walk.

Making her way through the market she grabs a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, some peanut butter and a pound of ground beef, feeling those ingredients would go the farthest, and were easy enough to prepare. The one thing she did not enjoy was having to count change and pinch pennies, but she had been lucky so far at hiding the fact that she had to use loose change to pay for things when the eyes of her friends were not around. Of course the clerk at the counter didn’t seem to appreciate being the one who Chloe unleashed her change on. Noticing the clerk’s obvious eye roll, Chloe grabs a snickers bar, adding it to her stack, hoping the gesture would suggest that she wasn’t poor, just cleaning out some excess change from her purse.

******

Keeping a close eye on the clock, Chloe fries up two eggs for her father in the skillet, browning some bread under the broiler for some toast.

“Dad!” she calls out, turning over one of the eggs with a spatula, busting the yolk. “Your breakfast is almost ready.”

Gabe grumbles out of the bedroom, silently passing the kitchen for the bathroom. Chloe, quite used to his non communication, simply places the eggs on the plate near two slices of toast, laying the meal on the bar for her dad to take.

He shuffles out of the bathroom, and passes the kitchen without even glancing at the meal which was prepared for him. The bedroom door shuts, not loud enough for a slam, but with enough force for him to make a point.

Chloe, far too used to this dance, scoops the egg on to one piece of toast, covers the eggs with the other and stuffs the hastily created sandwich into her mouth. Working down her first bite full while snatching up her things for school.


******


Senior assemblies often serve as a fun escape from the mundane routine of class, but when the lecture was revolving around a woman in a lab coat holding illustrating proper prophylactic placement on a banana, Chloe, like most, was actually longing to be in physics class.

Reporting on this joy of an assembly meant she had to give each method of protection its due. Always a pillar of journalistic integrity, Chloe was having a little trouble keeping her feelings out of this one. Her emotional attachment to the subject unsettling her. Every time the speaker echoed the word abstinence, Chloe felt as though a spotlight shined down upon her forehead. Interrogated by the woman’s constant use of the words ‘wait’ ‘saving’ and ‘virgin’, Chloe slid farther down into her seat, praying for the bell to ring.

Sitting with her self inflicted scarlet letter, Chloe was trying her best to record the main points of the presentation, all the while reliving the awkward moments she spent fumbling around with the guy who made her laugh last summer in Metropolis.

The regret felt the moment it happened she had been able to hide beneath the weight of the thousand burdens she had at home. But, the reality of her actions came flooding back to her as the woman continued to hammer home the finality of such a decision. Her emotions quickly ranged from regret, to shame to anger, as she furiously scribbled notes down for her article.

She remembered the night well, how could she forget? Not that it was unforgettable in the way people like to imagine their first time will be. It was unforgettable because of how uneventful it felt at the time considering it was supposed to be one of the greatest moments of your life.

She was never one of those girls foolish enough to believe those ridiculous claims that having sex made you a woman. She had been thrust into the role of adult at the tender age of five when the exit of her mom from her life forced her to grow up much quicker than most girls her age. Growing up knowing her life would always be a little bit different than the ideal that most take for granted, Chloe had steeled her will to not fall into the traps of being a statistic. She never wanted to be pitied, so she fought hard to create a life for herself that no one would ever see as lacking.

That summer internship at ‘The Planet’ was the pinnacle of all of her hard work and dedication paying off, moving her one step closer to the career she had so long dreamed of.

Being a journalist gave her control, something she relished considering her own life had been controlled by other’s decisions seemingly without regard to the impact their repercussions would have on her. Being a Reporter gave her answers to questions, perhaps not the questions she had been asking herself for years, but none the less helped her feel a sense of power, and in her world full of chaos answers were something she had come to crave. Perhaps subconsciously she felt that exposing and reporting on other people’s lives and secrets in essence kept her own out of the spotlight.

So as she desperately tried to not allow her mind to wander back to that night, those ridiculous moments that would forever link her to the goofy guy she thought was sort of cute, the annoying redundancy of the women’s presentation seemed to make Chloe’s mind want to go there.

The irony that recalling the details of the encounter lasted much longer than the event itself was not humor lost on her. She couldn’t help but be tickled by it, remembering perfectly how much it embarrassed him when she failed to enjoy it as much as he did, not really having enough time to get into it before it was over.

