I saw Black Widow last night, and with the distance of years and dollars from the strongest specifically female-coded traumas I have experienced – namely being used as an emotions-dumpster by my parents because girls are good at that sort of thing and domestic violence, being afraid for my life and health for a short but very intense time, and enduring hunger and widespread ridicule in my existing social circles due to just, like, leaving an abuser, and the general female trauma of being Catholic at all which I was for 30 years – I am at a point now where I can let myself cry when something makes me want to cry, and I can protect my right to grieve in these little bitty shards which is what happens when your trauma is “mild” but woven like a thread through every memory you have.
I was one step past ugly crying by the time the beginning credits montage faded to the more “present day” storytelling. Obviously, I have never been a trained assassin under a mind-control scheme by a big selfish narcissistic windbag who loves seeing women unable to make their own decisions, but that’s just because I’ve never been trained to physically kill anyone. Every other part of it is true and accurate and real.
The “gather everything you need right now and get in the car and let’s get out of here before they find us” thing is also a tiny, encapsulated, but again very intense memory, as that is the way I left my abusive marriage – in secret, carefully timed based on observing his daily habits, with my two kids, and with everything I had in the world in a laundry basket snuck out to the back of the car.
Being made to handle things that were well above my paygrade as a 10-12 year old girl, with no room to learn or make mistakes - check.
Being trained to take abuse by people who were born into abuse as well and didn’t see their way out of it - check.
Being parented by people who were so stuck in their own pasts that they couldn’t see anything in front of them - check.
Childhood stolen early because nobody bothered to keep it safe - check.
But most of all the thing that hit me in the gut when I watched this movie is that we are actually seeing – on screen and without bouncing titties – a woman who has endured trauma the way so many women actually do. We have all seen the female villains who were treated so cruelly that they become soulless robots. We see women who were born sociopaths and use that to enact villainous plans. We see women who dissolve into tears and screaming and begging the first time anything challenging appears in their way, and women who endure trauma and then become essentially catatonic. Madwomen in the attic.
But in Black Widow we see – in Natasha and her “sister” specifically – women who get through it the way that women really do, in actual practice. The way I did. By becoming pathologically capable. By never, ever messing up. By waking up every day, ready to die. By taking blow after blow after blow, wiping the blood from our mouths, and smiling. By maintaining a softness toward others, and being harsh and ruthless only to ourselves. Defending others to prevent them from enduring what we have.
I think it’s fitting that we met Natasha as a generic Super Sexy Strong As A Man character with Jumbo Tits, there to show us that Tony Stark is an eternal playboy, and that it’s only now that we get to know her as she really is and was, which is multifaceted, very hurt, and insanely smart and capable, even to her own detriment. This is a woman who probably can’t relax, ever. For whom vacations are useless. A woman who always knows where the exits are. A woman who recognizes and processes her feelings in the dark where no one else can see, then wipes her eyes, cocks her gun, and takes care of whoever is after her today. A woman who has had to sever parts of herself in order to save herself and others on a larger scale.
I had just put my mask on in the theater because the man beside me started coughing – I know at that point it probably wouldn’t have prevented anything, but it made me feel better. With that protection, I was able to cry with my face twisted and ugly, tears running the half inch between my eyes and the top of the super absorbent KN95, nearly invisible, and let out a piece of the grief I felt at seeing myself on the screen, in many ways.
I’m not ashamed of my tears, because to me, being able to identify with and cry for my grief makes me more human and more able to heal. Black Widow has a quality that women gain by letting their emotions out when there is an opportunity – resiliency. She isn’t a silent, stubborn monolith demanding that the world change for her. She’s a changemaker who rolls with the punches and stays on track with her larger goals.
Allowing someone their grief is a way of validating their experience, and Hollywood has not done this for me or the many like me many times, if ever, before (Maybe in Mad Max?). For me, Black Widow looked at me and said “I see you.” And now we finally see her, too.
I realize I may lose some mutuals over this, but it needs to be said. The criticism of the Depp v Heard trial is just as biased and oversimplified as the clickbait tiktoks and youtube videos.
If all you saw of the trial were those videos that made light of a serious situation, then I understand your misconception, however there was and is legitimate coverage by actual trial attorneys who provided unbiased commentary, as well as education.
Heard lost the trial because her evidence was not good. Her testimony kept changing. Her witnesses were refuted by actual, empirical evidence. The forensic psychologists on her team did not meet with Depp, while Depp’s psychologists met with her. This is on top of a myriad of other points in Depp’s favor and/or Heard’s lack of credibility, as well as her history of DV and Depp’s refuted ones by former partners.
He’s not a saint, but he was abused; Heard is on record (as testimony and in a recording between herself and Depp) as acknowledging she struck him, then to tell him that he will not be believed
I was under the same biases at the beginning, too, but a lot of those biases came from the internalized misogynistic* perspective that men cannot be victims of women. Women can be abusers, too; we have to think that more than we just say it and think we mean it.
If you’d like some recommendations on YouTube, see NatalieLawyerChick,EmilyDBaker, and AttorneyTom. These are practicing attorneys and/or legal professionals (Emily was a criminal district attorney, but stepped away and is now a legal consultant/commentator).
Believe who you want, but consider your reasons for doing so. Or don’t.
