All I Really Want

Author: Spike’s Slayer/BlueAngelWings

E-mail: spikesslayersweetie@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Please! It would make my day. I’d love to know that people are
actually reading the things that I write, lol.

Classification: Lana/Clark and Clark/Chloe.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Smallville or claim to be affiliated with it. No
copyright infringement is intended. Don’t sue! It’s not like I have much
anyway.

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: E-mail me about it, since I’d like to know where it’s going
to be posted and so on. But basically, if you ask, you shall receive.

Summary: I know I’m not the only one who gets sick of Lana being perfect
all the time…This is set a bit into the future. Angsty, but ending on a
lighter note, with a bit of romance.

Author’s Note: There are some remarks that may seem like bashing for Chloe,

but it’s not meant to be like that. I love Chloe, but I kind of had to
shelve that a bit for this fic. It’s nothing major though, so if you’re a
Chloe fan, don’t freak. ;-) I’m not really a specific shipper of any
kind…so this was kind of an experiment. Also, when I wrote this, I was a
little bitter about the new season of Dawson’s Creek, so try and ignore the

comments. I tend to get carried away with over-dramatizing…okay, you
haven’t even read the fic, and I’m already criticizing myself. I’ll shut up

now.


*******
All I Really Want

I broke up with Whitney.

I tossed my pompons into the trash.

I’m this close to getting kicked out of college.

I’m not a virgin.

I’ve tried drugs.

And I hate myself.

Who would have thought? Certainly not Nell…or the girls on the
squad…Whitney…anyone. Imagine the shock and disbelief among the multitudes
of people when I walked in, for a get-together that Smallville High had
decided to have - for the grads that were now in college. Similar to a high

school reunion, I guess. Instead of the accustomed blue jeans and sweet,
girlish T-shirts with embroidered flowers and butterflies, I was wearing an

ensemble of black and red: black leather boots, black leather skirt, red
top, black leather jacket. The silky spaghetti-strap was the only thing
wasn’t leather.

Did you know that leather lasts forever? When you think about it, forever
doesn’t really mean much. Nothing lasts…Whitney and I didn’t, the flawless
life I once had didn’t…there is no forever. Where I once beheld the flames
of possibility and joy, the fire of hope and inspiration… only ashes are
left in my hands now. Gray and cold and lifeless…and even the ashes
disappear, sifting through my fingers as I myself fluctuate, unable to
decide who I am, what I’m doing, and what will become of me.

Whispers broke out as I tossed my hair and defiantly wrote Lana Lang on the

nametag that I was given to wear. I slapped it onto my chest, over my top,
and let the world think whatever they wanted to. But my temporary burst of
independence disappeared as soon as I turned and was caught off-guard,
meeting a familiar pair of beautiful, deep eyes, still as soulful and
captivating as ever, with green and blue and brown swirling in their depths

and cinnamon flecks of color reflecting in them. But I noticed that there
was something just slightly off about the look…it had changed since I last
saw it. It was now one of disappointment, bordering on disgust. Another
person that I hadn’t noticed was clinging to his arm, and letting out a
giggle followed by a snide remark under her breath about how cheerleaders
always turned out retarded later on. But I heard her comment…loud and
clear.

Then I realize that it’s him, the one who has been haunting my thoughts, my

dreams, my soul since I left Smallville. It’s really him! It’s him…but with

Chloe. God, how could I have been so blind? The way he looks at her, and
the way she returns his obvious adoration…the adoration that had once been
directed towards me. How could I have missed that, ignored it, pretended it

didn’t exist for the security and stability that I thought Whitney and I
had. But sometimes secure and stable just isn’t enough. The spark fades…the

passion disappears…and the kisses become a mere touch of lips and nothing
more.

The innocence and purity of his feelings towards me…will I ever find
something like that again? I had always been put on a pedestal, a high
pedestal. But people should have remembered to ask if I was afraid of
heights. So I stood, on that very pedestal, until I couldn’t bear it
anymore. I jumped off, suddenly, and landed, a fallen angel, with a
horrifying crash, onto the cold, hard, unwelcoming ground that I had never
stepped on before.

