My LuthorCorp appointed therapist is, unfortunately, sadly lacking when it comes to home decor. For five seperate hours over the past week I tried to seek her input over whether or not to move away from historical accuracy in the mansion towards a more modern look, yet she insisted on trying to discuss my "issues" instead. I'd imagine one would find decor more fascinating than *that*.
After she left, I put on my "Sounds of the Ocean" CD and tried to relax. Not long after, Lana barged into the room and startled me. It's not that I mind having her over, or Clark, for that matter, but... well, I hired guards for the front gate so they'd let me know when someone arrived. I don't think they've ever once managed that feat before, now that I think about it.
Lana's having reporter issues. Apparently she thought I could help her with that. It seems the young people in this town are finally catching on to the perks of having a Luthor for a friend.
I told her I'd take care of the situation. Especially once I learned exactly which reporter she's been having trouble with.
I tracked down Mr. White in one of the few seedy bars left in Smallville, where he was conversing with Clark, he of the over-grown conscience. I approached Perry and he immediately proclaimed that, if I was there regarding my father, there was no need. I'm not sure precisely what he meant by that, but I informed him, and Clark, that I was there on Lana's behalf, not my fathers. Then I escorted him out of the bar.
I dropped him off at the bus station, where he again insisted I was there on my father's behalf. The last time I encourted Perry White I was sixteen, at boarding school, and he was trying to use me to gain dirt on my father. I told him that if he had anything on Lionel, it would've come out then. Perry seemed amused by that. I left him and his bag and his insinuations at the bus station and drove off.
Only to come home to an even bigger headache. Apparently my intrepid shrink feels that my sessions were less than fruitful, and has refused to sign off on my evaluation unless I submit to even MORE sessions with her and actually discuss the island and events that transpired.
The next day my security force redeemed itself by actually telling me that Perry White was at the gate. I told them to let him in, if only for amusements sake. Then he made a proposition -- he'd tell me what he had on my father, if I told him what I knew about Clark Kent. Yes, Clark has once again managed to draw attention to his secrets. Whatever they may be. And that's when I lost control. I slammed Perry up against the wall of the mansion and told him that if he didn't leave me and Clark alone I'd make sure there was no blood on my hands when they found his body.
I don't know why I did that. Physical violence has never been my style.
I let him go, then, and he left, while I remained staring at my hand, which was shaking from the effort it had taken not to strangle him personally.
I don't know what happened.
So, I called the shrink.
Tomorrow I'll start actually talking to her. It's worth a shot, after all.
And, really, what possible harm could come from it?
It can only help.