The Love of His Life - Chapter 2

(Banner by ctbn60)

 

Chapter Two

 

The horses won't muck their own stalls, will they?

Martha Kent sat up in bed and swung her feet to the floor. The bedside alarm clock read 3:55. It was scheduled to sound at 4a.m. every morning, but it never did. It hadn't actually gone off in over twenty five years. Martha awoke every morning at almost the exact same time, give or take a minute or two, whether she wanted to or not.  

She didn't know why she kept the old clock. Why she still set it every night. Perhaps it was because she couldn't bear the thought of packing away something that had belonged to her husband, Jonathan. 

He'd been gone for two years but Martha still awoke each morning thinking he was asleep beside her. It was like her mind was some slow, old computer that took a little too long to load all the facts on start up. When she remembered he was gone, even two years later, it was like getting the news all over again. It was torture.

Life went on, however much it hurt to do so, and Martha had a lot of work to do. She did her morning stretches to loosen up the old limbs. If she didn't she figured she wouldn't be able to wash the dishes much less work the farm.

After her morning routine of showering, dressing, and brushing her teeth and hair, Martha went downstairs to the kitchen. She could have used a new coffee pot that would brew automatically but she liked her old percolator. She liked to take a few minutes to read a passage or two from the bible while her egg poached and the toast browned in the toaster. 

Martha was an efficient woman. She believed time was precious and shouldn't be wasted. She didn't indulge in long showers or sit idly at the table once she finished breakfast. She promptly washed the dishes once she was done eating and headed out to the barn at exactly five a.m. ready to work.

Martha had worked the farm with husband for decades so she could easily tell when something was off with the animals. Pudding, a chestnut colored mare who didn't take well to strangers or mice, was especially easy to read.  Martha didn't see a mouse anywhere near and she was no stranger to Pudding, so she wondered why the old girl was so skittish. 

"You all right, darling?" Martha cooed while she patted Pudding's neck. The horse began to calm under her touch and nudged Martha affectionately. It was while she was petting the horse that Martha heard the noise -- a soft snore.

Had Clark returned from averting the latest disaster and fallen asleep in the loft? 

No. Clark and Pudding got on very well so his presence wouldn't have made her uneasy. 

Tiptoeing, Martha silently made her way across the barn and grabbed a pitchfork that leaned against the bottom of the steps that led to the loft. She knew every creak the steps made so she was able to climb up without making too much noise. She paused when she reached eye level with the loft floor.

A girl was asleep on the battered old overstuffed couch her son was so fond of. She had untidy blond hair and her clothes looked worn and wrinkled. She was covered up with the blanket Martha had knitted for Clark when he was ten. 

Martha didn't bother to be silent when she moved up the final few steps and flipped on the naked bulb that served as the overhead loft light. The room was flooded with harsh white light that momentarily hurt Martha's aging eyes. 

"Young lady."

The girl's eyes snapped open. Upon seeing a stranger standing over her with a pitchfork the girl reacted with surprising grace and speed. She yanked the blanket off, kicked the pitchfork from Martha's hands, did a back flip off the couch, rolled to where the pitchfork had clattered to the floor and stood up, aiming it at Martha.

Martha was more than a little startled and frightened by the girls impressive display of acrobatic agility. The girl was afraid and she had a pitchfork in her hands, aimed right at Martha. She put her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Whoa! Hold on a second! This is my barn. You're the trespasser here. Don't you point that thing at me!"

"You pointed it at me," she countered.

"Listen, kid, I wasn't pointing the pitchfork at you. I had it with me when I came up the steps."

Martha and the girl stood looking at one another. Martha doubted she could take her in a fight but she sure as hell intended to try if things got out of hand.

The girl put the pitchfork on the floor and used her foot to slide it toward Martha, who quickly scooped it up. She didn't point it, though. She set the forks on the floor and studied the stranger. 

"Sorry. You startled me."

"You startled me too," Martha said. "I'm Martha Kent. You are?"

"Chloe-Carrie," the girl stuttered. She whispered a curse. "Carrie."

