He awoke to a dull, insistent ache in his limbs, a thick, throbbing headache, and a wretched feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach. When he cracked open his eyes, he found the round, genial features of George gazing down at him. No smile, he noted. George almost always smiled.
“That wasn’t so smart, now was it?” said George. “Why’d you do it, Clark?”
He closed his eyes again. “Don’t beat about the bush, George,” he mumbled sardonically. “Say what you mean.”
“Yeah, well I like to cut to the chase,” replied George. “So why’d you do it?”
“To get the kryptonite.”
“Red or green?”
He forced his eyes open again and met George’s steady gaze. “Red, George. I’m not suicidal. At least, not yet.”
George raised an eyebrow. “You know, listening to other people’s conversations is considered bad manners in some circles.”
“Guess I don’t move in those circles,” said Clark. “Not any more.” He turned his head away from the therapist, too tired to play any more word games with him.
“So how do you feel?” asked George.
“Lousy.”
“Yeah, you look pretty awful. White face, sunken cheeks, bags under the eyes – the full set, in fact. As for your temperature, well, I was impressed. I never knew thermometers could go so high,” said George.
“George, did anyone ever tell you your bedside manner sucks?” mumbled Clark.
“Oh, frequently. I flunked out on the bedside manner class.” He leant back and clapped his hands together. “Okay, we have two choices here. Either we can move you to one of those very nice single rooms upstairs, with TVs, videos, en suite facilities and full room service – I know Carolyn, the head nurse up there, would love to have you – or I can call Alice and have her take you home. What’ll it be?”
There was no contest, so far as Clark was concerned. “Home.”
“Why did I know you’d say that?” said George. “You know, some day you and I are going to have to have a long talk about your fear of hospitals.” At Clark’s mute look of surprise, he grinned. “Yeah, it’s scary what we shrinks can figure out about a person. Twilight Zone stuff, huh?”
Clark closed his eyes again. “George, I’m not in the mood. I may just have to throw up if you don’t shut up.”
He felt George’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “Hang on in there. We’re going to get you through this, okay?”
“Yeah, you said.”
“I’ll call Alice, all right?”
“Okay.”
***************
Lana came to visit him. As always, her timing was impeccable. He was lying on his bed feeling lousy, the day after his encounter with the green kryptonite. Alice had been cosseting him all morning, bringing him cups of tea and trying to tempt him with food, but when she stuck her head around his door and told him Lana was downstairs and did he want to see her, he nearly spilt his mug of tea all over the bedclothes.
Lana? What on earth did she want with him? Their paths hadn’t crossed in almost a year.
Anyway, he decided he might as well find out, so he asked Alice to show her up. Lana, being Lana, stood at the threshold to his bedroom, arms akimbo, and declared, “Clark, you look awful.”
“And nice to see you, too, Lana,” he replied.
He didn’t bother to climb off the bed to greet her, mostly because he still ached all over and any movement seemed to exacerbate the nausea. Perhaps he was also setting the tone for their encounter – she was tolerated rather than welcomed.
She came further into the room and looked around for something to sit on. The room wasn’t large and didn’t actually contain much other than the bed, a wardrobe and a set of drawers. Frustrated, she perched gingerly on the very edge of his bed, as far away from Clark as possible.
“So what brings you here?” he asked when she didn’t immediately start talking.
She brushed her long blonde locks away from her face and then laid both hands neatly in her lap. “Steve and I were having a clear-out and found some of your old things. I brought them around in a box.”
Steve was her brand-new husband, an accountant with one of the more stuffy legal firms in Metropolis. She’d wasted little time, after breaking up with Clark, in finding a new man and marrying him. Clark didn’t know the guy, but had heard that he was the perfect match for Lana – reliable, unimaginative, predictable and totally devoid of any distinguishing characteristics whatsoever. Safe.
“Well, thank you, Lana. Congratulations, by the way,” he said. “On the marriage.”