*yes, misogynistic, I did not mistype. The assumption that women are too weak or too pure to be violent is rooted in sexism, and the assumption that a man cannot be abused by a woman comes also from the perspective that to be abused is to be female, to be female is to be weak, to be weak is subhuman, and men are the only ones with “True Humanity.”
well done folks misogyny reached some new and exciting heights here
they’re tweeting shit like that to distract from the fact that the woman on the left is both board certified and specializes in domestic violence, and testified to the horrific sexual assault amber has been reporting privately for years. but yeah ha ha psychologist on the right more attractive therefore more correct and good !
You are not to blame for being battered or mistreated. You deserve to be safe and happy. You are not alone and there are people that can help. You can contact a helpline & the police. Look for domestic violence or sexual assault programs in your area and identify safe houses you can go to. Abuse doesn’t just occur within a relationship. It can happen in friendships, with a family member, a coworker or classmate, a boss or manager, a teacher or coach.
Text message from Heard to her publicist; “ I’m really bruised and might have a black eye or two tmrw – same with my nose. Nurse on the way to make sure I don’t have concussion.” There are also texts to her psychotherapist saying it’s an ‘emergency’ and a text to a friend in which she says “J beat me up pretty good”. (page 87)
*Although many assume Heard referred to Depp’s gender, in actuality, listening to the audio reveals no article and that Heard uses “man…” as an expression of displeasure, not as a noun.
Heard did not defecate in Depp’s bed and the previous judge ruled it unlikely. The judge in the previous case ruled it likely it were the dogs, as there was evidence it“had an incomplete mastery of her bowels.”
Depp was the one to originally ask Amber to settle outside of court, and the couple issued a statement that, “Neither party has made false accusations for financial gain.”
Depp is suing Heard for $50 million, over 7x the amount they originally settled together. Heard originally attempted to get the suit moved to California and dismissed, and only filed a counterclaim when it was refused.
The suit is not to determine whether Heard was violent, or whether their relationship was mutually toxic, but as to whether Heard lied in her op-ed, and there is plenty of evidence of Depp physically harming Heard multiple times; regardless of Heard’s retaliation, he has been proven to be a domestic abuser.
[DISCLAIMER:This post is purely in relevance to the Heard vs. Depp case, to fact-check claims made by Depp, his team, as well as opinions on social media. They are not meant to be a remission on Heard’s part of any potential wrongdoing.]
Make no mistake, because of the Depp/Heard trial many men are going to realize they can use the courts to continue to abuse their victims. There is going to be a measurable uptick in litigational abuse against women.
When my father used litigational abuse against my mother after she managed to divorce him, it had a devastating impact on our family. We lived in a county where the courts were sympathic to my mom and recognized my father as an abuser, but my mom barely survived. She was a single mom and primary caregiver of two young children. Because of him, she had to pay for lawyers to combat his abuse for overfifteen years. She was below the poverty line and had to borrow money from family members to keep food on the table. My father did not want my mom to escape him without taking his pound of flesh, even if it was at the detriment of his own children.
I mean, this is the day the divorce was filed:
And this is one of the last petitions my dad put against my mom, asking that she no longer receive child support- even though he was thousands of dollars behind bc of outright refusal to pay and he still hasn’t paid because my mom simply doesn’t have the resources to go to the courts for help. (funnily enough, five days after my 18th birthday)
Between these two dates (and some time after), there are hundreds of petitions and motions my dad submitted to the court to financially and litigationally abuse my mother. Even if those motions ruled in my mom’s favor, she had to 1.) go to a lawyer 2.) take time off work and find childcare 3.) go to the courthouse and face her abuser when he was at his most vile and vindictive
It is hell for victims and an ego-trip for abusers, because they have the support of the legal system. The Depp/Heard case is nothing more than a tutorial for abusive men to continue thier abuse. Marilyn Manson (Depp’s bestie, mind you) is already engaging in litigational abuse against Evan Rachel Wood.
Until the Depp/Heard case, my parents’ was the only case of litigational abuse I was aware of. It is geniunely cruel and nothing more than the message: You will never escape. I may not live in your house, but I still have power over you. I still have power over your finances, you personal life, your trauma, and your children.
Summary: When Superman died, Martha lost her son and her home. A friendly neighbor, Sage, took her in and cared for her when she got sick. Clark makes a difficult decision to return home to the Kent farm after breaking up with Lois. Can Sage convince him it was the right decision? Can he show her that running from her past isn’t her only option?
The smell of barley and wheat grew stronger the closer the truck took him to his childhood home. Hickory Lane was as bumpy as ever, and the lack of change made Clark smile. It was nice to know some things remained as they had always been. He thumbed a tune against the side of the door, arm hanging out the open window, his happy mood increasing with each rotation of the wheels. As uneven as the dirt road was, he barely felt it. The new Ford pickup truck, courtesy of Bruce Wayne, was top of the line, and Clark looked forward to using it to its full potential on the Kent Farm.
Dusty heard the truck arrive and pushed the screen door open to stand guard on the porch, barking at the unknown visitor.
“Hey boy,” Clark called, jumping out of the vehicle and walking to meet the happy dog.
The screen door squeaked again - he’d have to fix that - and he looked away from the overzealous dog to see his mother, followed by an auburn-haired woman, walk onto the porch.
“Clark!” Martha said, smiling happily but with a hint of inconvenience in her tone, “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
His mother wasn’t getting any younger, and he wanted to be there for her in her twilight years to help run the farm. Since Bruce had brought it for them, there was no financial incentive to keep it going. Now, it was simply for the love of what their family had built.