"Carrie or Chloe, which is it?"

"Both."

"Bull. Don't trespass on my property and then lie to me, young lady. Is your name Chloe or Carrie?"

"Carrie."

"Right. Chloe it is, then."

The girl shook her head in annoyance. "I said Carrie."

"No, you said Chloe. You tacked Carrie on after which means that your name must be Chloe because it's not easy to forget your own name. After all, you've had it all your life. Carrie is some newly assumed name. You haven't gotten used to using it yet."

The girl's lips curved in a crooked, almost unwilling, smile. "Chloe."

"You know, it's indecent to go around in a thin shirt with no bra, Chloe. There are very bad people out there who may take that as an invitation you're not really sending."

"I don't have a bra. I apologize for startling you. I just needed a place to sleep for the night. I didn't mean any harm. I haven't stolen anything so if you won't call the cops could I just leave with no real harm done?"

Martha shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not."

Chloe's shoulders slumped. Martha knew the girl could fight her way out but something told her Chloe wasn't the violent type unless pushed into it. 

"You can't leave until you've had breakfast. Come with me, Chloe-Carrie. I've got a bra from my younger days that might fit you until we can get you one your own size."

*****

Chloe followed Martha Kent into the house. Everything in the place was old but very well-kept. In fact, the place was spotless. Martha was a remarkable woman to run a farm and keep an immaculate house, especially for a woman in her fifties. Chloe hated cleaning. If she worked all day on a farm the last thing she'd want to do is work on cleaning a house.

Chloe studied the photographs on the walls and sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. They were mostly of Martha with a handsome man that had blond hair. There were also a lot of photos of a young man with thick, wavy black hair and striking green eyes. He was gorgeous -- as in teen male supermodel gorgeous. Chloe didn't doubt he was the Kent's son when he was a young man. Oddly there weren't any of him looking any older than eighteen which made her wonder if he'd died young. 

Chloe didn't intend to stick around long enough to meet much of Martha's family. The fewer people who saw her in town the better it was for everyone.

You really screwed up. Your first night in Smallville and you get caught by a farmer with a pitchfork.

The house smelled wonderfully of coffee. Chloe's stomach grumbled at the prospect of food.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled," Chloe said. She hadn't had scrambled eggs in years. She'd only been permitted to eat egg whites while on the strict diet at the Facility. 

"Toast?"

"Yes, please."

Martha began to cook, scrambling two eggs in an old cast iron skillet that was probably decades older than Chloe. The house was like a time machine that took you back to the sixties. Everything in it was outdated. It felt safe and homey. Chloe would love to live in a house like this but she knew she never would. Her life wouldn't be a very long one, she knew, and it would never involve stability. 

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Martha smiled and poured a cup. The girl had manners, at least, when she wasn't doing back flips and imitating a ninja. 

Chloe added cream and sugar to her coffee and began to sip. She closed her eyes and sighed. It was rich and bold and it warmed her chest going down. It amazed her how such a simple thing as a cup of good coffee could bring so much pleasure. It was a small luxury that too many people took for granted as far as Chloe was concerned.

The eggs and toast were wonderful, especially with homemade butter and preserves on her toast, but Chloe wished she had more. Her energy reserves were still low after her ordeal in Gotham. Coming back from the dead took a lot out of her and she hadn't had much to eat since she hopped the bus to come to Smallville. Her stomach grumbled even after the breakfast.

"Thanks, Mrs. Kent. It was delicious."

"Call me Martha. Are you still hungry?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Listen, Chloe, if there's one thing I don't put up with, especially from yunguns, is lying. When I ask you something I expect the truth. Are you still hungry? I have plenty of food. I have some instant oats. Eat till you're full."

"Oats would be nice."

"More toast?"

"Yes, please."

Chloe ended up eating another two slices of toast, two bowls of oatmeal, two more scrambled eggs and another cup of coffee before she was satisfied. Martha watched her in amazement. 

"You eat like a linebacker. You could rival my son, Clark, and he can really put it away."