All she wanted to do afterwards was get up and move on, feeling as though the act magnified the differences between men and women instead of bonding the two. He suddenly acted like he had climbed Everest, yet the act left her feeling a bit bewildered, not at all feeling like their hearts were united or whatever the cliché is. It still struck her as odd that women would ever desire to lay there and cuddle afterwards. Her mind would not allow her to, instantly feeling the need to move on and pretend the whole thing never happened.

The fact was that it had happened. She had done it. Not because she was in love, or even in lust. She had decided to do it because she had always viewed sex as a big empty box on her ‘to do’ list in life that she needed to check off. The older she got the more it felt like she had a long list of chores to be done, not a life to be experienced. Feeling that way she had rationalized in her mind that night was as good as any, and the boy who seemed to admire her would serve the purpose as good as any.

But from the second his inept hands begin to touch her in places no one had ever done, she swiftly felt the impact of her decision, fearing that her practicality had robbed her of the opportunity for this to be something special. Her mind had begun to cry out that this was wrong. but before she could even react, she found herself beyond the point of no return. The deed was imminent, to put a stop to it then would have been cruel. So in typical Chloe fashion, her own feelings were sacrificed for someone else’s.

As Clark shifts in his seat, uncomfortable from the subject matter, and the cramped feeling of his large frame in the tiny seat, he accidentally places his hand on Chloe’s knee instead of pushing off of the arm rest. The touch of his hand on her skin immediately snaps her out of her thoughts, drawing her to glance up at him, surprisingly met by that mysterious smile he offered her the night before.

“Sorry Chloe,” he whispers, quickly unlocking his eyes from her stare, embarrassed by his seemingly forward gesture.

Feeling as though she was struck by a bolt of lightning, Chloe can’t help but go crimson. The odd dizzying euphoria brought by his strong hand on her body intriguing her.

Suddenly she feels exactly like she did that night, recalling how it felt to long to be held securely in the strength of Clark’s arms instead of those spindly ones which clung to her. How nice it would’ve been to delight in this exploration with someone who made her feel more alive than anyone else ever has. She couldn’t help but wonder if she and Clark had taken the journey together would she still be sitting here ashamed of ever delving into the act. She wondered if it would have forever changed their relationship, making him the one she would so longed to forget.

Yet, it was the hopeful thought that walking with Clark down that intimate path could make the experience different. Maybe the feelings she felt for Clark, the electrifying chills his touch brought to her was what was lacking in her first experience. Perhaps the euphoric sensation of love was what it would take to make the experience magical. She began to think it was the presence of love that fused two hearts into one, not the physical act of sex, but the emotions you carried into it with you. The connection you have with the person that leads you to that crucial point.

Concentrating so hard on her thoughts of Clark, she failed to see him sneaking peeks of her out of the corner of his eye.

*******************************************************************

Chapter 4

Back at her desk in The Torch office Chloe finds it difficult to concentrate. Still confused by the emotions stirred up by the awkward assembly, she can only stare blankly at her computer screen. Even if she wanted to it’s doubtful her fingers could find the keys to type the words spelling out the importance of practicing abstinence. If she were to accurately detail the points of the lecture, and embrace the views of the guest speaker in her column, she would undeniably be stepping into the role of hypocrite. Bound to always speak the truth, most especially in print, Chloe sat wondering how exactly she could force herself to write an article that she did not believe in. She could not put out an article encouraging her peers to limit the experiences in their lives, when she, herself, had stepped outside the lines.

Regardless of how she felt about that night in Metropolis, she simply could not label the experience regret. With all her heart she clung to the fact that experiences, however great or tragic shape you into the person you are to be. If she learned nothing else from her first experience with sex it was the importance of carrying in emotions for the person before engaging in such an act. Yet, if she were to use her column to challenge the views expressed in the lecture it would mean opening a very large can of worms; one so big that she might be called a name much worse than hypocrite by the conservative bible belt that snugged the waist of Smallville.

Chloe’s status in Smallville society seemed to be plummeting, her father’s black listing by Lionel Luthor undeniably affecting every facet of her life. She couldn’t help but fear that it might spiral down to the high school hierarchy. It’s clear she has to be more than a responsible journalist, she has to be a responsible daughter.

“Chloe,” Clark says, startling her out of her own mental debate. “What’s up?” he asks, instantly observing her distance, the absence of her trademark smile clueing him in immediately.