It was almost like an addiction. After spending my whole life as a
responsible, basically perfect person, the first taste of being bad left me

craving more. And I sunk in deeper and deeper until I looked into the
mirror and couldn’t even recognize the girl that stared back at me. And I
cried, long and hard, crying for what I could have been…what I could have
had with Clark. What I missed and what I’ve always wanted, even now.

No one ever thought that I would ever want or need anything, Lana Lang of
the perfect life, the perfect looks, the perfect body, the perfect
everything. There is no such thing as perfect. Appearances can be
deceiving…inside, we’re all fragile, we’re all so scared. It went beyond
the pain of losing my parents, of making a martyr of myself, of growing up
almost an orphan. I hated being thought of as a saint. Why couldn’t they
all just leave me alone? Lana, which prom dress would look better? Lana,
congratulations on being voted Homecoming Queen! Lana, is this cheer good
enough to perform? Lana, how’s Whitney? Lana, you’re so lucky to be so
pretty! Lana, Nell is an awesome aunt; she buys you everything you want!
Lana, Whitney and you have been chosen as best class couple again!
Lana…Lana…Lana…Even now, they ring in my head, childlike voices so eager to

please, with good intentions that went bad. But the road to hell is paved
with good intentions.

All I really wanted during those high school years was Clark. Of course it
makes no sense at all to you…and why should it? Why didn’t I just tell him?

Why did I not take the plunge and let what might have been a beautiful
relationship blossom between us? Why? They are the same questions whispered

to myself over and over at night, when I’m alone in my dorm…alone in the
world. To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I really don’t. I didn’t know
how to tell him, how to react to the pounding in my heart every time I saw
him, the weakness in my knees every time he smiled. I thought he would
always be there…forever, but nothing is forever. How naïve and stupid I
was.

I mumble a soft greeting to Clark and the blonde that still possessively
clutches his arm. I guess I don’t blame her…if I had him, I would never let

go of him either. He gave me a sad sort of smile to show that he had heard
me and turned away. Chloe ignored me. I wish I could comfort her, tell her
that I no longer have the power I once so carelessly wielded over him, that

she doesn’t need to surgically attach herself to him. He is all hers…and
she him.

My heart hurts. I’m not kidding. As lame as that may sound…my heart hurts,
wrenching, tingling, tangible pain that wants to burst from inside me. I
thought Chloe liked me…but she sure wasn’t acting like it. I had always
admired her, and I was crystal clear on the scorn she held for the "social
elite" of high school…but…I thought she liked me. We had actually been
tentative friends for awhile.

Lana Lang, the queen of all social butterflies, agonizing over why some
blonde (that shouldn’t even matter) didn’t like her. What would the
cheerleaders be saying now? If they weren’t so busy giggling in their
little group huddle, batting eyelashes at all the single ex-jocks, and
coyly hiking up skirts to show smooth legs. But I could forget about Chloe.

It’s just Clark…in that one flash of his eyes, I could read how much things

had really changed. He tries to hide it, but I can’t bear to see or even
think about how his eyes had once rested so gently and lovingly on me…and
now they hold almost contempt. I hate myself at the moment. Why did I never

tell him? I was scared, confused, afraid of the intensity and depth of what

I felt. Every time I saw him, every time he did something particularly
sweet for me, which was quiet often, he stole a little piece of my heart
for his safe-keeping…and I never told him what he deserved to know.

Please Clark…my body seems to send out a silent plea. Please forgive me,
Clark. Forgive me for never telling you, for assuming that you would always

be there, that I had time to procrastinate, for pretending not to notice
the way you pined after me and the way Chloe pined after you…and Pete pined

after Chloe.

God, we were a bunch of messed-up kids. I hear the Dawson’s Creek theme
song begin to resonate in my head, and I feel like laughing hysterically.
The day we stooped to their level would be the day hell freezes over…the
day something drastic happens. But then again, you never know. I mean, if I

can do a complete 180, or is it 360…then anything can happen.

I watch Chloe and Clark as I sit, unable to tear myself away, drinking in
almost hungrily the way she lightly rests her hand on his thigh when they
sit together, the way he shyly presses a quick kiss on her neck, and the
tender gazes that speak volumes of intimacy between them. I do have a
masochist side, torturing myself like this. But it’s like a car
accident…you know you don’t want to look, that the view is terrible, but
you can’t rip yourself away, avert your gaze. And that could have been me,
I think to myself, watching his fingers playfully interlace hers, and then
dropping a butterfly kiss on her hand. I could puke from this overload of
PDA…of this sweetness that could only come from Clark.

