Not What It Used to Be
Chloe’s life was not what it used to be.
The night she met the statutory rape version of Warrior Angel, she and Oliver had come to an understanding over glasses of single malt scotch. Oliver understood that she would succumb to his charms, and she understood she could more easily obtain access to his bank accounts.
In all honesty, she could say the sex was good…but the money was even better.
Those next few weeks, she siphoned several million dollars from his company, each orgasm accompanied by a few minutes of access to his PC while he showered off evidence of their erotic encounter. Despite a genuine fondness for Oliver, she kept her master plan under lock and key. If ever the need arose to fend off a Kandorian takeover, she was ready.
The name Watchtower implied she was all-seeing and all-knowing, but also she knew she her job description included, “Can’t be afraid to get hands dirty.”
Hands dirty. Blood on her hands.
Suddenly she realized it had been an entire day that she hadn’t thought about Davis.
Her life wasn’t what it used to be, but on the up side, at least she recognized the moments that made her the person she is today.
She had been confused when Jimmy brought her and the semi-conscious Davis to the Watchtower: she had classified her ex-husband as “moved, left no forwarding address.”
Her relationship with Jimmy had always been complicated, even in the beginning when drinks turned into a one-night stand turned into him not calling her. But they were frequently thrown together, and mild attraction grew into a complacent kind of affection. Getting married was the obvious next step, even though she knew she was settling for him.
Here was one of those life-altering moments:
Jimmy told her that he understood the sacrifices she had made for Clark. For the first time, someone had acknowledged her behind-the-scenes activities.
That’s when her feelings upended themselves. Jimmy, who recently left her for a bottle of pills, stood in front of her, achingly familiar; the plain strangeness of running away from Clark instantly evaporated.
Although she knew it couldn’t last, she felt an overwhelming love for Jimmy.
“I know I left you, but I never really left you.” She could say that truthfully: she and Davis had never touched more than a passing brush. She accepted his passionate glances with detachment. She could feel his eyes on her in the dark, never taking more than what she offered.
She even kissed Jimmy, because it was a kind thing to do before she thanked him and said her goodbyes. But in that kiss was death. The paramedic who would rather suicide than hurt Clark, exploded in a fit of madness. Davis plunged a steel pipe into Jimmy’s back.
Davis, blind with hate, raising the pipe. Davis, poised to break her skull. Jimmy, slamming Davis into a blunt-edge tip of metal.
Davis, blind with hate, raising the pipe. Davis, poised to break her skull. Jimmy, slamming Davis into a blunt-edge tip of metal.
Davis, blind with hate, raising the pipe. Davis, poised to break her skull. Jimmy, slamming Davis.…
Over and over. Beating against her eyelids. Heard between every pause. Seen in every reflection.
Over and over, she relived the moment but was helpless to change it. Pleas to Clark fell on deaf ears. She had to live with the fact that her life was unalterably changed the moment she turned her back on Doomsday.
She should have known Doomsday wasn’t finished with Davis. The black kryptonite sifted Doomsday from Davis, but all of monster’s rage had leeched inside the human. It was the only explanation for his complete reversal of personality. Davis would never have hurt Jimmy, because once upon a tragedy, Jimmy had meant something to her.
The one time she could say she loved Jimmy, the kind of spontaneous love she felt for the barista who gave her free coffee on a warm sunny day, he died for it.
Chloe and Oliver ultimately reached a level of sympathy when he confronted her about the embezzled funds, the dates of which coincided with their afternoon delight. She confessed her plans to cripple Zod and his people, if it came to that. Then she showed him the weapons, made from enough kryptonite to dust a large Kansas crop. The fact that this could damage Clark was acknowledged but dismissed.
Chloe had sex with Oliver again that night. Hardened to his soft kisses, she mashed her mouth to his. She watched his face contort with pleasure as she ground her pelvis onto his cock. She liked him too much to give him the illusion of romance. This was pure need. Even as she came, she kept her eyes open.
She quickly turned away from him in the afterglow. “Dare I ask what you’re thinking?” Oliver brushed her blond hair off her neck. She stared at the walls of his chic apartment, eyes still open. Vigilant.
“I’m thinking…” About Davis. “…about what I said earlier. I don’t want to let Clark’s loyalties lead us into another Doomsday scenario.”
There. She said the D word. Her words weren’t much of a lie, really, but her true feelings would cost her this connection. She didn’t love Oliver, but she appreciated him enough to not want to hurt him.
He said, “It won’t. But if it does, we have it covered.” Then his voice shifted in tone. “Come here.” Oliver drew her to him, and for a moment, she resisted. She tried not to feel so sharp-edged and wary around Ollie-he was good to her, after all-but there were days when it was just so very hard.