“Shouldn’t you be at lunch?” she asks, quickly closing the window on her computer screen with only the word ‘sex’ existing on the page. However, just behind that window resided a much more telling piece. Despite her olympic speed in x-ing out of the window, Clark still caught a glimpse of what she so desperately did not want him to see. Still saved on her hard drive, and opened earlier to bring her solace, were the pictures of she and him arm and arm at the spring formal. Memories from a time when happily ever after still seemed like a real possibility. How much she disliked herself for clinging to the past, for it made it so incredibly hard to look to the future.

“I was coming here to ask you why you weren’t eating,” Clark says taking a seat on the corner of her desk, searching her eyes for both the reason she was skipping lunch for the third time this week, and why it seemed she was hiding something.

“Ever hear of a working lunch, Clark?” Chloe says, jumping out of her chair, crossing the room to put some distance between herself and Clark after being caught displaying her heart on the screen of the computer.

“Working lunch?” Clark asks, pretty sure he didn’t see her working on anything dire as far as The Torch went.

“Deadlines Clark. Sometimes your stomach has to come second to the reality of your surroundings,” Chloe says, her tone back to the no nonsense editor who thrives under stress, and delights in giving it.

Clark cocks his eyebrow, not sure he fully understands what sort of deadline Chloe was put under that she couldn’t find a moment to eat a sandwich. What he didn’t know was that the snickers in her desk drawer would have to serve as lunch and dinner that night. Although money hadn’t gotten quite that tight yet, Chloe knew that pretty soon it would be. If she could help keep the power on in the apartment an extra month by skipping meals, then that’s just what she would do. It’s what she would have to do.

“Come on Chloe, it’s lunchtime. Take a break,” he says, tugging on her sleeve, trying to maintain levity, yet all the while his blue-green eyes full of compassion and concern.

Despite the fact that he normally was quite oblivious to the subtle changes in appearance that girls put so much stock in, the recent change in Chloe’s weight had begun to peak his interest. He couldn’t help but notice that the color had faded from her normally rosy pink cheeks. She was beginning to look pale, and Clark was beginning to worry about his friend.

Always observant, and particularly on guard these days, Chloe could sense concern in Clark’s tone, feel him searching her face for answers. Determined to set his mind at ease, even it meant lying to his face, she slips into the comfortable routine of pushing him away. “Clark, I already ate, so go on back and eat with Lana. I’m sure she’s saving you a seat.”

Chloe wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to always test Clark’s friendship. It was beginning to seem that just like she had to breathe in air to live, she likewise had to throw out the name Lana just to see how Clark would react. It actually was becoming exhausting to play such games, but like an addiction she found herself unconsciously doing it, like reflex, or more accurately a defense mechanism.

The mention of Lana’s name by Chloe was something that always made Clark feel awkward. Despite how well she thought she hid her feelings for him, he could always sense something more behind her words. Honestly, unsure how to tread around the delicate feelings of females, most especially those of his childhood friend, he could only sit there quietly. However, the instant blush upon his cheeks couldn’t help but confirm how he feels about being the point of a love triangle.

Feeling the need to fully prove her strength to him, she saw no choice but to change the subject from her eating habits, or lack there of, to that which she still maintained control of.

“Clark, I need you to write up a cover piece on the assembly today,” Chloe says, intentionally placing him in a position that would make him uncomfortable.

If the name Lana Lang hadn’t brushed a crimson hue upon his cheeks, this assignment would’ve indeed done the job. The site of this huge guy glowing red at the thought of having to pen a paper on sex was humor not lost on Chloe.

“Me? Write an article about sssee....” he says, stopping short, not able to speak such an intimate word so casually.

“The word is sex, Clark. The assembly was on sex. I need three-hundred words from you preferably by tomorrow morning. I need to slip it into this week’s issue,” Chloe orders matter-of-factly.

Pawning off this assignment to Clark not only spared her of having to face her own demons and air them out in public, it would provide her with invaluable insights into the mind of Clark Kent; most importantly in the realm of how he felt about those who engaged in premarital sex. The opportunity to watch him squirm at the prospect was just an added bonus.