But who knows? Maybe he’s really meant to be with Chloe. But then I
remember the electricity, the heat that crackled in the air between us…and
my lips twist into a bitter, satirical smile, which is my trademark these
days. No…no… No matter how much he and Chloe might love each other…they
would never have the electric currents, they would never feel the world
exploding into flames with everyone else disappearing when they look into
each other’s eyes. They’re like what Whitney and I had, security, safety,
familiarity, comfortableness…Another Dawson and Joey. God, I need to stop
with the "Dawson’s Creek" analogies! From now on I resolve to watch only
"Alias" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayers". Or maybe just watch less TV
overall.

There wasn’t as big of a change in me as it may seem like to others. It
wasn’t one of those things where one small move occurred, and I was sent
over the edge. All these feelings were building up and gathering inside me,

and I wanted to release them…and I didn’t know how. It was tiresome being
the Lana that everyone expected me to be and wanted me to be. It was
tiresome hearing people who didn’t know me, but hated me just because I was

"perfect", insult me in the hallways. They were using my name in everyday
conversation, like: "The day that happens to me is the day Lana Lang gets
kicked out of school.", or "May Lana Lang not wear a matching outfit if I
break my promise."

I don’t really look that different either…my hair is a bit shorter,
layered, and has a few reddish-brown highlights. I have a tiny tattoo at my

ankle, my car is flashier (never a motorcycle…I shudder to think of that),
and my style is a bit more wild but not too much. Most of all, it wasn’t
just losing my parents, as I said before. People think that’s why I
changed, that it’s the reason I cracked. It was living up to my mother’s
image, living up to what everyone else wanted of me…until every day became
a struggle, every minute an obstacle to overcome. I’m not proud of the way
I am now…but at least I’m free, from the chains that I cast around myself,
and that others cast around me, making me believe that I was their Golden
Girl, and that if I slipped for one day…the world would collapse, that I
was Atlas, the weight of the world on my petite shoulders.

Why couldn’t people ever see me? The real me, past all of the smiles and
glamour and prettiness…They never looked into my eyes. Because if they had
really looked, they would have seen that the smiles I gave didn’t quite
reach my eyes, and everything I felt was reflected in them. Only Clark
looked…and he loved me anyway. And I blew it, for no good reason. When I
think back…I don’t even know why I didn’t seize the opporitunity and take
the happiness that came my way. Every day I’m reminded of my regrets and my

mistakes in life. I’m sick of living this way…even if I’m free.

I make up my mind and stand up from my seat, just as Clark happens to
glance my way. He quickly turns around, and instead of dwelling on that, I
stride towards the exit, taking my nametag off and crumpling it into the
trash can. I give the lady who is greeting guests a genuine smile as I
leave, and she hesitantly smiles back.

I know what I’m doing now. I will not be preppy cheerleader Lana Lang. I
will not be screwed up crazy Lana Lang. I will find myself, I will find my
innocence without losing my cynicism, and I will love myself. I have to
learn to love the real Lana before I can learn to truly love anyone
else…the someone that has to be waiting for me out there. Ah, the romantic
in me lives. A good sign that I’m going in the right direction.

It’s time for a fresh start…inspired by someone who was always there,
waiting for me to realize that that’s what I really needed, above all. It’s

weird…who knew lame and basically pointless school functions could be
so…therapeautic? Inspiring? Nah…it’s not the setting…it’s just him. Just a
quality that he’s always had, to bring out the best in everything…forever
an optimist, forever finding a pot of gold when it seems you’ve reached the

end of your rainbow, and forever a dreamer. Maybe there is a forever after
all…?

So thank you, Clark, even though your gaze towards me now hold nothing of
the old adoration, and merely have a form of sadness…perhaps even pity.
Thank you anyway. I’m glad that you’ve finally found someone who wanted you

as much as you had wanted me, and gives you everything you give her back
ten-fold. I’m glad that you’ve found what you’ve wanted, and I’m glad that
you’ve given me the courage to find the same things for myself.

But still…

I let my brave front drop for a minute as I slide into my car, and suck in
a deep breath. But still…it’s kind of hard, when all I really want…all I’ve

ever really wanted…was you.