Prelude
Clark encouraged me to write. He said that by putting my thoughts down on paper I might be able to deal with my grief. I wouldn't have to carry it around. I thought it a silly idea. How could writing in my journal help? Grudgingly, I did write. In the beginning, I thought it would be too hard--too painful to write the words. At first, my journal entries were stilted and impersonal, like descriptions in the TV Guide. Once I started to write, I found myself cataloging everything and as I unburdened my soul, the journal made it possible for me to go on, made it possible for me to breathe again, possible for my shattered heart to heal. My journal and Clark, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Journal entry – November 22, 2008
Chaos.
No other word could adequately describe my feelings or the scenario that unfolded over the past 30-odd hours. I was numb. Maybe that alone accounted for my lack of feelings—my disconnection. I felt hollow, bereft. That's what I was thinking when Clark found me in the hospital as I waited for Jimmy to recover after surgery. Clark was still dressed in the black suit and silver shirt he had worn to the wedding. It struck me as odd that he would still be dressed this way, but then I realized I was still dressed in the pumpkin taffeta and silk that Chloe had chosen for me. How festive we both were in our fine clothing— our attire contrasted sharply with our mood. I would have laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all, if I'd had the energy or the strength. I had neither. All I could muster was a slight upward nod of my head to him. He crossed the room and I was pulled into his strong embrace before I had given it a second thought, as though he already knew that I was completely drained and that I would need to leech strength from him in order to stand.
"How is Jimmy?" He asked. His voice seemed slightly hoarse, as if he had been straining against some unseen force. I wondered at that. My mind was clutching after every available distraction.
"The doctors say that he is stable now, and all we can do it wait. That's what I've been doing--waiting."
I felt him nod slightly against my shoulder. I pressed myself tighter to him. Waiting had sapped all my strength. It was good that Clark was with me now. I didn't know if I could do it alone much longer. He held me closer for a moment and then began to pull away from me. He looked at my face and I saw the concern reflected in his eyes. I didn't know at the time what he saw. I wouldn't know until much later how sallow my face was, and that the deep purple shadows under my eyes alarmed him.
"Lois, let's go home. You've done all you can for Jimmy."
"No." I protested. Although home did sound inviting, I didn't want to leave Jimmy alone. I didn't want him to be alone when he found out that Chloe was still missing. "He'll need a friend here when he wakes up. I can't leave him."
"Oliver is on his way. He will stay with him and let us know as soon as there is a change in his condition."
"But I . . . we sh—"
" You need to rest." He reiterated. He was right. My limbs were numb. I was already on autopilot. I wasn't going to last much longer. There was no point fighting Clark on this. He would win in the end and I didn't have the energy for it. I acquiesced with a nod of my head.
He led me down the wide hallway of the hospital, my heels echoed down the empty, desolate corridor. As we approached the sliding doors at the exit of the hospital, a gust of cold air assaulted me. He quickly shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It had been raining. I briefly recalled hearing the storm rage outside as I waited in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, but I had not paid it any attention. It was no match for the storm that raged in my heart and in my soul. I shouldn't have been surprised to see the bleak and dismal heavens looming overhead as we left the hospital. I snuggled deeper into Clarks' coat—a shield against the cold, dismal November sky.
Clark opened the door of the truck and helped me get settled in the passenger seat. When he climbed into his side of the cab, I scooted closer to him, still relying on his strength to buoy me. He wrapped his arm around me without a word—as though he knew without my saying it that I needed him to keep me tethered. Soon, the rocking motion of the cab soothed me, my eyelids became heavy and I gave in and let sleep overtake me.
~*~*~
I slept for the entire long ride back from Star City, and only became aware of the change of surroundings when the purr of the engine stopped.
Clark carried me into the house, as I was still in the groggy state of awareness that follows the sleep of exhaustion. He carried me up the stairs to the room that I claimed when staying at the Kent farm—his old bedroom.
He laid me gently on the bed. I felt his hand next to my head and realized that he was unthreading my earrings from my ears. I hear a soft clink as he placed them in a dish on his bedside table that had appropriated for this purpose.
He next slipped my shoes off my feet. I cried out in relief. I ceased feeling in my limbs for so long, that I hadn't realized how painful these impossible shoes had been.
"You awake?" Clark asked, quietly. I felt the mattress dip under his weight as he sat down next to me on the bed and my eyes fluttered open.
"Just barely." I whispered out in a half-hearted rasp, not sure that my words were coherent.