Clark. That was the name of the handsome young man in the photographs. Funny how Martha spoke of him in the present tense but didn't have any pictures of  him in adulthood. Considering Martha's age her son had to be in his early thirties by now. 

"Where do you put it?" Martha inquired.

My body digests the food almost as fast as I can swallow it after I come back from the dead.

Rather than answer Martha's question, Chloe simply said, "Thank you for all you've done, Martha, but I have to go now."

"If you have somewhere to go why were you sleeping in my loft?"

Chloe had never been a good liar, and it was obvious Martha Kent was no fool, so she decided no answer was better than a lie.

"I can't tell you that."

"You're running from something. Have you broken the law?"

"No, ma'am. I'm not a law breaker."

Martha sensed Chloe was being honest. She nodded. "I can take you to the police station and--"

"No!"

Chloe stood up in a panic and backed away. Martha frowned at her. 

"I'm not a law breaker but no cops!"

Martha held up her hands, hoping she could placate the girl. "Okay, no police, but they could help you find a place to stay. There's a shelter over in Granville that could take you in."

"I appreciate it but it's not necessary. I can take care of myself."

"I've no doubt of that but your parents must be worried sick. Have you tried to contact them to let them know you're okay?"

"My parents are both dead."

"Oh, honey…" Martha's face was full of genuine sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

"I have to go. I really do. Thanks for everything, Martha."

"You can stay here for awhile."

Chloe emphatically shook her head. "No, really. I'm leaving."

Martha decided not to push the girl and nodded. "You know where my house is. I'll write down my phone number. If you need me, call."

Martha turned toward the kitchen counter and when she did Chloe's mind flashed back to a couple of days previously when she'd started running from Lois to the city. A woman had been driving a truck with bales of hay in the back. She'd swerved to miss hitting Chloe and had almost hit Lois instead.

God, it's the same woman! If she recognizes me --

"Here you are," Martha said, coming back to hand Chloe the slip of paper with her phone number. "I mean it about that invitation to stay here, at least for a little while, until something permanent can be arranged."

"Thanks," Chloe said. She took to the paper and looked at it. She never intended to use it.

"The weather should be good this week but rain is supposed to move in by Friday evening. If you haven't found a place to stay call me."

"I will," Chloe said. 

Martha knew it was a lie but this time she didn't call Chloe on it. She went to the refrigerator and returned with a brown paper bag.

"I packed this last night to eat out in the fields today. You take it."

Chloe accepted the food, tucked the number into her pocket, and then headed out the front door without another word. 

As she walked she realized she never did get that bra from Martha.

*****

Chloe moved from one farm to the next during the night and explored Smallville in the early morning hours while she did. She discovered there was a lake not far outside of town called Crater Lake. 

The lake was surrounded by forestry and to her immense good luck there was a sturdy tree house not far into the woods. It was in enough to offer some privacy but it looked like it hadn't been used in years. It would shelter her from the weather, at least.

She went to a discount store and, using the last of her money, bought some basic necessities. She purchased a small carry bag and filled it with soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, dental floss, deodorant, a hairbrush, a razor, and a small bottle of the cheapest laundry detergent she could get, a small bucket, some paper plates and cups, plastic cutlery, as well as some matches, candles, and a couple of cooking pots from the thrift store. 

After that Chloe hitchhiked to Metropolis. Once the stores closed Chloe broke into a sporting goods store and stole a bow, arrows, a hunting knife that would be great for cleaning fish and gutting small deer, a machete, some twine, rope, fishing pole and hooks, a couple of flashlights, and batteries, a watch, a sleeping bag, a rucksack, and a tent should she need to vacate the tree house to go deeper into the woods. The bow was collapsible and most everything she got fit into the rucksack. 

She didn't want a theft in Smallville to come to Martha Kent's attention. The woman was honorable to a fault, Chloe sensed, and she would undoubtedly give the police her name and a description of her. That would give away her location to her uncle for sure.

By the time she hit the road to hitchhike back to Smallville she looked like a hobo rather than a fugitive. Two days later Chloe returned to Smallville with the stolen items.