*******************************************************************

Chapter 5

Chloe once used any excuse to escape into The Talon for a little pick me up, almost requiring caffeine like most require oxygen. However, with the rising costs of java these days (thanks to the ‘coffee is cool’ movement that ‘Friends’ and Starbucks inspired), it’s becoming increasingly harder to justify a three-dollar froth topped mocha chino when she could just fuel up on the Maxwell house brewed in the teacher’s lounge. The switch wasn’t quite as bad as going to decaf, but still one Chloe’s having a hard time adjusting to. It might be easier if her friends didn’t make a habit of hanging out at a coffee shop, and of course always insisting she come along.

It was becoming pretty hard to be creative with her reasons for staying behind at school instead of making the trek to The Talon. She did usually have something she could be working on for The Torch, but sometimes only a lie would work to have Clark take ‘no’ for an answer. Chloe’s workaholic nature seemed to be a point of Clark’s concern, so he often found the need to coax her away from her desk to enjoy a moment free of deadlines and responsibilities.

So, she would lie, even though she preferred to always be honest with Clark, something she knew was exclusive to she and Clark’s relationship. Was it really that bad to fib and say “Oh man, I just finished my third mocha chino, I guess I better sit this round out?” But sometimes it’s just too hard for Chloe to say ‘no’ to Clark, perhaps since she secretly feared he might one day stop asking her along. So, today she feels she must give in and leave all the unfinished stories behind in The Torch office. Willed in by the incredible hold Clark Kent has over her, and her own deep rooted desire for a moment of normalcy, she finds herself following him to The Talon.



*****



Chloe digs out the loose change that found its way into the lining of her purse, trying her best to be nonchalant in the company of her friend. It’s easier for her to justify spending lost and forgotten change instead of bills that were already accounted for in her mind.

“Chloe, what do you want?” Clark asks, quizzically scanning the colorful chalk covered menu. “What are those things called you drink?” Clark calls out from the counter, turning back to face her, startling her hand out of her purse.

“Black coffee,” she answers, clutching the few retrieved coins in her fist, zipping her purse closed with her other hand.

“Isn’t that a little... plain?” Clark asks, arching his eyebrow, not used to hearing Chloe order something not slathered in foam, or cream, or sprinkles.

“I like to keep you guessing,” Chloe says with a wink, able to pull of her ruse yet again with her trademark smile.

Moving closer towards him, she gently pries open his closed hand, placing enough change to cover the cost of her coffee in his palm. Jumping to defend her method of payment before he even has time to react, she adds “I just cleaned out my piggy bank. I figured they might like getting change for the till.”

Mrs. Kent hand mixes a tall glass of chocolate milk for Clark, topping it off with a red striped straw, and two warm cookies on the side. She then pours a steaming cup of coffee for Chloe, sneaking an oatmeal raisin cookie on the small saucer beneath the cup.

“Here you go, Chloe,” she says, handing them to her over the counter with her benevolent smile.

“But I didn’t-” Chloe begins, only to be quickly hushed by Martha’s simple ‘shush’ gesture and sweet mothering eyes.

Chloe blushes, but knows better than to challenge Mrs. Kent’s charity. Anyone else who dared make a gesture insinuating Chloe’s need, although true, would no doubt find them self besieged by a thousand reasons why she did not need such a gift. But, Mrs. Kent, the woman Chloe often dreamed was her own mother, was one who would never fall victim to Chloe’s sharp tongue.

Maybe Martha sensed that Chloe was silently suffering. Maybe she picked up on the pallid tone that had overtaken the rosy blush that normally resides upon her cheeks. Or maybe, just maybe, Martha was simply acting like a mother, getting joy in being able to give her kids a cookie as an after school snack.


******


“Chloe?” Clark whispers, petting her hair gently with his large hand. “Chloe, we probably need to get you home,” he says, still possessing a delicate tone.

As though suddenly jabbed in the ribs by a sharp object, Chloe’s head flies off the table, her eyes blinking in dazed confusion. The dribbles of saliva that had seeped out during her slumber still trail down the corner of her mouth, though the moment she realizes its presence she quickly blots it away with the back of her hand, embarrassed that she unwillingly provided Clark with more proof of her imperfection.

“Where am I?” Chloe asks, slowly getting her wits about her.

“The Talon,” Clark answers, showing Chloe the fresh cup of coffee sitting before her. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

“What time is it?” Chloe asks, realizing they are the only two people left.

“Nine o’clock,” he answers with a grin, well aware that she’s going to be upset that he allowed her to sleep so long.

