Cherry Wine {lex luthor}

chapter forty two

If you have never been severely injured or sick, you will never know the utter fear that comes from a body that belongs more to pain than it does to you.. If you have never known the true, visceral terror of a near death experience, you will never know the relief of feeling your own heart pounding in your chest. It is a steady drum, every beat tattooing your life against your ribcage. If you have never felt the weight of grief, or the strange crush of depression, you will never understand how deaf the world is to unhappiness.

If you have never been in love, you will not know how it lifts every bad thing from you. How the fight that was once extinguished can be relit-a different candle, a different flame, but the heat is still there.

A photograph lay in my lap, the edges softened by time. The glossy sheen had long since worn off, and the colours were faded, but the picture was still clear. Seven-year-old me, ensconced firmly between her father and the largest, fluffiest black dog you can imagine. His name had been Mop-fitting, to say the least. He had been my childhood best friend, up until he ate a piece of poisoned meat left out by some bitter landscaper. My parents had gotten him for me after I had fallen and broken my femur. It was a way to make the months of being in a cast bearable. The day the picture was taken was the last day of summer break. I was tanned, my hair frizzy from weeks of swimming lessons in the outdoor pool. I had had one picture left on the disposable camera I had carried with me all summer long, and insisted on having a picture taken with Mop.

That picture was the only remaining artifact from my previous life. I had clung to it, somehow, through everything. I had discovered it in the pocket of the sweater I had worn home from the hospital. It had been crammed in, and there were deep folds, as though it had been held in my fist. I had smoothed them away as best I could.

Nostalgia is a dirty little liar. It paints everything with a rose-coloured brush, smoothing and airbrushing away the little details, until everything seems perfect in retrospect. But this picture was telling me the truth. It was reminding me of the time before, of the last beautiful summer.

"What's that?"

I startled slightly as the kitchen door closed. The staff were gone for the night, and outside, the sky was dark. A cold mug of tea was on the table in front of me, forgotten. "A picture." I said, and ran a thumb over the corner.

Lex looked over my shoulder. "That's a big dog. Is that you?" He tapped my face in the picture.

"Mhm. That's Mop and I."

"You were cute." He said. "Very chubby cheeks."

"Were cute?" I asked, in mock indignation. "I still am very cute, thank you so much."

Lex rested his chin on top of my head, draping his arms over my shoulders. I leaned against one of his sweater-clad arms, smiling into the soft wool.  "My mistake." He said into my hair.

I wound my fingers into his, watching in admiration as the gold of my ring caught the dim light. My fingers looked small and stubby compared to his long, artist's hands. "You have to get one, too." I said.

"Get what?"

"A ring."

Lex twisted the band of mine, so the latin inscription was visible. For my sun, my stars. "I was thinking-"

"There's a first time for everything, don't worry." I teased. Lex pulled away, and I turned, looking up at him. He narrowed his eyes in false anger.

"Cheeky. As I was saying, I was thinking that I would get a tattoo."

That made me pause. "Like instead of? Or as well as?"

"Instead of. I can't wear rings in the lab, even under my gloves."