Almost Clark (Chapter One)

Prologue

He moved over her, his eyes closed, his breathing harsh. He'd come to her twice this week. The worst part was that she let him. She welcomed him and his rough hands and his harsh voice and his wicked words. In fact, she craved all of it. She craved it as much as she hated it. But she couldn't get by without it.

"I hate you," she panted, even as the violent clenching and soft ripples of her orgasm washed over her.

"I know," he growled, smiling cruelly as a lock of brown hair fell into the sky-blue of his eyes.

No. Not Blue. Red, she amended. As red as the shirt he'd torn from her body as she lay desperate on the floor of her apartment above the Talon. The apartment that was Lana's once. Lana, who she betrayed whenever the opportunity arose.

"I hate you," she repeated as he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily.

"Yeah. You said that." He rolled off her and away.

"I hate me," she whispered, more to herself. Because it was true. But even that couldn't make her stop.

Chapter One

It had started that summer.

That awful summer when his parents lost the baby, when explosions rocked their farm, and their only son took off on a motorcycle- or so Lana said, crying prettily. She was going to stay with Nell in Metropolis and look for Clark, she said. She hadn't given up on him. Chloe hadn't either. But she knew two things Lana didn't: where Clark was and what he needed.

He didn't need sweet platitudes and teary embraces from Lana and his parents. He needed a swift kick in the ass.

The first time she came, he'd told her not to come back.

The second time, he'd repeated it, adding that, if she told anyone, he'd go so far away she'd never find him.

Well, fine. She wouldn't come back. Not to his apartment, at least. She'd find him somewhere else and make him listen. Of course, the only place she was sure he'd be was the apartment. She waited outside for an hour, thanking God it was summer. Instead of freezing to death, she could just stand there, pressed between a dumpster and a wall, enjoying what aromas there lie.

"Finally!" she groaned when Clark came out, walking toward yet another shiny sportscar. She saw him run his hands over the hood before pressing a button on the key. Where was he getting all these cars? She stealthily moved toward the bug parked in the shadows. Inconspicous? Possibly not. But she could keep a few cars behind him.

After what seemed like a pointless drive - four measly blocks away - he stopped at a club. "Atlantis," its flashy sign screamed. She shook her head as she waited near the curb until he tossed a valet attendant the keys. She supposed it wasn't about how far you had to drive, but how cool you looked when you got there. She hastily searched for a meter, wondering why the hell all these idiots paid ten bucks for valet when all the meters were free after six. Probably all about looking cool, too. This was not the same club she'd found him at before. This was richer, swankier. Could she even get in? She remembered the press pass in her glove box. It didn't say her age...

It would work. It had to. She checked herself in the mirror, putting on a touch more lipstick and a lot more eyeliner. She needed to look like she was going clubbing, at least. Like she was definitely not just under seventeen and this was definitely not her first time in the kind of overpriced dance club with drinks that probably cost more than her shoes. She rolled the waistline of her skirt twice, took off the light jacket, leaving only her tank top on, and took the barettes from her hair, giving her head a shake. She'd get in. She wasn't worried. She could bullshit her way through anything.

It was only after she was inside, after she ditched the armani-bound dork of an accountant she'd cozied up to as he bribed the doorman, after she saw him at the bar, a floozy on each arm, that she realized she couldn't bullshit her way through this new Clark and get to the one she knew.

Twice she'd seen him and she'd only now realized it... This wasn't Clark. Clark wouldn't be sliding one hand over some floozy's ass, knocking back a shot with the other. People didn't turn so quickly. She studied a crushed straw on the sticky floor. What the hell had she been thinking, anyway? That she'd show up here and he'd suddenly listen? She couldn't even talk to a Clark that groped women and boozed the night away at some skanky club.

She looked up, saw his lips lower to the other floozy's ear. She'd failed before. Now would be no different. "Good luck with your new life," she whispered, not that he could hear, and turned around, heading for the door. She hadn't gone three steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder, a warmth at her back, and a voice she recognized speak with a tone she'd never heard.

"What's the matter, Nancy Drew? Giving up on the stake-out? It was just getting interesting."

Chapter Two