He jogged the distance to the porch and met his mother as she reached the bottom step.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he told her, enveloping her in a hug.
Being in his mother’s arms, listening to the wildlife chirp and hum combined with the smell of greenery and freshly baked cakes and not car fumes or garbage was overwhelming, and a sigh filled with relief blew strands of his mother’s hair. Yes, he’d definitely made the right decision.
The break-up with Lois hadn’t been easy, though he’d been able to see it a million miles away, even without x-ray vision. She wanted to advance her career, and becoming an editor had taken up most of her time. They had grown apart. It was no one’s fault. It was what it was, but Clark had vowed to live a solitary inconspicuous life. He wouldn’t burden anyone else with keeping his secret or ask them to accept parts of him he wasn’t willing to disclose. Leaving The Daily Planet and New York hadn’t been an easy decision, but the heat from the sun-dried earth, dust kicking up under his feet, and the fresh country air was a beacon that it was the right one.
“It’s good to be home,” he said, reluctantly letting his mother go. Remembering she had company, he climbed the few steps and stretched out his hand with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that was rude. It’s just good to finally be back.”
She waved him off, “not at all.”
He took her in as she grasped his hand to shake. She was about his age, perhaps a few years younger, with light auburn hair, the same color as autumn leaves succumbing to winter, reds and browns, with a few grey specks peeking through, but it was the color of her eyes that distracted him from everything else. Her irises were a grey-green color. He was mesmerized for a moment, and it took her heart rate increasing to make him realize how intently he’d been staring.
“Um, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m Clark.”
“Sage,” she said.
Sage - that explained the color of her eyes.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” A warm smile pulled at her lips, and she looked down at their clasped hands. A blush crept onto his cheeks as he acknowledged they’d been entwined for entirely too long.
“Martha’s been chewing your ear off about the prodigal son returning, I bet.”
Sage laughed, and he chuckled as his mother protested before she could confirm or deny the claim. “I’ve done no such thing,” Martha batted his arm when she reached the top of the steps. “I guess I should go make your room up,” she said. There was that ounce of inconvenience in her tone again, but Clark knew she was delighted to have him home.
“I can make my own bed, Ma.”
“I’m going to leave you two to it,” Sage told them with a chuckle.
“I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow,” Martha reminded her, heading inside.
“See you then,” Sage called after her as the older woman disappeared into the house. Turning her attention back to Clark, she whispered, “Um, do you have a second?”
Intrigued, he nodded and followed her off the porch toward the old black Jeep. She stopped when she reached the driver’s side and looked back toward the house before turning to face him.
“I know you’ve only just got home and all, but I think there’s something you should know,” she checked over her shoulder again, and he figured she was checking on Martha’s location before she spoke. “Eleven months ago, Martha had a stroke.”
“What?” he asked, shocked and confused.
Sage held her arms out as if to calm him. “She’s okay now, I was with her when it happened, and we caught it in time. The doctor said it was mild. There are no lasting effects, and she’s on medication to help with blood clots, but when it happened, she point blank refused to let me call you…”
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously but hoped she interpreted it as upset rather than discomfort. His mother had to refuse that he be contacted. After all, he wouldn’t have answered because he was dead.
“…I don’t know what was going on with the two of you, if you’d had a fight or something, but she said she didn’t want to worry you. I know she’s not planning on telling you now, and maybe I’m overstepping here, but it doesn’t matter,” she ranted, and Clark heard her elevated heartbeat. “I care about her, she’s been good to me, and I don’t mean to step on anyone’s toes or upset anyone, but…”
“Sage,” he said, breaking her rambling thoughts. “You’re not overstepping. whatever it is, I want to know if my mother is sick.”
She sighed, relieved that he seemed to understand. “She says the medication makes her feel sick and really sleepy. She stopped taking it a few days ago. I told her she should go see the doctor, get it changed to something else, but she’s,” she paused, as if choosing her words, but Clark finished the thought for her.
“A stubborn woman who thinks she knows better?”
“Exactly,” Sage grinned.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. He was grateful the woman cared enough for his mother that she risked betraying her confidence to ensure she got the care she needed.
Sage slid into the seat of her car, put her hand on the handle to pull the door closed, but thought better of it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump this on you five minutes after you got home,” she winced, regret clear as day on her face. “It’s just, I lost my Dad to a heart attack, and I’m worried about her.”
“Please don’t be sorry,” he smiled and watched her shy away. “I’ll talk to her, and I’m sure between the two of us, we can get her to see sense.”
She nodded, and it was clear the weight she had carried was lighter now she’d shared it with him. He closed her door and watched her drive away before he grabbed a box from the truck bed and headed inside.
——-
Clark found Martha in his bedroom, remaking the bed. She smiled at him when he dropped the box on the chair in the corner. He watched her fluff up his pillows, the content smile still reflected on her weathered face. She looked older, not old, just that the last year had been tough. Losing her son and then her home had taken a visible toll; her eyes still held some of the hardship she’d suffered.
He would spend as much of his time as he could, as much as Martha could stand, assuring her she’d never have to suffer that way again. A parent should never have to bury a child, and he’d be damned if she’d have to do it twice. He also refused to allow her to ignore her health and well-being due to simple stubbornness.
“Sage seems nice,” he said, a subtle way he hoped to broach the subject of her medical care.
“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Martha cooed. “She was kind enough to take me in when the bank took the farm. I wanted to stay in a motel, but she refused. She has been so good to me.” She stopped her task to turn a bittersweet smile on her son. “She lost her mother when she was young, her father a few years ago, we kind of adopted each other.”