Survival skills had been required at the Facility. Chloe had never been informed what they trained her for and now she didn't care. She was just grateful to have the knowledge to survive.

Food was Chloe's first priority. Since the small watch she'd pilfered from the sporting goods store read 3a.m., she left the gear in the tree house, taking the bow and arrows, as well as the machete, and went hiking into the woods. She wouldn't hunt deer. She had no way of storing the meat and it would go bad long before she could eat it all. That would be a terrible waste of life and food.

Instead, Chloe tied some string to the end of an arrow and went down to the lake with her fishing pole and bucket. She put some soap powder into the bucket, filled it with water, and washed her clothes. She left them to soak and dove into the cool water for a swim and to clean her own body off. 

With her clothes clean she left them out to dry and fished on the side of the lake naked. The air was cool but not cold. It smelled strongly of pines and flowers. The lake would be busy soon, as summer came in and school let out. For now, however, it was empty. She was free and though still wary--she would always be wary--she was happy.

*****

Where is she? Is she hungry? Has some man tried to molest her? Is she on drugs? Has she been raped by her father, her mother did nothing to protect her, and she hated her parents so much they were dead to her and she had to run away to escape the abuse?

Martha Kent lay awake in bed. It was 10:30 and she was normally asleep by now. Thoughts of the girl, Chloe, kept her awake. It had been two weeks since she'd left  and Martha had hoped she'd call by now but she hadn't. 

What if she's dead?

No. She was alive and well. Chloe was obviously a girl who could take care of herself. She'd just had some bad luck. She was so young. She couldn't have been any older than Martha's son, Clark, and she was out there in the world all alone. Anything could happen to her, even if she did know how to fight.

It's raining. God, that makes it worse.

Martha had images of Chloe huddled up under a pitiful cardboard box in some dark alley, shivering and hungry, crying, and completely alone. The image was so distressing that she gave up trying to sleep and got up.

It was Friday night and the rain had returned. Her son, Clark, was out on a date with his girlfriend, Lana Lang. He had an 11:30 curfew and he was always on time. When he came home she would ask him if he'd heard any news of a stranger in town, a homeless girl, and how she was.

*****

Chloe snuggled into her soft, warm sleeping bag and listened to the rain falling on the lake. She'd extinguished her candles, trying to conserve them, and was about to drift off when she heard movement in the trees below.

Her eyes snapped wide open and she looked at the watch. It was 10:34p.m.

She opened the sleeping bag, grabbed her machete, and eased over to the trap door that led to the wooden planks nailed to the tree that acted as the steps. She peered down but the night was so dark it was like looking into a black hole. 

Then she saw it. Perhaps fifteen feet away a flashlight bobbled in the dark. She could see two people, a boy and a girl, walking side by side. Even with the strange lighting under the boys face she recognized him from the pictures in Martha Kent's house. It was Clark. 

He was her age. How on earth did Martha Kent have a son that young?

"Lana, this is nuts. We should've stayed in the truck. Now we're soaked to the core," he complained.

Lana giggled and leaned against the tree directly below Chloe.

"I've always wanted to fuck in the rain. It's romantic."

Chloe rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. Great. She'd have to listen to a couple of teenagers screwing. Of all the trees around Crater Lake they just had to pick hers.

"I think we're moving too fast."

"Neither of us are virgins, Clark. I know you did it with Alicia Baker when you dated her last summer."

"That's not the point."

"We've known each other our whole lives. We're dating. We're definitely not moving too fast. I'm ready for this, Clark."

"I'm not," he said simply.

Lana sighed in frustration. "What's wrong, then?"

"Nothing's wrong. We just don't have any protection."

"You didn't bring a condom?"

"No."

"Why not? You knew we were coming out here." Lana complained. There was an annoying petulance to her tone that irritated Chloe. 

What a crybaby.

"I didn't think."

"You never think, Clark."

"Why didn't you bring one, then, if you're such a genius. It's as much your responsibility as it is mine."

