I know it
. It's Jana's "A Fishy Story"
I couldn't find another one that I wanted to use, so I chose one that I know by heart
. Don't hurt me, please.
Clark must have been worried about me and forgotten himself
because he pulled his glasses down his nose and looked at my
ankle. Even through my pain-induced haze I wondered what he was
doing looking at my ankle. It wasn't as if he could see anything
but skin. Boy was I wrong.
I looked up into his face. His eyes were clouded with worry and
his mouth was almost twisted with sympathy. But the thing that
alerted me the most was that he had his glasses down at the bridge
of his nose. I had never seen his eyes without his glasses
before, and for some reason he looked so different without them,
almost like someone else. I couldn't place who that someone else
was until Clark muttered, "Not broken, thank God."
What? How could he have known that it wasn't broken just by
looking at it? It wasn't like he could x-ray it with his eyes.
Boy was I wrong! It hit me then. Why was he able to wear a tank
top and shorts in the cold and his skin still be warm? Why does
he always have to leave me whenever we are having a meaningful
discussion and always seems so sorry and gives such lame excuses?
How could he look at my ankle and say it's not broken? Who does
he look like without his glasses?
It hit me then. It made so much sense. I guess it took a brain
clouded with pain to realize that Clark Kent, the mild-mannered
reporter I had, I admit it, fallen in love with, was also
Superman, the other man I still had some feelings for. This was
not the time to confront him about it, though, because Jimmy was
running back towards us.
