It's not an S // Superman

Chapter 9

As a week turned into a month it was clear that things still hadn't changed. Dad had taken the decision to go back to work after a lot of encouragement from me. He knew I wasn't myself after what happened to Mr Kent and if I was honest I could tell he didn't know how to approach the situation. Him going back to the base was the best for both of us. I could deal with the whole Clark thing without intrusion from him and he could throw himself back into his duties.

Once Dad had gone on his way I made Clark my number one priority. Sure he wasn't getting angry anymore, sure from an outsiders perspective it looked like he was dealing with his loss ok but I knew better. Clark was naturally quite a quiet person. He kept himself to himself apart from when he was with me. This was different though, this was on another level.

Clark had stayed away from school up until a couple of days ago and on the Monday he came back I knew all was not well. You see I couldn't drive since the accident because of my leg injury. I'd been getting cabs to school and back. It cost quite a bit of money but Dad insisted. On that Monday though when I stepped outside expecting the paid transport to be waiting for me I was shocked to see Clark sitting behind the wheel of his red truck.

"Clark?" I questioned when he got out of the driver's side, coming around and helping me into the passenger seat without saying a word.

"What's wrong?" I asked again when we were over half way to school and he still hadn't said anything.

"Can we just not talk please?" He whispered in more of an order than a request.

So that was it, we spent the rest of the journey in complete silence and that is just how it has continued. Every day he picked me up, every day he took me home. He even gave me a ride to the hospital when I needed to get a check up on my leg. He didn't say anything though, nothing except the odd "Hi" or "Bye".

We'd still walk to class together, still eat lunch together, still meet under our tree when the weather was nice but all our conversations were one sided. I talked enough for the both of us. I didn't talk about serious stuff, that would just make it worse. I talked about class and homework, even some weird reality show that I was watching on TV. He never added to the chat, never put in a word, just sat there and listened. If this was his way of dealing with things then I'd have to respect it.

As the days went on I thought about why he'd taken this turn, why he'd chosen to become virtually mute. Maybe he was afraid about what he'd say when he did speak. Maybe he was worried about shouting at me again or maybe it was his way of holding it all together.

After a few weeks it became really hard for me to handle seeing him that way. I was watching him tormenting himself mentally. Some days I'd just watch him from across the hall and he'd be standing there staring into space, what appeared to be the worries of the world etched into his features. I knew that he needed to talk to someone about what he was thinking, he had to. His Dad used to be the one he'd go to, to talk about his problems with. Clark had revealed that to me in the past. Who did he have for that now? Me, that's who. I would get Clark to open up to me. I just had to figure out how.

On a particularly sunny day at school I ventured outside for lunch and sure enough there Clark was, sat statue like on the grass underneath our tree. In the short space of time it took me to walk from the school exit, across the field I had come to the decision that today was the day. Today was the day I would start trying to break down that barrier. I would get Clark to open up about his Dad, about anything.

"Hi," I grinned at him as I took my seat at his side on the soft ground, making out that everything was normal.

I ignored his failure to respond and carried on, knowing this was going to be hard but also being determined to make a breakthrough. I had to find something to start a conversation, something I hadn't gone over time and time again. That's when I spotted something, something secured around Clark's neck that he was always fiddling with.