"I'm horny and we both have an 11:30 curfew. We don't have time to go back into town and get something," she said in a pinched voice. 

Chloe felt a stab of annoyance with both Clark and Lana. 

Couldn't they do this shit someplace else? 

"Finger me," Lana said abruptly.

Chloe blanched. Damn, that girl was bold.

"What?" Clark asked, sounding panicked. 

"Finger me," Lana said, sarcastically enunciating each word. "I haven't had any in months. I want you inside me, Clark. I want to get off on you."

Chloe mimed gagging and gently sat down so as not to alert them to her presence. Hopefully they'd just do what they came to do and get it over with. Then she could get some sleep.

Thankfully it was raining in earnest. Chloe didn't hear much until Lana started moaning. Curious, she looked down and saw that Clark had his shirt off and one of Lana's bare legs was wrapped around him. She saw the muscles in his forearms working as he fingered his girlfriend and kissed her neck. Lana's face was turned up right at Chloe. Her eyes were closed. She was lost in the moment, straining to reach climax. 

The girl was admittedly beautiful. She had auburn hair, full, pouty lips and porcelain-pale skin. Freckles dotted her face along her cheeks and across her nose. Not everyone could make freckles work but this girl did. If she opened her eyes she would find Chloe looking down on her.

Chloe sat back down and waited until it was over.

"Hey, isn't this the tree house you and Pete built?" Lana asked.

"Yeah. I haven't been here since he moved away," was Clark's reply.

"Want to go up?"

Chloe's heart pounded in her throat.

Please don't. Please don't.

"No," he said. "I have to get you home and then drive out to the farm."

Chloe didn't relax. She had a feeling Lana could get Clark to do almost anything she wanted except unprotected sex. If she wanted to climb into the tree house the fool boy would undoubtedly follow after her, and then Chloe would be discovered. That would lead to an extremely awkward silence.

"Fine, let's go," Lana said.

Chloe began to relax but she wasn't completely at ease until they'd gone and she was alone again.

That was a close call.

Chloe settled into her sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep, wondering if Clark was gay. He was, after all, the only seventeen-year-old boy she'd ever heard of who would turn down sex with his girlfriend, his beautiful girlfriend, out of some desire not 'to screw things up' as he'd put it.

*****

"Clark, you're home, good."

"What are you doing up? You okay?" Clark asked. 

"I'm fine. I'm just worried."

Clark closed his eyes. "Mom, we've had this talk a hundred times. I'm not going to get Lana pregnant -- "

"Damn right you're not. That's not what I want to talk about. Remember that girl I told you about, the one I found sleeping in the loft?"

"Yeah, I remember."

Clark headed for the kitchen. Before Jonathan died he never would have walked away from her during a conversation. 

"Clark, I'm talking to you."

"I'm hungry. Talk to me in the kitchen. Jesus."

Since Jonathan's death a lot of things between her and Clark had changed. He was often sullen; he never opened up to her. He did his work around the farm, kept up his grades, saved people without ever taking thanks for it and avoided his mother at all cost.

"Don't you take the Lord's name in vain around me."

"Mom, it's late, you should be in bed and I have to get up early to start sewing the fields --"

"I'm not trying to pick a fight with you, Son. I never try that but we always end up arguing. It's not all my fault, either."

"What about this girl?" Clark said impatiently.

"Have you heard anything about her around town? Have you seen her?"

"No."

"Where else would she go?"

Clark sighed and rubbed his face. He was soaking wet but Martha could still smell Lana's perfume on him. The outline of a condom was visible in his back pocket. She figured they were having sex but she wasn't going to confront him on it. That would only set them off on another argument. If they were sleeping together at least he was being responsible about it. That was still very little comfort to Martha.

"I want you to look for her."

Clark turned to Martha and regarded her. "If she's still in town she doesn't want to be bothered. She probably doesn't want to be found, Mom."

"You know where she is, don't you? Go get her and bring her to the house."

"If she wanted to come here she would. She knows where the farm is."

"She's probably afraid to come back. She needs someone to encourage her so go out there and get her."

