It hurts.

I shiver, watching as Clark is embraced by his parents; at the warmth they project. I don't let my reaction show. I can't allow myself that sort of weakness in front of my father. I often begrudge Jonathan Kent his smug arrogance, but for a moment I find myself envious.

As my own father hugs me, all I feel is cold. It seems like all I ever feel is cold.

The moment doesn't last, thankfully. My father can only keep up such pretenses for so long, even if he is preening for the cameras. When he pulls away I feel only relief that the spectacle is over, the press appeased.

Although I turn away from my father, away from the press, I can't tear my eyes away from Clark -- from his family. Family. The word tastes bitter in my throat. It's something I've gone to great lengths to forget I have. If I ever did. Cursing under my breath, I look away, glancing over my shoulder at the throngs of media.

My hands clench, longing for the feel of a steering wheel beneath them and the open road behind me. The road is my escape from everything I'd rather not think about. Things I'd prefer to pretend didn't exist at all. Seeing Clark and his parents ... they're so normal in their attentions and devotions.

It makes it hard to forget. It makes it even harder to ignore.

Unable to stand there at the center of the circus that my business has become, unable to face the memories burning at the backs of my eyes, I walk away. I brush against bodies I don't recognize and barely avoid others that I do. I ignore the calls of those behind me. They don't matter. My father. The authorities. The press. None of them matter.

Except Clark. Because I'm running away from him, too.

No. I'm not running away. I don't run away. Reaching my car, I smirk as I open the door and slide inside. I'm a Luthor. I never run. I drive.

Fast.

I drive until I can look in the rearview mirror and not see the memories. The memories that are persistent while at the same time I can barely recall them. The memories that hurt simply because once they felt... good.

They felt normal once. I felt normal once. Before... I rub a hand over my head, letting out a long breath. But I'm lying to myself. It wasn't losing my hair that changed things. The meteor shower wasn't what forever changed my so-called family.

I can barely remember what she looked like. I can remember her perfume. I can remember her laugh. Though I would admit neither to my father, for surely he would find weakness in them. Most of all, however, I can remember the feeling of her arms embracing me, holding me against her as though the world didn't exist beyond the two of us. Not so unlike Mrs. Kent was holding Clark.

That memory, more than any other, hurts. And it hurt, seeing Clark so oblivious to what his parents were giving him. So innocent of what he has and how easily it could be lost. I gave up hurting a long time ago, when I realized it was a pointless emotion. When I realized no one cares how badly you hurt, only what you can accomplish. I refuse to return to such weakness again now. So I drive.

Shifting gears, I press my foot against the accelerator and leave everything behind me in a swirl of cornfield dust. That's the best place for memories, I've always thought.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

end