Chloe curled up on his shoulder. As his breath slowed and deepened into a soft snore, she hated herself just a little more.
Each night, she dreamed of Davis. Davis, who loved her. Davis, who trusted her. Davis, whose fading visage tore through her like a gash.
In the arms of charming, rich Oliver Queen, Chloe willed herself not to sleep, because most nights she woke up sobbing, clutching her chest, trying to keep the pain she felt from radiating even further.
Because only in the dark could she admit to herself what she would never voice aloud: that despite the fact that he had killed Jimmy and countless other victims, she loved Davis. She loved him.
She shut her eyes, but only to hold back the tears.
Davis had come into her life the same way he had entered her heart: crashing, burning, and sudden clarity. She never thought she could feel this deeply for someone, as if he had carved a space in her mind just for himself.
It was all Davis. True, Brainiac may have nudged Chloe a bit in his direction, but there was never any doubt or hesitance about him. He was everything she had ever wanted. Her own loud thoughts whispered softly when he was around, calming her, filling her with purpose. She felt cherished and loved with him. It wasn’t just easy to be with Davis. It was honest.
She was about to thank Jimmy for understanding her, but she was about to start a new life with Davis. She didn’t have time to say the words. Knowing that she almost had Davis but lost him made life unbearable.
Her life was not what it used to be, because there was life before Davis and life after. Davis loved her, had killed for her, and had died himself. The new Chloe, the wary, battle-damaged version of herself, rose from his ashes.
Eventually she and Oliver came to a different understanding. He would continue to seduce her with his physical charms and his parallel career path, and she would keep her heart where he could never reach it. She liked the uncomplicated nature of their relationship: no gain, no pain.
One day, she found herself reaching to straighten his collar, but stopped suddenly. It was too intimate a gesture. It reminded her of Davis.
Some days everything reminded her of Davis. The way he rushed to help her change a light bulb. The feelings that bubbled inside her when he stood too close. His biased retelling of the Persephone legend. They were all there inside her.
And now he was dead.
If the new Chloe Sullivan gave herself a moment to think about it-which she never did-she would conclude that this version of herself was more confident in her abilities. But mostly she was numb.
Chloe kept thoughts of Davis locked in her heart. She was a helper to heroes, living a storybook life of adventure and action. The story called for her to be rescued and for her to rescue others. But sometimes the story needed her to move forward, day after endless day, leaving the past, and all that mattered, behind her.
Not all stories have a happy ending.
The night she met the statutory rape version of Warrior Angel, she and Oliver had come to an understanding over glasses of single malt scotch. Oliver understood that she would succumb to his charms, and she understood she could more easily obtain access to his bank accounts.
In all honesty, she could say the sex was good…but the money was even better.
Those next few weeks, she siphoned several million dollars from his company, each orgasm accompanied by a few minutes of access to his PC while he showered off evidence of their erotic encounter. Despite a genuine fondness for Oliver, she kept her master plan under lock and key. If ever the need arose to fend off a Kandorian takeover, she was ready.
The name Watchtower implied she was all-seeing and all-knowing, but also she knew she her job description included, “Can’t be afraid to get hands dirty.”
Hands dirty. Blood on her hands.
Suddenly she realized it had been an entire day that she hadn’t thought about Davis.
Her life wasn’t what it used to be, but on the up side, at least she recognized the moments that made her the person she is today.
She had been confused when Jimmy brought her and the semi-conscious Davis to the Watchtower: she had classified her ex-husband as “moved, left no forwarding address.”
Her relationship with Jimmy had always been complicated, even in the beginning when drinks turned into a one-night stand turned into him not calling her. But they were frequently thrown together, and mild attraction grew into a complacent kind of affection. Getting married was the obvious next step, even though she knew she was settling for him.
Here was one of those life-altering moments:
Jimmy told her that he understood the sacrifices she had made for Clark. For the first time, someone had acknowledged her behind-the-scenes activities.
That’s when her feelings upended themselves. Jimmy, who recently left her for a bottle of pills, stood in front of her, achingly familiar; the plain strangeness of running away from Clark instantly evaporated.
Although she knew it couldn’t last, she felt an overwhelming love for Jimmy.
“I know I left you, but I never really left you.” She could say that truthfully: she and Davis had never touched more than a passing brush. She accepted his passionate glances with detachment. She could feel his eyes on her in the dark, never taking more than what she offered.
She even kissed Jimmy, because it was a kind thing to do before she thanked him and said her goodbyes. But in that kiss was death. The paramedic who would rather suicide than hurt Clark, exploded in a fit of madness. Davis plunged a steel pipe into Jimmy’s back.
Davis, blind with hate, raising the pipe. Davis, poised to break her skull. Jimmy, slamming Davis into a blunt-edge tip of metal.