She looked down at her hand and played with her wedding ring. “Thank you. He’s a wonderful man.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
Her head snapped up; his tone must have given him away. “I love him to bits,” she said. “Daddy likes him, too.”
His mouth twisted. “Well, I guess that’s as good a reason as any to marry a guy.” Clark wondered idly if Lana had applied the same rules to Steve as she had to him, or if sex before marriage was okay if your fiance wasn’t an alien? Not that he minded any more – he suspected that sex with the xenophobic Lana would probably have left him more damaged than sex with the Superman-obsessed women he’d eventually lost his virginity to. At least they had wanted him to touch them.
She fired him an angry look. “He’s going to join Daddy’s company. He’ll probably end up running it one day, when Daddy retires.”
A not-so-subtle barb aimed at Clark, of course, who had refused to join Daddy’s company. Daddy and Clark just didn’t see eye-to-eye on so many things.
“I’m happy for you, Lana. Sounds like you’re all set for life. I guess the next thing is kids.”
“Next year,” she said primly. “Steve says we need to spend some time just on our own first.”
Or maybe the poor guy was afraid of losing his hard-won conjugal rights. “Sensible guy,” he remarked.
“Yes, he is,” she said, shooting him another angry look. Seemingly, his tone of voice hadn’t been quite right again. “You know, you really do look terrible.”
“Thanks, Lana – you really know how to make a guy feel better, don’t you?”
She pursed her lips together. “She did this to you, of course,” she muttered.
It was his turn to flare up in anger. “Who, Lana?” he asked, although he knew perfectly well who she was referring to. “There have been a lot of women in my life lately – you probably heard – so I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
“That Lane woman,” she spat. “Lois Lane.”
A pulse began thumping in his head. “Don’t you dare, Lana,” he said. “Don’t you dare tell me this is her fault.”
She laughed. “Look at yourself! Listen to yourself! You’re a mess, Clark. Who else do you think did this to you if it wasn’t her?”
“I did this to myself, Lana,” he said. “No-one else. Just me.”
She shook her head. “You’re pathetic.”
“Is this why you really came here, Lana?” he said. “To gloat? To tell me how low I’ve sunk and then show off your wedding ring and tell me what a wonderful life you’re having? I’d call that pretty pathetic, wouldn’t you?”
“She took you away from me,” she said. “She turned you into that ridiculous circus act and then wrecked your life. No wonder you’re a mess.”
“She showed me what a mess my life had already become,” he retorted. The pulse in his head was really beginning to hurt, to drive through his brain like a rapier. “You have no idea what Lois did for me.”
He wrapped himself protectively around her memory, keeping Lana and her twisted version of events at bay. Lois had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was his inspiration and his guiding light through dark times. Lana had no right to attack her.
“Turned you into a drug addict, by all accounts,” she snapped.
He closed his eyes, shielding himself from the pain and her barbed comments. “Just go away, Lana. You’ve said what you came to say, proved to yourself that you’re better than me. Go away and have a nice life with safe Steve.”
“You never used to be this bitter,” she said. “You’ve changed, Clark.”
“Funny, that’s what my therapist says, too,” he said. “Only he makes it sound like a good thing.”
She snorted. “Drugs and therapy...your parents would be ashamed of you.”
The pain in his head doubled at her mentioned of his parents. “Shut up, Lana. Just shut up and go.”
She felt the bed move as she stood. “I hope you get the help you need, Clark. You deserve it,” she added harshly.
And she was gone. At last.
He felt like he’d been flayed alive. He turned on his side, her accusations against Lois swirling around his aching head. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes as he considered the possibility that she might actually be right. If he’d never met Lois, he wouldn’t have discovered what a sham his life had been, and he wouldn’t now have to live with this aching chasm of loneliness and missing love. Had Lois turned him into a junkie?
No! He rebelled against the idea, but the doubt had taken hold.
He turned over onto his other side. God, how he needed some red K. This would all go away if he had some – not much, just a quick hit.
There was a soft knock on his door. “Clark? Are you okay?”