Though thankful she had someone to help her during a difficult time, he hated that she’d had to seek comfort from someone else. Clark closed the distance and wrapped his mother in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Ma.”
“Oh, stop it,” Martha huffed and squirmed out of his arms.
“I’m glad you had her,” Clark said casually as he began unpacking the box. “I’m happy there are people like her left in the world. Someone to give you a home when I couldn’t help and ensure you were taking care of yourself.”
She caught his attempt to be subtle and sighed, standing straight from tucking the corners of his bed down. “Ah, she told you.”
Clark nodded. “She told me.”
“I’m fine, really,” she insisted, striding from the room as if that were the end of it.
“Mom,” he warned, following after her. “Sage said you’ve stopped taking your medication.”
“Please don’t make a fuss.”
“Oh, fuss will be made,” he confirmed, trotting down the stairs behind her. “Mom, you need the medication. We can talk to the doctor to get it changed if that’s what you need. But you can’t just stoptaking it.”
Stubbornly, she chose to ignore him, filling the kettle with water from the tap and placing it on the stove. He hadn’t expected it to be easy; his mother was a woman of immense pride.
“Please, Ma,” he sighed. He didn’t want to be manipulative, but he knew the words she’d need to hear to make her see sense, so he uttered them as faintly as he could and still be heard. “I don’t want to have to bury you sooner than your time.”
“Clark,” she admonished, turning to him. He shrugged and gave a small mirthless smile. “Okay, fine,” she conceded, “I will call the doctor’s office and make an appointment.”
Sage, a barista slash waitress at The Ross Cafe, enjoyed her job. The locals were all fun characters, and the tourists that stopped off on their travels were always an interesting conversation. But her favorite part of the day was just after closing time, when it was late, and the night beyond the window reflected her image back at her. It gave her a sense of being alone. No cars passed on the quiet street outside, and she didn’t need to worry about what someone might need. Her only thought was cleaning and preparing everything to be ready for the morning shift.
She liked to clean, everyone who knew her well enough teased her about it, but she didn’t mind. There was something therapeutic about making something shine or seeing the dirt washed away. The final job was to wipe the tables down, place the chairs on top and then mop the floor.
She was in the back, filling a bowl with clean soapy water, ready to make a start on the tables, when she thought she heard a light knock on the front door. It was odd to have a visitor, the opening times were clearly stated on the sign hanging in the window, and she hadn’t found any forgotten property - Mr. Potter had a habit of leaving his hat.
She switched off the faucet, and there was no mistaking the second, harder, more definitive knock. Popping her head around the corner, she saw Clark standing outside the door. His small awkward smile accompanied by a slight wave confirmed he was, in fact, looking for her.
“Hey,” Sage called through the glass while she rushed to disengage the locks. “Is Martha oaky?” she asked once the door no longer muffled her voice.
“Yes. Yes, she’s fine,” he said quickly to assure her. “I just wanted to bring you these,” he explained, lifting the bouquet of flowers she hadn’t noticed he’d been holding until that moment. A small mix of red and orange flowers wrapped in plain white paper. “I spoke to my mom, and she told me everything you’ve done for her, even before the stroke, and they aren’t much, but I wanted to say thank you.”
“They’re lovely, thank you.” She took them from him and pulled them to her nose to smell. “But you really didn’t have to. I promise you Martha has thanked me handsomely in baked goods.”
“The woman loves to bake,” He chuckled.
She liked his smile; it was bright, comforting, and contagious. She had no choice but to return it, but it soon turned to an unsure grimace. “Did you manage to convince Martha to go to the doctor?”
“Yes,” he replied, “she called and made an appointment for Wednesday. I’m going with her.”
“Good, I’m glad. Is she mad at me for telling you?”
“A little, maybe.” He whispered, “but I’ll protect you from her.”
“Hey,” she scolded lightly, “I would notlike to be on the wrong side of Martha.”
“Agreed.”
Ten seconds of silence passed between them, and Sage was ready to wish him a good night.
“You, um, need a hand?” he asked, nodding inside.
She held his gaze for a moment; something in it told her it was more than an offer of assistance. “I’m almost done,” she said, “but I’m sure I can find something for you to do.”
He rubbed his hands together, “put me to work.”
Three consecutive nights Clark had shown up at the coffee shop to help Sage lock up. She didn’t mind; he was easy company. They made small talk, general conversation about the weather, Martha, and the patrons of the cafe.
It made sense that he felt like a friend to her, Martha constantly spoke about him, and she felt she knew him already. But even if she didn’t, it was easy to see he was hurting. He was seeking distractions, keeping busy, finding something to occupy his thoughts, and though she didn’t want to be presumptuous, it stood to question that Clark would offer his help for a fourth night.
“I won’t be here tomorrow night,” she told him as she locked the door once they were out on the street. “But I’m sure Danielle will be grateful for the help.”
“Night off?”
“Yeah.” Clark wasn’t one to pry for information that wasn’t offered, so she added, “I’m going into Metropolis to watch a movie. The movie theatre in town shut down, so I go and watch a double feature once a month. I have to make the long drive worth it.” She shrugged, feeling a little silly. “I’m a movie junkie, the escapism of it all.”
“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said genuinely, but it only made her slightly more self-conscious that he’d picked up on it.
