� Leech

My good stooge Nixon paid me a visit. He dropped off some visuals of the car accident he had made. I went over them for a good two hours. Normal speed, slow motion. I requested the names of who put these visuals together for Nixon, ten grand a name seemed a fair price. I had to verify that these were done by real experts, and not some amateur.

I figured with the evidence I had in hand, I could confront Clark yet again. It was late, but I needed answers. When I pulled up to the farm, Clark was outside working on the fence; requested my help even.

How can you pull two men off a catwalk and yet not be able to lift a piece of wood?

So I asked him flat out. 'What happened that day on the bridge?' He stuck to his usual story, so I threw what I knew at him. I hit him, at sixty miles an hour. He ripped open the roof to the Porsche, underwater, pulled me out, and saved my life.

I told him he was the closest thing to a friend I'd had in my entire life.

I wanted the lies to stop. The secrets to be revealed. But instead, Clark grew angry with me. Tried to give me his hammer, practically begged me to hit him with it.

Maybe the experts are wrong. Maybe I'm wrong.

I spent the next day in Metropolis dealing with Victoria and Sir Harry, her father. It seems Sir Harry decided to buy Cadmus Labs from underneath me. I wonder how he knew I was interested in that company.

The expression on Victoria's face said it all.

Shortly after I arrived back in Smallville, the man I had tailing Clark informed me he was in the hospital. I raced over there as fast as I could. The thought of Clark actually getting hurt had never occurred to me. Not since I hit him with my car.

It must have been a mistake. Clark had his ribs bandaged up, a nasty bruise forming on his forehead. There's no way I could've hit him. I apologized for the accusations the previous evening, as it was now obvious to me that Clark Kent wasn't indestructible. I would've begged him to forgive me if he allowed me, but when he made a typical Clark Kent joke and flashed me his smile, I knew all was forgiven.

An urgent phone call from Sir Harry summoning me back to Metropolis managed to bring a smile to my face. It appears he found out Cadmus labs was a worthless company, and all the money he had just spent to acquire it would soon be lost.

Check and mate.

As for Victoria, the bitch had the nerve to ask me how I could do this to her. She weasels her way into my life, my bed, my laptop, reads a piece of fiction I plant for her, runs to daddy and tells him how to wipe out the Luthors, and then tries to play the victim when she's caught?

Classic spoiled little rich bitch syndrome.

After implying she was a whore, and a smack across my face, my day was complete.

Almost. My father actually told me he was proud of me. Not that I believe one word of it, but even I can pretend sometimes.

I told Nixon that the Kents were off limits from now on. I dropped the tail on Clark. I don't have an explanation for what happened that day on the bridge. Or the several other occurrences that have taken place when Clark Kent was present. All I know is he's a friend, my only real friend. Confronting him was the last thing I should've done.

Oh, by the way, my father slept with Victoria.

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