"God, almighty, Mom. Why are you always pushing your will on people! Why does it always have to be your way or no way?" he suddenly shouted.

Martha's lips were pursed and her fists balled tightly. "Don't you raise your voice to me, Clark Kent."

Her son's shoulders slumped as he realized he had indeed begun yelling at his mother. He'd been raised better than that. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted but I'm still right. Mom, if she wanted to stay here she would have accepted your invitation when you first gave it to her."

"Are you saying that you don't care if there's a scared young girl out there in the rain, alone, going hungry? Your father and I raised you better than that."

It was a struggle not to shout, "Don't throw Dad in my face to manipulate me. It's not fair."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you, Clark. I'm trying to teach you empathy. Wouldn't you want someone to help you if you were in Chloe's place? God knows I would want someone to reach out to you. Have a seat, please."

Clark sat down at the kitchen table. Martha went to the refrigerator and took out the leftovers from dinner and began packing the roast beef and vegetables into a Tupperware container. She wrapped a few slices of homemade bread in some sandwich bags, grabbed a couple of cans of cola and a plastic fork, and stuffed it all into a brown paper bag before setting it into a plastic bag from the grocery store to keep it dry.

"Take this to her. Tell her Martha sent it and that I want her to come stay the night. Tell her I…I miss her and would like to see her."

"You miss her?" Clark sneered.

"Yes!" Martha shouted, angry with her son's attitude. "I know you don't like me, haven't liked me since your father died and I have no idea why, but will you do this for me anyway?"

Clark frowned and took the food from his mother. "I like you, Mom. I just get aggravated sometimes."

"Just go, Clark. It's late and I'm sure that girl is hungry."

Clark looked as though he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and went back out to the truck. Martha watched him drive off into the night, hoping to God Chloe would return with him.

*****

Clark's stomach burned with guilt. His mother actually thought he didn't like her. 

You're an asshole, Kent.

It wasn't that he didn't like his mother. He liked her a lot. He loved her to pieces. It was just that he couldn't look at her without thinking of what he'd taken from her. The guilt was always there, worse when he was with his mother, so he avoided her as much as he could. It hurt too much to think of his father. It hurt to think that his dad would still be alive if it wasn't for him.

The drive to Crater Lake wasn't a long one. He knew exactly where the girl, Chloe, was hiding. He'd heard her moving in the tree house as soon as he'd arrived with Lana. At the time he hadn't known it was Chloe. He'd just known someone was there and he couldn't have sex with Lana knowing he had an audience. Doing what he'd done had been embarrassing enough but he hadn't been able to think of an excuse to leave without pissing Lana off.

He'd been looking forward to their date, too. He'd prepared for it and had even secretly agreed with Lana that fucking in the rain would have been fun, even though he'd complained about it. Then he heard someone in the tree house and his chance to finally get laid had gone out the window.

Once he parked the truck he didn't bother walking normal speed to the tree house. In the blink of an eye he went from the truck to the tree house and looked up. He focused his hearing and heard slow, steady breathing. He could be wrong. Maybe some homeless person had taken refuge in the tree but he doubted it. He'd seen a blond stranger in town only a couple of days ago.

He peeped through the floor of the tree house. Sure enough it was Chloe, sleeping soundly with a machete in her hand.

"Excuse me!" he called out. He watched as she jumped awake, machete ready. She held still, looking right down in his direction, but he doubted she could see through the floor like he could.

"My name is Clark Kent. My mom, Martha Kent sent me. May I come up?"

"No. Go away."

That's rude.

"I'm coming up," he said.

Clark levitated until his head poked through the open trap door. Undoubtedly she'd left it open to coax some air into the tree house. He felt cold steel at his neck a second later. A flashlight beam was aimed right at his eyes. He pretended to squint.

"I'm just bringing you some food. Calm down, sheesh."

"I have food. I'm fine."

"Martha Kent sent me."

"You said that already."

"Will you put the knife away? I really doubt you're going to chop off my head."

The steel wouldn't have cut him but Chloe didn't know that.