“Oh my God!” she exclaims, jumping off of the chair, frantically looking around for her bag. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

It’s not that she’s upset that Clark let her sleep, quite honestly if her head wasn’t spinning so much she probably would be quite touched that he was so caring and attentive to her needs. But as it is, all she can do is focus on her humiliation. Clark saw her laying in a pool of spit. What else could there be? Did she snore? Did he and Lana sit and laugh at all the horrible noises she makes while sleeping? Oh Lord, what about her hair? She can only imagine how horrible it must look after several hours of laying face down on a table.

Instinctively her hands go to her hair, frantically trying to brush the wayward strands into a more attractive do, actually doing more harm than good. Clark can’t help but giggle, but he does attempt to hide the fact that he’s laughing at her.

“What is it?” Chloe asks, paranoid as usual that Clark may have finally gotten wise and realized who she really is; anything but a perfect princess like Lana Lang. Chloe’s a girl who drools, and snores, and has hair that many times looks more like it was combed with a weed-wacker rather than a hairbrush. Regardless of how she feels these traits make her appear undesirable, they in fact are the qualities Clark treasures so in her.

“You look fine,” Clark says, smiling, admiring her as he so often does.

Chloe’s hands drop to her sides, blinking wide eyes at him. “Fine?” she thinks to herself, disappointed that Clark would choose such an insipid word to describe her looks. The sadness his words bring to her is evident on her face, yet she honestly is not surprised.

Clark, although typically devoid of the sensitivity required to deal with delicate female feelings, actually senses Chloe’s disillusionment, and he tries his best to reassure her. “You know Chloe, I think you may have wasted your time with that beauty rest,” he says, oblivious that his comment came out so insensitive. How completely male of him. He had meant to say that she was so pretty that any amount of beauty sleep could not add to her looks. But, in typical bumbling Clark fashion he lost himself in his words.

Upon hearing his backhanded compliment, her widened eyes fill with water. She quickly tries to blink it away, knowing within seconds the pooled moisture will leak from her eyes, providing proof of her vulnerability. Although she truly is hanging on by a thread in this thing called life, she must maintain appearances. She must continue to pretend that she is the girl made of steel, impenetrable to those words that really do cut to the bone. No one must see her tears. She absolutely cannot give them to Clark.

*******************************************************************

Chapter 6

Chloe digs deep within herself, pulling out that strength solidified over years of living among the ruins of a life gone wrong. Her mother couldn’t hack the cards she had been dealt, so Chloe took her hand, and began to play the game years before she was rightfully old enough to be asked to do so. This game of life, in reality, is nowhere near as deserving of the name ‘game’ as Twister or Monopoly. What Chloe is living, in fact, is not a game at all; it is her reality, and one that regardless of how hard she tries, she will never win. Even those with years of experience tucked beneath their belt often find themselves drowning in the turbulent waters of a difficult life. How can a fragile girl be expected to endure a life most adults, Chloe’s own mother for example, can not tough out? But who could ever be so bold to tell her so?


Chloe stands with her undying smile, camouflaging her pain with a happy face, with so many emotions racing through her, so many reasons to crawl into bed and sob like a baby. But, there is already someone sitting in an apartment acting like a child, and someone has to be an adult. For her family to survive, somebody has to stand up and do what's best for everyone, not just what feels right to their silly little heart. Her feelings must come second, her mind knows that. Her heart was just having trouble accepting the message.


Strengthening her resolve, and feeling as though she can speak without those ridiculous tears creeping into her eyes, Chloe tries to figure out how on earth she managed to fall asleep in the middle of The Talon. The irony of someone sleeping amidst a sea of caffeinated beverages is not lost on her; something, quite frankly, she’s ashamed of. How was it that she could drift off into endless slumber at the most inopportune moment, but could not buy her way into dreamland on those never-ending nights when the blackness seems infinite and the silence is frightening?

“Well, I guess I’ve kept you long enough,” Chloe says, pretending that she’s moving on, but secretly hoping he’ll pick up on her subtle hint. She hopes he’ll assure her that she hasn’t kept him from anything. She wants to hear him say that he has no other desire but to spend his day, all of his days, watching over her. The truly crazy thing about it is that if he were to devote himself to her, and spend all of his waking moments doting over her, she more than likely would be offended that he felt she was not strong enough to take care of herself. It really is a wonder than any two people could get together considering such differences between men and women, especially two as different as Chloe and Clark.

