writers_muses - Pink Floyd quote
"If you'd like to find out what's behind these cold eyes? You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise.” - Pink Floyd
She remembers laundry, and she remembers blood on the floor. Her last memory is of the searing pain in her abdomen, and calling her husband’s name.
The doctor says she blacked out after that, either from the pain or the fear. He doesn’t know which; but she does. Martha Kent has always had a very high tolerance for pain.
He takes a step back, suggesting that Jonathan be the one to tell her. He doesn’t say a word. She already knows, and he can see it in her eyes. She remembers that feeling, from before. Emptiness. Dr. Baker slowly backs away, telling Jonathan to give him a call if they need anything, then swiftly makes his exit. When Jonathan redirects his focus onto her, he’s expecting tears, the same tears he himself had shed in the hallway moments before. But his eyes at met with a vacant stare, and he notices her body stiffen considerably. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he takes both of her hands in his, and waits. The last time they had been through this, she had immediately burst into tears, and he’d held her for hours on end until they subsided. But this time, nothing. It’s as if she’s not even in there. An empty shell. And that’s exactly how she feels.
She swallows hard. “Does Clark know?” Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, causing Jonathan to fixate her with a quizzical gaze.
“Yeah.” He nods solemnly. “He and Eirene are waiting outside.” When she fails to respond, he continues. “Do you want me to, uh…”
“No,” Martha answers without hesitation, her voice a few octaves lower than usual. “Thank them for coming, then tell them to go back home. Please.”
Jonathan blinks. “Honey, are you sure?”
Her reply is barely a nod. “Just make sure he stays away from the Red K this time, will you?” She says dryly, without looking at him.
His gaze lingers on her uncertainly for a moment, thoroughly baffled and somewhat concerned by her impervious behavior. “All right.” He stands. “I’ll be right back then.”
She doesn’t watch him leave. When the door closes behind him, she turns onto her side and stares vacantly out the window. It isn’t until her hand accidentally brushes over her stomach that it becomes a true struggle to thwart the tears. Her lip begins to quiver, and when she pulls her hand back, she notices that it’s shaking. She draws in a sharp breath, watching in disbelief as her hand shakes involuntarily, then bites her lip her and painfully swallows down the lump in her throat.
For what’s happened, she blames herself. She faults herself for jinxing it. For learning the baby’s sex, for looking at nursery furniture online, for giving her a name. She shouldn’t have tried. She shouldn’t have let Eirene help her, shouldn’t have set herself up for this inevitable fall. She should have known that after twenty-five years of infertility and one previous miscarriage that she wasn’t meant to have a baby.
But Martha Kent’s greatest fault has always been hoping too much, having too much faith, being optimistic in impossible situations. Being foolish.
For a long time more, she doesn’t cry. There are tears, butshe won’t let them escape. She’s too embarrassed, too angry at herself for rejecting simple logic, for trying to alter a long-standing pattern. For a long time, she becomes her father’s daughter. She turns everything off. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react. She just lies on her side, looking out the hospital room window, and waits for the pain to go away.
She remembers laundry, and she remembers blood on the floor. Her last memory is of the searing pain in her abdomen, and calling her husband’s name.
The doctor says she blacked out after that, either from the pain or the fear. He doesn’t know which; but she does. Martha Kent has always had a very high tolerance for pain.
He takes a step back, suggesting that Jonathan be the one to tell her. He doesn’t say a word. She already knows, and he can see it in her eyes. She remembers that feeling, from before. Emptiness. Dr. Baker slowly backs away, telling Jonathan to give him a call if they need anything, then swiftly makes his exit. When Jonathan redirects his focus onto her, he’s expecting tears, the same tears he himself had shed in the hallway moments before. But his eyes at met with a vacant stare, and he notices her body stiffen considerably. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he takes both of her hands in his, and waits. The last time they had been through this, she had immediately burst into tears, and he’d held her for hours on end until they subsided. But this time, nothing. It’s as if she’s not even in there. An empty shell. And that’s exactly how she feels.
She swallows hard. “Does Clark know?” Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, causing Jonathan to fixate her with a quizzical gaze.
“Yeah.” He nods solemnly. “He and Eirene are waiting outside.” When she fails to respond, he continues. “Do you want me to, uh…”
“No,” Martha answers without hesitation, her voice a few octaves lower than usual. “Thank them for coming, then tell them to go back home. Please.”
Jonathan blinks. “Honey, are you sure?”
Her reply is barely a nod. “Just make sure he stays away from the Red K this time, will you?” She says dryly, without looking at him.
His gaze lingers on her uncertainly for a moment, thoroughly baffled and somewhat concerned by her impervious behavior. “All right.” He stands. “I’ll be right back then.”
She doesn’t watch him leave. When the door closes behind him, she turns onto her side and stares vacantly out the window. It isn’t until her hand accidentally brushes over her stomach that it becomes a true struggle to thwart the tears. Her lip begins to quiver, and when she pulls her hand back, she notices that it’s shaking. She draws in a sharp breath, watching in disbelief as her hand shakes involuntarily, then bites her lip her and painfully swallows down the lump in her throat.
For what’s happened, she blames herself. She faults herself for jinxing it. For learning the baby’s sex, for looking at nursery furniture online, for giving her a name. She shouldn’t have tried. She shouldn’t have let Eirene help her, shouldn’t have set herself up for this inevitable fall. She should have known that after twenty-five years of infertility and one previous miscarriage that she wasn’t meant to have a baby.
But Martha Kent’s greatest fault has always been hoping too much, having too much faith, being optimistic in impossible situations. Being foolish.
For a long time more, she doesn’t cry. There are tears, butshe won’t let them escape. She’s too embarrassed, too angry at herself for rejecting simple logic, for trying to alter a long-standing pattern. For a long time, she becomes her father’s daughter. She turns everything off. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react. She just lies on her side, looking out the hospital room window, and waits for the pain to go away.