"You come from a ballsy family," she said. "Is it even possible to intimidate any of you Kents?"

"Nope," he said. He took a seat on the floor, leaving his legs to dangle out of the trap door. He handed Chloe the food.

"Been living off fish, I take it? Have some roast beef for a change."

Chloe opened the bag. The smell of the food was heavenly. Her belly growled and her mouth watered in anticipation. 

"Light a candle."

"Okay. You really should learn how to say please and thanks."

Chloe began to eat. The beef, even cold, was delicious. She was so sick of fish that anything different was heaven to her taste buds. The bread was good, too. Good enough to eat by itself.

She watched Clark light one of her candles.

"You knew I was up here, didn't you? The whole time you were with that girl."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I couldn't think of a good excuse to leave that wouldn't piss her off."

Chloe nodded. "I've been around worse than some guy fingering his girlfriend."

Clark looked embarrassed but he didn't say anything else.

"So I'm Clark Kent. You're Chloe….what?"

"Finlay."

"Chloe Finlay. Bullshit."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "What is it with you Kents? Are you a bunch of psychics? Human lie detectors?"

Her jaws were stuffed with food so that she looked kind of like a chipmunk. Clark thought she was cute.

Really cute.

She had on a thin red shirt and no bra. She had great breasts, he thought. He also thought of the unused condom in his back pocket.

Chloe gulped down food. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring at my tits."

"No I wasn't."

"Yeah, right. You planned on getting laid. You must have heard me moving around up here and backed out. I guess you've got a rubber in your pocket after all. Planning on asking to use it with me?"

The girl was perceptive, he'd give her that, but he'd had no intentions of cheating on his girlfriend.

"I've got a girlfriend to use my rubbers with. I was looking at your breasts, I'll admit it. Sue me. I'm a guy and you're cute."

Chloe surprised him with a smile. "You're pretty cute yourself, Clark Kent. Thanks for the food. Tell Martha I appreciate it."

She stuffed everything into the bag and threw it Clark. He caught it against his chest. 

"Now get lost, farmboy."

"Mom wants you to come back to the house. She's worried about you."

"That's nice of her but she's better off if she never sees me again."

"You in trouble?"

"Yes. Don't come back here, Clark. Don't tell your mother where I am. If I see you again I'll bolt and leave town."

"You've got a nice setup here but it'll be no good when its a hundred degrees outside or when winter comes and it's below freezing. What could it hurt to indulge my mom just once and spend the night in a nice bed?"

You have no idea what it could hurt.

Chloe thought of her uncle and how he would kill both Clark and Martha to get at her. 

"I can't."

Clark looked at her for a long time. It was like he could see right through her.

"We'll never tell anyone you're at our place. It's dark now so no one can see you come in. This is no way to live, Chloe. Besides, we could use an extra hand around the farm. It's a lot of work for two people."

Actually he could do it all himself but he couldn't let Chloe know that. He could sense Chloe really wanted to take him up on the offer.

"Two? What about your dad?"

"He died a couple of years ago. Come on. It's okay, really."

He gave her his best smile. Despite her intentions to keep everyone she met at arm's length or beyond, Chloe couldn't help but smile back. The boy was incredibly hot and a hot guy could always coax a smile from her.

"If you have company you can't let them see me. Nobody can know I'm at your place."

"Fine."

Chloe grabbed his arm. She had to make him understand how important it was that no one saw her at the Kent farm. 

"I'm serious, Clark. Nobody can know. Ever."

Clark wondered what the hell kind of trouble the girl was in. She was so paranoid it was like she was on the run from the mob or something.  

He nodded. "I promise. No one will ever know."

Despite everything in her screaming not to go, Chloe began packing up her things and then blew out the candle. Clark helped her carry everything to the truck and she climbed in beside him.

This is a mistake.

Chloe knew the Kents wouldn't leave her be now that they knew where she was staying. She'd stay a couple of days to appease Martha and then, in the dead of night when they slept, she'd leave Smallville and never return.

At least that was the plan.


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