“My-um-Dad,” she cleared her throat of the emotion the memory caused. “We used to go to dinner and a movie together once a month. It was our way of ensuring we kept each other updated on our lives, y’know? He never missed one, always made sure he was available whenever I was.” she smiled fondly, remembering the delight in her Father’s voice whenever she’d call to arrange the evening. “Since he passed, I can’t break the habit.”
“That’s sweet,” Clark said as they reached their vehicles. “It’s a nice way to honor him.”
“Thanks again for the help,” Sage said as she slipped into the driver’s seat of her car. Clark was a gentleman and always waited until she was in her car on her way home before he got into his truck, and it was no different this time. He hung on the open door, and it seemed as if he wanted to say something, so Sage waited.
“My thing,” he started, eyes staring off into the distance. “To honor my father is to help people.”
“Well,” Sage began when he finally met her eyes again, “if he was anything like Martha, he’s more than proud of you. He’s bragging about you to all the angels and anyone else who’ll listen.”
He chuckled and nodded, “Goodnight, Sage.”
“Goodnight, Clark.”
Sage turned the key in the ignition and the engine ticked but nothing else. She pumped the gas and tried again. Nothing.
“Not now!”
She’d given herself enough time to drive to town, eat a late lunch/early dinner and then see two movies. She didn’t have time to mess around with her car or call someone to give her a jump. She was already ten minutes off schedule.
“Please come on,” she sighed and turned the key again. The engine ticked over but didn’t jump to life. She growled and leaned forward over the steering wheel to look up at the sky through the windshield. “Dad, if you’re listening, you gotta do something to help me out here!”
Her wish was granted in the form of Clark’s pickup truck bouncing up the dirt track toward her. What was he doing there? He knew she was going to the movies; she’d told him the previous evening.
Oh god. Martha!
Panic had her jumping out of the car, narrowly missing hitting Clark’s passenger door as he pulled up beside her.
“Is Martha okay?” she asked as soon as he opened his door.
“She’s fine,” he said, brow creased, and then realization hit, and he looked sincerely apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, you thought… No, Marth is fine.” Clark explained, then paused for her to overcome the panic she felt. “I was out on the porch,” he pointed in the direction of the Kent farm two miles to the left, “I saw your car was still here, thought it might have been giving you trouble.”
Clark had needed to give her a jump start the second night he’d helped her clean up the cafe. So he was no stranger to the inconsistencies of her engine.
“It is,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Think you could get her going for me?”
“Absolutely, but I wouldn’t want you to get stranded, so,” he suggested sheepishly, “can I join you? Only if it’s not a problem. I don’t want to impose or anything.”
His coyness was adorable, and she wouldn’t have been able to deny him even if she’d wanted to. “I’d love for you to join me. ”
Sage’s house came into view as Clark guided his truck up the dirt path, and she realized she was disappointed that the night was coming to an end. It hadn’t been a date; she understood that, but she still pondered the best way to say goodnight.
Clark presumably had no idea what he’d done for her; she’d been devastated when her car wouldn’t start. He’d literally been her savior, and though she insisted on paying for the entire night; gas money, dinner, movie tickets, and snacks to thank him, Clark had declined and even tried to pay for her. They’d compromised and split everything down the middle.
The truck came to a stop, and while Sage rummaged in her bag for her keys, Clark was out and moving impossibly fast around the vehicle to open her door for her.
“Your folks really did raise you right,” she remarked with a soft smile.
“Yes, they did, Ma’am,” he tipped his imaginary hat and offered his hand to assist her out of the cab of the truck.
“Thank you for today,” she said once she was on solid ground and looking up at him.
“Thankyoufor letting me tag along.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed, “you ever just let someone thank you?”
Clark scrunched his face as if deep in thought, looking off to the left, and then shook his head, “there was that one time in ninety-four, I think. Suzie Jones thanked me for letting her borrow my pen.”
Sage laughed, she liked his sense of humor, and he joined her. His eyes seemed to sparkle, and she wasn’t sure if it was the cordial laughter or the shine of moonlight that captivated her, but he appeared to be as mesmerized in hers as she was in his. She was momentarily lost in the warmth the arctic blue offered, and the patch of brown in the upper left was somehow a perfect imperfection.
Clark moved slowly, his head dipping toward her, making her freeze to the spot. He kissed her cheek, the scratch of his stubbled chin tickled, and she shivered, rather than pulling away. “Goodnight, Sage,” he whispered against her skin.
“Goodnight, Clark,” she said just as quietly and reluctantly stepped around him to make her way to the door.
“Are you at work tomorrow?” he called as she climbed the few steps onto the porch.
“Yeah, I’m closing as usual.”
“See you at ten then,” he said when she turned to look at him.
“I’ll save you a slice of cake.”
His smile reached his eyes, and even from a distance, they sparkled. “Chocolate, please.”
“Like I didn’t already know,” she chuckled and pushed the key into the lock.
A Few Weeks Later.
Despite the late hour in which he finally got to bed, Clark was up and in the shower at six. He’d followed what had become his routine, helping Martha during the day and assisting Sage in the evening.
Long after she’d locked the cafe doors to the public, they were still talking about nothing and everything; light subjects that had been covered and sometimes subjects that delved a little deeper. For the first time since meeting her, Clark had felt real guilt that she didn’t know who he truly was, Kal Al. But he’d pushed past it and focused on enjoying her company, which wasn’t hard to do.
