#me writing some angst
Getting close to girls is dangerous for her, Kara decides.
Girls love softly. They love with their whole heart, and deeply from the start. Everything about loving girls is pure euphoria, a marching battalion of butterflies in the pit of Kara’s stomach.
It is the kind of love found inside books or seen in movies, star-crossed and meant to be. The sort that makes her want to dance and sing and stop strangers on the street to tell them how truly in love she is. More than once Kara catches herself thinking that immortality is not so big an obstacle for such a love as this.
With boys it’s not the same, because Kara makes sure to seek out those who are only interested in sex. She gets a reputation. She’s easy. She sleeps around. She brings boy after boy after boy to her dorm room, sleeps with them in her cramped bed. She’s aware, although remotely, that they say nasty things behind her back, but doesn’t care.
The crippling loneliness gets worse, and eventually she stops sleeping with others altogether.
Getting close to people is dangerous for her, Kara amends.
She takes this new rule in stride, something she doesn’t necessarily understand but that can’t be disputed. It simply is, and Kara stores it with the other things about herself she can’t really explain. Files it next to the fact that it icks her if the veggies in her plate touch her other food, or that she can’t wear anything made out of wool since it feels like a million and one ants are walking on her skin.
Kara has found out her life is better if she doesn’t question things like these much. It’s best not to think too hard and simply follow.
It even works, for a while.
She graduates, moves to the big city, gets a job at CatCo. Kara is alone, yes, and that can be unbearable, but she is also happy.
Mostly.
Until, one day, Lena Luthor enters the picture.
It’s Kal-El’s fault again, because of course it is.
“Clark,” he corrects her as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of Luthor Corp. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re—”
“And I’m your very annoyed cousin.” Kara jabs at the 20th floor button again, as if that’s going to make the elevator climb any faster. “I don’t get why you wanted me to come. Lex Luthor is in prison. Surely, you can handle an interview with his sister alone? You know—” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Considering who you are.”
“Keep your voice down.” His eyes dart around the closed space, scanning for some hidden recording device. Tough luck. The elevator is lined with lead. Funny that of all the things Lex Luthor and her cousin could have had in common, what stands out is paranoia. “It’s not about the interview and you know it. It’s about—”
“Figuring out whether murder runs in the family?” The elevator stops, the doors slide open. “Aren’t you being, I don’t know, a little judgemental?”
“And you are being naive.” At the end of the hallway a woman behind a massive desk points at a row of chairs and signals they should wait. Clark grabs Kara by the elbow, hard. “Remember it’s a Luthor we’re talking about, Kara. You can’t trust any of them. Ever.”
Yeah. Kara shrugs.
Whatever.
Getting close to girls is dangerous for her, Kara decides.
Girls love softly. They love with their whole heart, and deeply from the start. Everything about loving girls is pure euphoria, a marching battalion of butterflies in the pit of Kara’s stomach.
It is the kind of love found inside books or seen in movies, star-crossed and meant to be. The sort that makes her want to dance and sing and stop strangers on the street to tell them how truly in love she is. More than once Kara catches herself thinking that immortality is not so big an obstacle for such a love as this.
With boys it’s not the same, because Kara makes sure to seek out those who are only interested in sex. She gets a reputation. She’s easy. She sleeps around. She brings boy after boy after boy to her dorm room, sleeps with them in her cramped bed. She’s aware, although remotely, that they say nasty things behind her back, but doesn’t care.
The crippling loneliness gets worse, and eventually she stops sleeping with others altogether.
Getting close to people is dangerous for her, Kara amends.
She takes this new rule in stride, something she doesn’t necessarily understand but that can’t be disputed. It simply is, and Kara stores it with the other things about herself she can’t really explain. Files it next to the fact that it icks her if the veggies in her plate touch her other food, or that she can’t wear anything made out of wool since it feels like a million and one ants are walking on her skin.
Kara has found out her life is better if she doesn’t question things like these much. It’s best not to think too hard and simply follow.