Alice. Alice could get him some red kryptonite. He could tell her he felt really ill, that he had the shakes and couldn’t breathe properly. Yes, he’d die if he didn’t get the red kryptonite – that was it. She’d get him some then.
No, no, no! He turned over again, fisting a handful of coverlet, fighting the craving. Please help me, he begged silently to anything or anyone that might be listening.
Lois didn’t turn you into a junkie, he told himself fiercely. You did it yourself.
He curled up into a tight ball. Please make it go away...
“Clark? I’m just going to come in and collect your empty mug, okay?”
She mustn’t see him like this! He turned onto his back and pushed himself up a bit on the bed – just in time for her to open the door. Lying rigidly on the bed, he followed her with his eyes as she moved across the carpet to his bedside table.
“Would you like a refill, dear?” she asked, picking up his mug.
He shook his head silently.
“All right. You’re sure I can’t tempt you with a nice hot bowl of soup?”
He shook his head again.
“Well, just you shout if you need anything, you hear?”
He nodded, then watched her cross back over the door, mug in hand. She opened the door.
“A...Alice?”
She turned, smiling back at him. “Yes?”
“Could...could you stay a minute?” he croaked.
“Aw, hon, of course I can!” she said, closing the door immediately and crossing to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing...I just need some company...”
To save me from myself... His hand screwed up a fistful of bedclothes tightly.
She frowned at him, her head cocked on one side. “Lana give you a hard time, did she?”
He nodded. “You could say.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let her in, you being so poorly and all,” she said, shaking her head with disgust at her own lack of care.
“Not your fault,” he said. “I could have told you not to send her up.”
She began rubbing her hand up and down his arm soothingly. “You do know not to listen to anything she says, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s hard, you know?”
“I know, hon,” she said.
He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the headboard of the bed. Alice was a big help – just sitting beside him and talking in that sympathetic, Southern drawl of hers made him feel better – but the craving was still there. Lana had lit it, kindled it and brought it up to a slow burn with her barbs and insinuations.
“Is it bad?”
She knew. Alice always knew when he needed some. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Time for the Scrabble board, Alice.”
It was their thing, their way of fighting the craving together. He’d lost count of the number of Scrabble games they’d played while he’d silently fought the internal battle between need and good intention. Sometimes it was difficult to place the finicky little pieces on the board, if his hands were trembling too badly, but then Alice would simply do it for him. Usually, he lost, but it didn’t matter. The game was the thing.
“Coming right up, hon,” she said. “You going to beat me this time?”
“Sure. I have this whole new vocabulary of psychiatric terms,” he said. “You won’t stand a chance.”
She laughed. “Honey, your psychiatric terms are nothing against my Elvis terminology.”
He couldn’t even begin to imagine what she meant by that.
****************
If Clark thought that self-inflicted illness would lend him a respite from George’s treatment regime, he was wrong. He was allotted one day to recover from the worst effects of the kryptonite radiation and then he was back on the treadmill again. Relaxation classes – although he was already so good, it was hardly worth attending, art classes - to help him explore his emotions, writing exercises – which irritated him because he was a professional and these people were amateurs, lessons on addiction – interesting but not exactly revelatory, and his sessions with George.
Amazingly, George actually apologised to him for the green kryptonite incident. Clark had imagined if anyone was going to be doing some apologising, it would be him, so this came as something of a surprise. Apparently, George had warned the clinic staff that he was about to hit Clark with some extra tough sessions, so would they please put additional security measures in place around the red kryptonite store – just in case his patient felt desperate enough to steal a hit despite the inherent risks to life and limb. But someone had been off sick, and someone else hadn’t passed the message on, with the result that Clark was easily able to reach the red stuff.
Clark was somewhat humbled by this behind-the-scenes look at how George was handling him. He hadn’t realised the extent to which he was being carefully manipulated, and the realisation, surprisingly enough, increased his respect for his treatment schedule. He understood, at last, that all the sessions and classes had a purpose – and that basically, these people really knew what they were doing.
He didn’t realise it at the time, but this was a turning point.