It was Wednesday; Sage would be over by six-thirty for breakfast with Martha, as was the ladies’ routine. Though Clark would deny it when Martha ultimately remarked on it, he wanted to look fresh and smell good for Sage’s arrival. As to not look too eager, he made his way downstairs at six-forty and expected to hear the two women chatting, but there were no voices, and only his mother’s and Dusty’s heartbeats could be heard.
“Mom,” Clark asked, stepping out onto the porch to stand beside her.
“Was Sage okay last night?” Martha asked, eyes fixed on the empty driveway. “It’s not like her to be late.”
“She was fine,” he confirmed, “said she’d be round at six-thirty.”
Martha checked her watch and scowled as if the device was lying to her. “Can you go over and check on her?”
“Ma,” Clark chuckled, “she’s ten minutes late. Maybe she overslept; we didn’t get home until late.”
“Clark,” Martha scolded, “indulge your mother, please. She’s never late. She lives by the motto; ‘if you’re not ten minutes early, then you’re late’. This isn’t like her at all.”
Sensing and seeing Martha’s worry for the woman, Clark chose not to protest any further. He closed his eyes and focused his senses. In his mind’s eyes, he followed the dirt path to the main road, and his enhanced hearing picked up the roll of a semi truck’s wheels on the asphalt but no other cars. He traced the journey Sage would take with both his mind and ears. It wasn’t until he reached her front door that he heard her elevated heartbeat and the sizzle of bacon in a pan. And wait…another heartbeat and running water.
“There’s someone else there,” Clark explained to his mom, eyes still closed. “In the shower, humming a song.”
“What song?” Martha asked, and Clark felt the concern jolt through him when she wrapped her hand around his wrist. “What song, Clark?”
“Stairway to Heaven, I think.”
“Oh god,” she shook his arm, and he took the cue to open his eyes. “Clark, you have to get over there right now. He found her.”
“Who found her?”
“Her husband,” Martha explained.
“Her what?”
“Clark, listen to me. He’s a bad man; he’s going to hurt her if he hasn’t already. Please, you have to go over there. Make an excuse about worrying that her car acted up again and do not leave her alone with him.”
“Okay, okay,” he conceded and raced inside to grab his car keys.
——-
The shower shut off when he was half a mile away, and he pushed his foot down so hard on the accelerator that the metal beneath it creaked, but he eased off before it went through the floor.
Her husband.
Sage was married? That was news to him. She’d mentioned a past relationship that went sour, but she’d never mentioned a husband.
The truck had barely stopped before Sage was racing down the porch steps, with frantic worry in her eyes and soap suds on her hands still.
Her left eye was swollen, a nasty bruise steadily forming over the bridge of her nose, and a small cut on her bottom lip looked angry and sore. “Clark, you have to leave,” she said, pushing the truck door closed before he could get his leg out.
“What’s going on? What happened to your eye?” He asked, feigning innocence.
“Please, Clark,” she begged, tears distorting her eyes. “You can’t be here. I need you to leave. Apologize to Martha for me, but please, you need to go.”
The second heartbeat he’d detected and continued to trace walked down the internal stairs. “Sage,” he tried again to push the door open, and she shoved it closed. “What…”
“He can’t see you,” she fretted, and her heart accelerated as the panic built. She couldn’t have known, but Clark heard the source of her anguish grow closer, and Sage turned to the sound of the screen door creaking open.
“Adam,” she said, smiling tightly and finally walking away from the car to allow Clark to exit. “This is Clark, the neighbor I told you about, from the Kent farm.”
Adam disregarded Sage and kept his focus on Clark. The grin he gave was anything but friendly and loaded with irritation. “Little early for a visit, isn’t it?”
“Seems I’m too late,” Clark noted, walking closer. “You do that to her eye?”
“She’s clumsy,” Adam shrugged, “fell down the stairs. Lucky I was here, could have knocked herself unconscious.”
“Sage,” said Clark, grabbing her elbow to stop her from taking the first step up onto the porch. “Go see Martha,” he demanded and pushed the keys to his truck into the palm of her hand.
“I’m fine, honestly. You can go.” She tried to smile, but it tugged on the cut of her lip, and it fell before it wholly formed.
“What’s your problem, dude?” Adam asked, arms folded over his chest and leaning against the porch post, a smug snake-like smirk on his lips. “You heard her; she’s fine.”
She was anything but fine. Even without his enhanced senses, Clark would have been able to tell she was utterly petrified not only for herself but for him too.
“I don’t want any trouble Clark, please.”
“Go now,” he commanded, holding her eyes, “I’ll be right there.”
Adam had evidently had enough of the interference and swaggered down the steps, “I think she wants you to leave.”
Clark stood tall, put Sage behind him, and took a step forward. “Believe me,” Clark cautioned, jaw clenching, “you don’t want to do this. Walk away, and I won’t hurt you.”
The other man didn’t take the warning seriously, and though his fist hit its target, Clark’s face, it served to do nothing but hurt Adam’s hand. Merely for effect, Clark jerked his head to the side, but he’d barely felt the connection.
Adam yelled and shook his hand as if to shake the feeling back into it. Clark hoped he’d broken a few bones. He stood straight again and focused on Sage. She was still afraid, but there was a smidge of joy seeing Adam dance around clutching his hand.
“You broke my hand,” Adam cried, and Clark took immense pleasure in seeing the pain was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
“You broke your own hand,” Sage defended, and as unnecessary as it was, Clark admired her courage in supporting him.