It even works, for a while.
She graduates, moves to the big city, gets a job at CatCo. Kara is alone, yes, and that can be unbearable, but she is also happy.
Mostly.
Until, one day, Lena Luthor enters the picture.
It’s Kal-El’s fault again, because of course it is.
“Clark,” he corrects her as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of Luthor Corp. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re—”
“And I’m your very annoyed cousin.” Kara jabs at the 20th floor button again, as if that’s going to make the elevator climb any faster. “I don’t get why you wanted me to come. Lex Luthor is in prison. Surely, you can handle an interview with his sister alone? You know—” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Considering who you are.”
“Keep your voice down.” His eyes dart around the closed space, scanning for some hidden recording device. Tough luck. The elevator is lined with lead. Funny that of all the things Lex Luthor and her cousin could have had in common, what stands out is paranoia. “It’s not about the interview and you know it. It’s about—”
“Figuring out whether murder runs in the family?” The elevator stops, the doors slide open. “Aren’t you being, I don’t know, a little judgemental?”
“And you are being naive.” At the end of the hallway a woman behind a massive desk points at a row of chairs and signals they should wait. Clark grabs Kara by the elbow, hard. “Remember it’s a Luthor we’re talking about, Kara. You can’t trust any of them. Ever.”
Yeah. Kara shrugs.
Whatever.
Getting close to girls is dangerous for her, Kara decides.
Girls love softly. They love with their whole heart, and deeply from the start. Everything about loving girls is pure euphoria, a marching battalion of butterflies in the pit of Kara’s stomach.
It is the kind of love found inside books or seen in movies, star-crossed and meant to be. The sort that makes her want to dance and sing and stop strangers on the street to tell them how truly in love she is. More than once Kara catches herself thinking that immortality is not so big an obstacle for such a love as this.
With boys it’s not the same, because Kara makes sure to seek out those who are only interested in sex. She gets a reputation. She’s easy. She sleeps around. She brings boy after boy after boy to her dorm room, sleeps with them in her cramped bed. She’s aware, although remotely, that they say nasty things behind her back, but doesn’t care.
The crippling loneliness gets worse, and eventually she stops sleeping with others altogether.
Getting close to people is dangerous for her, Kara amends.
She takes this new rule in stride, something she doesn’t necessarily understand but that can’t be disputed. It simply is, and Kara stores it with the other things about herself she can’t really explain. Files it next to the fact that it icks her if the veggies in her plate touch her other food, or that she can’t wear anything made out of wool since it feels like a million and one ants are walking on her skin.
Kara has found out her life is better if she doesn’t question things like these much. It’s best not to think too hard and simply follow.
It even works, for a while.
She graduates, moves to the big city, gets a job at CatCo. Kara is alone, yes, and that can be unbearable, but she is also happy.
Mostly.
Until, one day, Lena Luthor enters the picture.
It’s Kal-El’s fault again, because of course it is.
“Clark,” he corrects her as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of Luthor Corp. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re—”
“And I’m your very annoyed cousin.” Kara jabs at the 20th floor button again, as if that’s going to make the elevator climb any faster. “I don’t get why you wanted me to come. Lex Luthor is in prison. Surely, you can handle an interview with his sister alone? You know—” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Considering who you are.”
“Keep your voice down.” His eyes dart around the closed space, scanning for some hidden recording device. Tough luck. The elevator is lined with lead. Funny that of all the things Lex Luthor and her cousin could have had in common, what stands out is paranoia. “It’s not about the interview and you know it. It’s about—”
“Figuring out whether murder runs in the family?” The elevator stops, the doors slide open. “Aren’t you being, I don’t know, a little judgemental?”
“And you are being naive.” At the end of the hallway a woman behind a massive desk points at a row of chairs and signals they should wait. Clark grabs Kara by the elbow, hard. “Remember it’s a Luthor we’re talking about, Kara. You can’t trust any of them. Ever.”
Yeah. Kara shrugs.
Whatever.