**************
“Okay, Clark, today we’re going to get into the real messy, heavy stuff,” said George, rubbing his hands together. “You ready for some action?”
Clark eyed George balefully. “What if I say I’m not?”
“Then I ask you why you’re not, and you say you’re having a bad day, and we get into a really tedious session that takes for ever and gets us nowhere,” replied George cheerfully. “Want to do that? Believe me, I can last longer than you can at that game.”
“George, you can be really annoying, you know that?”
”Yeah, I pride myself on it. Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do.” George opened a drawer in his desk, lifted something out and placed in on his desk in front of Clark. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
Clark frowned, wondering what game George was leading him into now. “Looks like a lead box containing red kryptonite to me, George.”
“Yup, you got it. Like I said, I’m going to be asking you some tough questions today, and we all know what happens when I do that, don’t we? You get an overwhelming urge to hit the red stuff.”
“Yeah.” In fact, just George’s promise of a tough session was enough to make his pulse race and ignite the craving that always hovered just beneath the surface.
“So I’ve made it easy for you, Clark,” said George. “It’s right here, whenever you need it.”
Clark dragged his eyes up from the box to frown at George. “Sounds like one hell of a crazy way to deal with an addict,” he commented.
George grinned. “See, that’s how far you’ve progressed, Clark. You just told me you were an addict without even blinking.”
Clark pulled a face. “Oh, sure, I can say the words. Doesn’t mean I’m cured.”
“Of course it doesn’t. You’re still one sick, screwed up individual, but you’re less sick and screwed up than when we started.”
“Gee, that’s so encouraging, George.”
George shrugged. “I try. So, here’s the plan. I ask you questions, you answer them. Any time you want a hit, you just say the word. But you keep answering the questions, okay? That’s the deal.”
“Why?” asked Clark. “Why is it suddenly open season on the kryptonite?”
“Because I’m going to crack you wide open, buddy. I need you to tell me stuff, and if it takes the red K to keep you talking, then that’s what it takes.” George laughed. “Don’t look so scared. It might hurt a little, but it won’t be terminal.”
Clark wasn’t so sure. There was already a slight tremor in his hands and his mouth was dry. He knew exactly where George was heading and it wasn’t just going to hurt a little, it was going to rip right through him like a dagger.
“Want some before we get started?” offered George once Clark was settled on the couch.
Clark almost laughed – he sounded like a butler handing around tea and biscuits. “No.”
“Okay, first question – define your relationship with Lois.”
Easy. “We were friends.”
“Friends that kiss.”
Oh, George thought he was being so clever! “She kissed me, George. I never kissed her.”
Score two for Clark, zero for George.
He would have, though. Just one more millimetre, that time on her sofa late at night, when the barriers had dropped, when they’d forgotten who they really were. They’d been two lost people – she, without her husband, and he, stranded in the wrong universe and finding himself becoming more and more attracted to this wonderful woman called Lois Lane.
“Run that one by me again,” said George. “You never kissed her? Not even a friendly kiss?”
“Nope.”
“Did you want to kiss her?”
Damn. One to George. He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“When?”
“Once. Late at night on her sofa. We’d been talking. Things got a little...out of hand.”
“What happened?”
“We...forgot. Got caught up in the moment...you know. But we realised…came to our senses, I guess, before anything happened.”
“And why would kissing her have been so bad, Clark? I hear she was an attractive woman, you’re a good-looking man – why not share a kiss or two?”
It started - the dull thud of his heart, the sweaty palms – sooner than he’d expected, but then again George wasn’t wasting any time getting into the heavy stuff. “Because...because we weren’t attracted to each other. Not really. It was just a late evening thing.”
“But you’d broken up with Lana by then?”
“Yes, but that didn’t mean I was ready to jump right into another relationship. Besides, she was married.”
Damn again – he hadn’t meant to say that. Two to George.
“Married? I didn’t know that.”
“No-one knew except me.”
“So you were her confidante, as well as her friend.”
The thud in his chest was steadily building, the need rising. “I guess so, if you want to put it like that.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No! I just told you she was married.”