He grinned slightly at me and brushed a lock of hair from my face. His fingers were warm and comforting.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"'s ok." I smiled back at him timidly.
"When was the last time you had anything to eat?"
I shrugged, and then I remembered a nurse cajoled me into a taking a few bites of a dry, tasteless sandwich earlier. "I had a few bites of a sandwich earlier. I don't remember what was on it."
"Why don't you take a long hot bath and I'll go make you something decent." I really wasn't hungry, but the idea of a hot bath did sound appealing; the promise of the hot water soothing my tired limbs and frayed nerves.
"C'mon." He coaxed. He stood and took my trembling hands in his, pulling me from the bed. My legs were unsteady and I wavered, sagging against him. My body felt as though all strength had gone out of it, as though my bones had melted away. The tears I'd been holding back sprung from my eyes and now flowed freely, as though a dam had broken and I was powerless to stop the tide. He sat back down on the bed and pulled me into his lap and held me.
"I'm sorry to fall apart on you like this." I wheezed.
"Shhh. Shh." He comforted and rocked me gently. "It's ok."
I felt the rumble of his chest as he continued to whisper words of comfort to me. I couldn't hear the words over the broken sobs that racked my body. The words to a song entered my mind on some random tangent; how many times can I break till I shatter? That was how I felt, that I would shatter if not for his strong arms binding the pieces of me together. I cried until I was out of tears, and still he held me, anchoring me to this plane.
I sighed. A half shudder, half hiccough, as one does when exhausted from crying. I was sure that my eyes were swollen. Hell, my nose was probably running.
When I was out of tears and he was out of words, I felt the press of his lips against my hair and then my forehead. Then he pulled away from me ever so slightly. I felt a panic rise in my chest because I knew that I would be unable to stand on my own. But he didn't break from me. He cupped my face with his hand, wiping a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb. He then he kissed my cheek; Kissing away the tears, trying to heal my broken soul.
As he kissed me, I realized something that I been too busy to notice before. His cheeks were wet with tears of his own. How could I have been so selfish? His heart was breaking too! How many holes had been torn in his chest over the years I had known him and now this! He loved Chloe as much as I did. This had to be destroying him. He would never forgive himself that he couldn't protect her. And here I was, selfishly taking comfort from him when he needed comfort so desperately.
I felt protective of him suddenly. I wanted to heal his wounds and his heart. I kissed his cheek and he drew me closer to him. He was so strong, and yet so vulnerable. I could feel his sculpted muscles beneath his silk shirt, could feel the power emanating from him. His arms could easily crush me, and yet now they held me in the most tender of caresses, as though they had been waiting for this purpose for an eternity.
I let one finger graze over his lower lip and moved my head forward and kissed him carefully. As I pressed my lips against his, he stilled. NO! I thought, I had crossed a line and now I would never be able to step back. All I wanted to do was to offer him comfort but my actions were too rash, too impulsive. I'd acted too soon after the awkwardness of the dance we'd shared. Was it only yesterday that we'd danced?--It seemed so long ago.
Then his lips moved against mine--gentle, tentative, hesitating, but not from lack of confidence. This was something else. It was as if he was deliberately holding back. Deliberately reigning in his ardor, but for what reason I could not ascertain. I wound my hands in his hair and pulled him to me, silently signaling that I wasn't afraid, that I would not run away, that I was ready to be there for him. To be needed.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, my cheeks and eyelids. The stubble on his cheek slashed against my delicate skin, but I didn't care. I had felt so disconnected that I had wondered if the feeling would ever return to my body. Finally, I was feeling something.
"Lois . . ." he said, his voice a husky rasp. The raw emotion laid bare as he whispered my name sent a shiver up my spine.
I sought his lips again, and there was nothing tentative about the kiss this time. I crushed his mouth with my own, brushed my tongue against his lips, and probed his mouth as he opened up to me. There wasn't even a trace of hesitancy on his part as Clark returned my kiss, matching my need with his own. He held me tight against him, as if he could feel the world slipping away and was as desperate as I was to cling to it. His mouth moved against mine hungrily. I felt like my body was melting, and surrendered completely to the sensual pleasure of the kiss.
The sharp peal of the telephone finally broke the spell that had shrouded us. Clark struggled to control his breathing before he spoke into the receiver.
"Hello? . . . Oh, hi John."
As soon as I heard it was Detective Jonzz, I knew this would be about Chloe and felt a quick stab of guilt. I quietly slid from off Clarks' lap and went to the bathroom to start my long overdue bath.