“You didn’t keep me,” he begins, giving Chloe a glimmer of hope that perhaps the winds are changing. “I actually just remembered that you were here sleeping. I went home to see if my dad needed me, and just came back to get my mom and here you are. I thought I should wake you up instead of let you spend the night here,” Clark says, beaming with his trademark Kent smile.

He had forgotten all about her, something worse than her worst fears. She closed her eyes for a few moments and drifted right out of his mind. What does this signify for the future of their friendship? Chloe feels his comments bluntly state she doesn’t mean to him what he means to her, and that realization makes her feel as though her heart just broke in half.

“Well next time don’t do me any favors, Clark,” Chloe says, putting on her sweater and starting for the door.

“Wait, I’ll walk you home,” Clark says, following her close behind.


*****

The moon peaks out from behind the misty gray clouds, teasing those beneath to play in the enchanting glow it casts upon the earth. There’s a chill in the air that whips down the alley, creating a slight whistle that can’t help but send a shiver down Chloe’s spine. The ornate street lights provide a hint of security to what would otherwise be a dark, frightening walk home. However, the romantic moon and the reassuring street lights are both going to waste tonight. Chloe could never be scared when in the company of Clark Kent. He had always been there for her in the past, and she had faith that he would continue to protect her; at least in the realm of meteor freaks. When it comes to protecting the most vulnerable part of a woman, her heart, Clark proved to be lacking the necessary skills. For that deficiency he was to be punished, and the silent treatment seems as good a punishment as any.

“Chloe, why are you walking so fast? Wait up!” Clark calls out from several paces behind her. Despite being faster than a speeding bullet, this boy who would be Superman was finding it difficult to keep up with the tiny framed girl with the world on her shoulders.

As Chloe’s feet pound the pavement, her heart pounds in her chest, forcefully pumping the boiling blood through her veins. Considering her anger, it’s hard for her to even see straight. She wants to scream, yell, and throw things. She wants someone else to feel as bad as she does inside. So many countless times Clark had crushed her with his words, sometimes she thinks it might feel good to hurt him. In reality, she would never dream of harming one single hair on his head, but in the midst of the fog of her despair, it’s difficult to think clearly. She can only gain strength from her pain, a force that drives her to thoughts that are truly not her own.

Frequently Chloe finds herself fuming over things Clark has done, not realizing his actions affect her so much. Chloe wants Clark to be sensitive to her ever changing feelings. She longs for him to be sweet when she feels low, and funny when she needs to laugh. She desperately wants to be able to cry on his shoulder, but never wants to be considered weak for needing to. She wants him to be her friend, but she wants to be considered so much more than his. She wants him to say only the right things, but she fears telling him he’s wrong. Why doesn’t he know all of this? Why can’t he read her mind? How was it that she came to expect so much from people, most especially from Clark?

“You don’t have to follow me,” she says without turning back to face him. The truth however, is that Chloe really does want him there. She not only is comforted by the security his presence ensures her, but on moments such as these she can escape into her mind and pretend that she and Clark are walking down a moonlit path, basking in the serenity these stolen moments provide them. When she’s with him the world around her stops. Time ceases to exist, and for an instant she can see a future that has a happy ending.

But tonight Chloe can’t seem to let go of her anger to indulge in a little game of ‘what if’. She cannot fantasize about living a fairy tale and dream about a happily ever after, when everything within her screams it will not happen. It really is a shame when your fears paralyze you within your reality so much that it prevents you from being able to escape into your dreams.

Clark doesn’t know what to say, so he continues to follow behind her quietly. With every second of silence that passes, Chloe’s anger intensifies. His inability to read her is irritating, and despite the fact that she has no idea what she wants to hear, the reality of him not knowing either infuriates her.

“Clark, I’ve gotten home safely plenty of other times without an escort. Just go ahead and go home,” Chloe says, able to disguise her true desires behind a demanding tone.

“Are you sure?” Clark asks, not really wanting to leave her alone, but frightened to dig his hole deeper by not obeying her command.

Pausing from her fast pursuit down the sidewalk, she turns to him, whispering “Go...” under her breath.

Turning her face away from Clark, Chloe starts back down the path to the place that feels like anything but home. Finally alone in the darkness, she lets a sliver of the vulnerable girl living within her seep out; a single tear trickles down her cheek.