“Oh, so you just wanted to sleep with her.”
The thudding grew louder. He flashed on that restless night spent on her sofa, knowing she was just upstairs in bed. He’d tried to force his thoughts elsewhere, but they’d kept returning to the woman just out of reach up the staircase. Finally, finding himself staring up at the spot on the ceiling where he knew her bed would be, he’d allowed his x-ray vision to flick on. Just to sneak a quick peek – to make sure she was okay. Nothing more. “No, George.”
He’d glimpsed her, though – sleeping on her side, curled up and looking incredibly cute in her pyjamas.
“I see. Ever find your yourself floating up to the ceiling just thinking about her?”
Oh, god. His pulse was racing in earnest now, nerve-endings jangling, thoughts skittering around his brain as he tried to fend George off. “I don’t want to answer that.”
“Oh, come on, Clark, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I think it is. She was married.”
“How quaint. Look, it happens, okay? You’re a guy, I’m a guy, we see a pretty woman, we get...interested. It’s biology.”
If only he’d stop. Shut up, George, you’re getting too close.
And he was starting to lose control. Everything was okay so long as he was in control. George was messing things up. “You don’t understand,” he blurted out. “I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to her.”
“Because she was married?”
He grabbed onto the half-truth. “Yes.” But that wasn’t right. “No.”
“Which is it, Clark?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, rolling it back and forth on the headrest of the couch. “You’re confusing me.”
“Why else shouldn’t you be attracted to her, Clark? If it wasn’t because she was married?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t, okay?”
“Come on, Clark, quit holding out on me. Tell me this one thing and then you can have some red stuff.”
He shook his head again. “No...not supposed to...”
“I’ve made it okay, remember?” said George. “You can have some today. You just need to tell me this thing first.”
His head was going to explode. If George didn’t stop asking questions, making him say things he didn’t want to say, his head would split open, spattering messy thoughts all over the room. And, oh god, how he wanted the kryptonite. The pain would go away if he could have a hit. He’d die for a hit. Say anything for a hit...
“She wasn’t my Lois!” he blurted, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “She was the other Clark’s Lois. My Lois was lost in the Congo, okay? Wells looked for her but he didn’t find her. Came back and told me she was gone forever, but I need her, I need her so much. Can’t live without her.” The words were pouring out now, running away from him like an express train. “That’s why I need the kryptonite - the kryptonite stops me thinking about her. It blurs, it makes me happy, blocks the pain, blocks everything. I need it,” he gasped. “I need it so I can stop the hurting.”
He’d lost his bearings, hardly knew where he was any more. The pain and need swirled around his head, making him dizzy and breathless. He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard George’s steady voice. “Clark, open your eyes and look at me.”
He did as he was told. George’s round features gazed intently at him, focusing him, bringing him back from the swirling, dizzy hell of his unchecked, out of control emotions. “Here,” said George, placing the box in Clark’s hand. “Take it.”
Still panting, he stared wildly at George for a moment, hardly understanding the psychiatrist’s words. Then he looked down at the grey metal box, felt comprehension dawn, saw his other hand move shakily to the lid. It hovered there, millimetres from the lid but unmoving. Why wouldn’t his hand lift the lid?
“It’s okay, Clark,” said George. “You can open it.”
He looked back up at George, desperate to understand why his hand wouldn’t open the box.
“Open it,” said George. “You need it.”
He turned his gaze back down to the box and saw his hand slowly open it. The red crystal glowed invitingly within the grey lead, leading him down into its blissful oblivion. Shame at taking a hit so openly, right in front of someone else, made him hesitate momentarily, but the pull of the kryptonite was too strong. He relaxed back on the couch and let the relief flood over him, feeling his muscles relax and his breathing slow down. Hell went back into its box.
“Okay, buddy,” said George softly, patting his shoulder. “You did good. Just relax while I go take a leak, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Sure,” he said, his interest as to whether George stayed or remained leaking away as the red kryptonite worked its magic on him.
***********