“You’ve got three minutes to get whatever crap you bought with you and get outta here,” Clark explained to the asshole that could barely be called a man. “Or I can have the county sheriff’s escortyou out of town. Your choice.”
“I don’t have a car.”
If Sage had known who he truly was, Clark would have happily flown Adam to the other side of the planet. “So get walking,” suggested Clark.
“Take my car,” Sage suggested, and the desperation in her voice was distressing. She was eager for the man to leave so much so she’d give up her only mode of transport to have him gone. “Just please, Adam, leave me alone.”
Adam looked from her to Clark, weighing his options.
Clark cocked his brow, an invitation for Adam to argue. Part of him wanted Adam to protest or throw another punch so he would be further justified in showing him what a realbeating felt like. But violence wasn’t the answer, especially when Clark knew he could quite easily kill the man.
“Sage,” he said pointedly, “we’re late for breakfast.” He took her hand and led her to his truck. He checked over his shoulder, and Adam had made the wise decision to do as he’d been ordered and was headed back into Sage’s house. “Oh, and Adam, if there is even a speck of dust in the wrong place when she returns, I’ll be coming to find you.”
——–
The short ride from Sage’s to the Kent Farm was made in bleak silence. Clark kept his eyes on the road ahead; an unnerving focus Sage had never seen before. His jaw was clenched tight, and she worried he was holding back anger. Anger that he’d had to rescue her or disappointment that she’d lied to him.
She believed she’d upset him, and that irked her more than anything.
“I’m sorry.” Worried that Dusty’s barking at their arrival had drowned her out, she cleared her throat and said it louder. “I’m sorry, Clark.”
“What for?” he asked, and confusion knitted his brow as he put the truck into park.
“Everything, I should’ve told you about him.”
He twisted in his seat to face her. “Sage, you don’t owe me anything. But I thought,” he shook his head and corrected himself, “I just wish you’d trusted me with it.”
“It wasn’t about trust,” she sighed. “I’m embarrassed. I didn’t like the idea of you thinking I’m some battered woman who needs to be handled like precious glass.”
“I’d never think that of you.”
The sincerity in his eyes made her believe him. “I meant to tell you. But the last few weeks, all the time we’ve spent together, I haven’t felt that carefree and alivein such a long time. I just wanted to keep that as long as I could, and it’s not exactly a great conversation starter; oh, by the way, I’m married, and my husband used to beat me. Wanna grab dinner?”
Martha appeared on the porch beyond the windshield, and Sage gave her a small wave to reassure her she was okay.
“Let’s go get some breakfast,” Clark suggested.
“I’d like to explain,” she told him, watching his mother realize they needed a moment and turn to go back into the house. “If you want to know.”
“I want to know everything you wantme to know.”
“It was a whirlwind romance,” she smiled mirthlessly. “He swept me off my feet, and two months after we met, we were married. Less than a year after he got the ring on my finger, he hit me for the first time. He was drunk, said it was stress ‘cause he’d lost his job, and of course, he was sorry, and he’d never do it again.” she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Clark’s jaw clenched, and she heard the scrape of his teeth. “I foolishly believed him.”
“You’re not a fool,” he reprimanded. “You gave him the benefit of the doubt.”
She loved that he wanted to defend her actions and assure her he didn’t think she was an idiot even if she felt like one. “A few months later, he did it again, totally sober that time, and I walked out with only the clothes on my back. I stayed in a women’s shelter for a while. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he’d isolated me from my friends. I had no one. I tried to get a restraining order, but no one believed me. Adam didn’t have a history of violence, I’d never reported him before, and there was a rumor around town he’d been sleeping with our neighbor.”
His lips pursed into a straight line, and he understood where her story was heading. “So they just assumed you were a woman scorned trying to get back at him.”
“Exactly. A couple of weeks later, I got the call to say my Dad had had a heart attack, so I raced back here. It’s been two years, and I haven’t heard from Adam or seen him. A few days ago, I got an email from a lawyer asking where to send divorce papers. I was an idiot. I saw a way to wash my hands clean of him, so I replied. That must be how he found me.”
“I have a few friends in law enforcement, contacts from my time at the Daily Planet. I’m going to make some calls, make sure he leaves town.”
She smiled sheepishly, “please don’t call in any favors for me. I, um,” she wrung her hands nervously. “I’m gonna sell my Dad’s place, go somewhere he can’t find me.”
“What?” Clark practically yelled, and she winced. “No, Sage,” he grabbed her dancing hands and tugged to make her twist to face him better. “You can’t let him run you out of your home!”
Tears clouded her vision, and she sniffed back a sob before it broke free. “I don’t have a choice. I know him, Clark; you’ve bruised his ego. He won’t give up. He’ll be back, and he’ll just be smarter about it next time.”
“Let me make some calls, and I promise I can make it so he won’t bother you anymore. Give me a couple of days; please don’t make any decisions just yet.”
Sage waited a beat, wondering what he could possibly do, but the determination and belief in his eyes made her nod. “Yeah, okay.”
Passing the Kent farm on her route home, a sad sigh deflated Sage’s lungs, and she felt an odd pang of grief in her chest. It had been a week since the Adam incident and, not coincidentally, a week since she’d seen Clark. She’d been for breakfast with Martha; it was Wednesday, and she wasn’t about to change her routine because she felt awkward. But Clark had been absent, and Martha hadn’t given any explanation for his absence.