Davis, blind with hate, raising the pipe. Davis, poised to break her skull. Jimmy, slamming Davis into a blunt-edge tip of metal.
Davis, blind with hate, raising the pipe. Davis, poised to break her skull. Jimmy, slamming Davis.…
Over and over. Beating against her eyelids. Heard between every pause. Seen in every reflection.
Over and over, she relived the moment but was helpless to change it. Pleas to Clark fell on deaf ears. She had to live with the fact that her life was unalterably changed the moment she turned her back on Doomsday.
She should have known Doomsday wasn’t finished with Davis. The black kryptonite sifted Doomsday from Davis, but all of monster’s rage had leeched inside the human. It was the only explanation for his complete reversal of personality. Davis would never have hurt Jimmy, because once upon a tragedy, Jimmy had meant something to her.
The one time she could say she loved Jimmy, the kind of spontaneous love she felt for the barista who gave her free coffee on a warm sunny day, he died for it.
Chloe and Oliver ultimately reached a level of sympathy when he confronted her about the embezzled funds, the dates of which coincided with their afternoon delight. She confessed her plans to cripple Zod and his people, if it came to that. Then she showed him the weapons, made from enough kryptonite to dust a large Kansas crop. The fact that this could damage Clark was acknowledged but dismissed.
Chloe had sex with Oliver again that night. Hardened to his soft kisses, she mashed her mouth to his. She watched his face contort with pleasure as she ground her pelvis onto his cock. She liked him too much to give him the illusion of romance. This was pure need. Even as she came, she kept her eyes open.
She quickly turned away from him in the afterglow. “Dare I ask what you’re thinking?” Oliver brushed her blond hair off her neck. She stared at the walls of his chic apartment, eyes still open. Vigilant.
“I’m thinking…” About Davis. “…about what I said earlier. I don’t want to let Clark’s loyalties lead us into another Doomsday scenario.”
There. She said the D word. Her words weren’t much of a lie, really, but her true feelings would cost her this connection. She didn’t love Oliver, but she appreciated him enough to not want to hurt him.
He said, “It won’t. But if it does, we have it covered.” Then his voice shifted in tone. “Come here.” Oliver drew her to him, and for a moment, she resisted. She tried not to feel so sharp-edged and wary around Ollie-he was good to her, after all-but there were days when it was just so very hard.
Chloe curled up on his shoulder. As his breath slowed and deepened into a soft snore, she hated herself just a little more.
Each night, she dreamed of Davis. Davis, who loved her. Davis, who trusted her. Davis, whose fading visage tore through her like a gash.
In the arms of charming, rich Oliver Queen, Chloe willed herself not to sleep, because most nights she woke up sobbing, clutching her chest, trying to keep the pain she felt from radiating even further.
Because only in the dark could she admit to herself what she would never voice aloud: that despite the fact that he had killed Jimmy and countless other victims, she loved Davis. She loved him.
She shut her eyes, but only to hold back the tears.
Davis had come into her life the same way he had entered her heart: crashing, burning, and sudden clarity. She never thought she could feel this deeply for someone, as if he had carved a space in her mind just for himself.
It was all Davis. True, Brainiac may have nudged Chloe a bit in his direction, but there was never any doubt or hesitance about him. He was everything she had ever wanted. Her own loud thoughts whispered softly when he was around, calming her, filling her with purpose. She felt cherished and loved with him. It wasn’t just easy to be with Davis. It was honest.
She was about to thank Jimmy for understanding her, but she was about to start a new life with Davis. She didn’t have time to say the words. Knowing that she almost had Davis but lost him made life unbearable.
Her life was not what it used to be, because there was life before Davis and life after. Davis loved her, had killed for her, and had died himself. The new Chloe, the wary, battle-damaged version of herself, rose from his ashes.
Eventually she and Oliver came to a different understanding. He would continue to seduce her with his physical charms and his parallel career path, and she would keep her heart where he could never reach it. She liked the uncomplicated nature of their relationship: no gain, no pain.
One day, she found herself reaching to straighten his collar, but stopped suddenly. It was too intimate a gesture. It reminded her of Davis.
Some days everything reminded her of Davis. The way he rushed to help her change a light bulb. The feelings that bubbled inside her when he stood too close. His biased retelling of the Persephone legend. They were all there inside her.
And now he was dead.
If the new Chloe Sullivan gave herself a moment to think about it-which she never did-she would conclude that this version of herself was more confident in her abilities. But mostly she was numb.
Chloe kept thoughts of Davis locked in her heart. She was a helper to heroes, living a storybook life of adventure and action. The story called for her to be rescued and for her to rescue others. But sometimes the story needed her to move forward, day after endless day, leaving the past, and all that mattered, behind her.
Not all stories have a happy ending.