Sage hadn’t questioned it; she understood Clark putting some distance between them. She had baggage, baggage that had shown up on her doorstep. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to deal with her psychotic ex-husband. Clark had baggage, too, he wore his broken heart on his sleeve, and she’d thought, for a time, it had been mending. Clark’s smiles seemed brighter, and more genuine the more time they spent together. But perhaps her secret had ruined that. When she really got down to the bare bones of the situation and admitted it to herself, she had lied to Clark. That was no way to start a relationship, romantic or otherwise.
Clark’s pickup truck was parked in her front yard, and when she looked, he was sitting on the top of her porch steps, waiting for her from the small wave he gave her.
She shut off the engine of her car and took a deep breath. Clark was a gentleman, Martha had raised him right, and Sage worried that his perfect upbringing meant the conversation that was about to take place would be heartbreaking. He would want to explain in person that he would need to take a step back from the friendship they had formed.
Sage was no stranger to heartbreak or the end of relationships, and with a quick ‘might as well get it over with’ pep talk, she got out of the car and made her way over to Clark. He remained seated, but his smile was inviting and genuine.
“Haven’t seen you for a while,” she said but hadn’t meant it to sound as accusatory as it did.
He gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, “I’ve been busy. But I can explain it all,” he said, standing and dusting off his jeans, “but you’d need to come somewhere with me.”
She frowned suspiciously at him as he approached and held out his hand as an invitation.
“Please,” he asked, so sincerely her breath caught in her throat.
“Okay, very mysterious, but I’ll follow you.”
——
Sage had been suspicious of his request, and he supposed she had every right to be; nevertheless, she allowed him to lead her to his truck and got in willingly enough. He could have told her the reason for his absence, but he wanted the gratification of seeing her face when she saw it.
He turned onto the Kent farm, and she looked over at him, “you’ve been busy working on the farm?” she asked, though he heard the uncertainty in her tone.
“I’ve been here,” Clark said, “but not exactly working on the farm. Do you trust me?”
It took her less than a heartbeat to answer, “yes.”
“Close your eyes.”
Her heart rate accelerated, but she did as he asked, and he couldn’t stop the happy smile that spread to his eyes. The road smoothed out as they grew closer, and he parked the truck next to the barn, still out of view of the surprise.
“I’m going to come round and get you out,” he explained, “keep your eyes closed.”
“Clark,” she complained, but her lips twitched up and down a few times as she fought back a smile. “What’s going on?”
He used his superior speed to race around the vehicle, and she gasped in surprise when she heard the door open. “Sorry,” he said, taking her hand and gently guiding her out of the car. “A few steps, and I’ll tell you when you can open your eyes.”
He helped Sage to the side of the barn, and now that he was about to reveal the surprise, nerves fizzed in his stomach. He took a deep breath to combat them in the same movement as releasing her hand to stand in front of her.
“Okay, you can open your eyes,” he instructed and waited for her to slowly peel them open. The barn concealed his scheme still, and he began explaining, “I’ve been planning it for months, working on it whenever I could, in between being at the cafe with you or helping Ma.”
Sage kept her eyes on him while he spoke but took the cue to follow him when he started walking backward. When she passed the edge of the barn, he spread his arms wide and watched with delight as her eyes grew bigger, and a surprised gasp made her mouth gape open until she covered it with her hand.
Clark had erected a large movie screen in an unused field on the farm. He’d asked Martha about it, and she’d thought it was a wonderful idea, something for all of the community, not just Sage.
“You’re very own movie theatre,” he said, as tears made her eyes shimmer like crystals in sunlight. “I wanted to smooth out the ground, lay a proper floor down, scatter some beanbags around, get a few deckchairs or something.” she nodded along with his ideas, her eyes fixed on the space as if envisioning it as he spoke. “But when Adam showed up, and you mentioned leaving, I knew I had to finish it, sooner rather than later. I wanted to give you a reason to stay.”
She choked back a cry and smiled, but the emotion overwhelmed her, and she burst into tears before she could speak.
Clark quickly enveloped her in a hug. “Please tell me those are happy tears.”
She nodded, her hair tickling his chin where she’d buried her head in the crook of his neck. He felt her wet tears drip onto the collar of his t-shirt while she drew in breaths to steady her voice. “I didn’t need a reason to stay,” she mumbled against his skin, “you’re reason enough.”
Her heart pulsed a little faster, but even if he weren’t able to hear it, he’d have felt the panic in her tensed muscles.
“I mean you andMartha,” Sage corrected, wriggling out his embrace. “Us together, all of us,” she fumbled over her words, and her cheeks began to match the color of her hair. It might have been one of the most adorable things Clark had ever seen. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, taking a deep breath, “I mean our friendship. Having you as a friend is reason enough to stay.”
Clark chuckled, cupping her face with his large hands. “I know exactlywhat you mean,” he said softly, drawing her closer to press his lips to hers.
She responded immediately, her hands gripped his waist, and she rose to the tips of her toes to get closer to him. She tasted like his favorite chocolate cake from the cafe, and he envisioned her eating it alone while she waited for him to show up as he had before.
He hummed delightedly as he pulled back, grinning down at her, and he waited while she took a deep breath and then opened her eyes. “Maybe that’s more reason for you to stay?”
She nodded enthusiastically, “yes, definitely. But do it again just so I can be sure.”
He chuckled but obliged and kissed her again.
Clark’s decision to go home hadn’t been an easy one to make but feeling Sage melt into him, he knew he’d made the right one.
