Chloe sits poised at her computer, her fingers quickly tapping the keyboard, capturing her thoughts as fast as they come to her. This is what fuels her, empowers her, makes her feel alive. Never did she look more radiant than now, when she's in her element, an heir of confidence and wisdom beyond her years creating a glow that's able to outshine all of the negativity in the world that she gets the pleasure to report on.

Clark stands in the doorway, careful to not let her see him. He knows better than to stop her when she was on a roll and up against a deadline, but he also loves the rare moments when he can just watch her in her natural habitat.

He leans his body against the door frame, quietly watching his best friend work. The lone light on in The Torch office illuminates her, allowing Clark to see her in what seems light a new light. The clicks of her fingers on the keys tickled his ears, amusing him at how fast she could type. He had never noticed the way her lips mouthed the words as she spelled them out on the screen. It was an adorable little tick he couldn't believe he had never noticed it.

Chloe, always in tune with what was going on in her office is able to sense his presence.

"Clark! How long have you been standing there?" she asks, looking up him.

"Only a second, Chloe, I didn't want to interrupt you" Clark says, his eyes sparkling.

She instantly notices a change in his face. There was something in his smile, something in his stare, something she couldn't put her finger on.

"What is it? Is there something on my face?" Chloe asks, rubbing under her nose like a crazy woman. "I had this mocha chino earlier, do I have foam on my mouth?" she asks, licking her upper lip with her tongue.

Clark can't help but laugh at her obsessive behavior . "No, you look beautiful" he says, offering her more of that smile that seemed to set her off.

Chloe doesn't adjust to change well, especially when it involved Clark. She lived with the constant fear that one day he would see her like the rest of the world did, and stop being her friend. Her mind began to fly, assuming the worst. Wait! Did he say 'beautiful'?

Chloe often felt she was hidden in the shadow of Lana Lang and the other beautiful girls that bounced down the hallway demanding the attention of all those they passed by. She never felt pretty, or good enough to catch the eye of any guy, much less those belonging to Clark Kent. For as much as she longed for guys to desire her, her self consciousness often made her seem unattractive, consigning her to the rank of good friend.

Raised by a single father, she was not afforded the luxury of make-up lessons, designer clothes and a mother's gentle fashion advice. She was left to figure it out for herself, finding her own unique style. The combination of her mom's vintage suit jackets with her latest thrift shop find melted together to create her signature style. Lacking the luxury of gold and silver she had to accessorize with plastic flowers she turned into a pins, or a funky purses she whipped up on her mom's old singer. Funky, quirky, different clothes seemed to help her express all of the spirit and originality she has in her, just waiting to boil to the surface.

In the judgmental arena that is high school, Chloe's second hand style of dress might be giggled about by those who followed the trends, the cookie-cutter Gap gang who made Smallville High appear that uniforms were in play, but actually they were the ones who appeared lacking in fashion.

Now, at seventeen, she was well adjusted to the looks and whispers of the pom pom crowd, almost able to completely ignore them. All her life she had felt like an outsider, never really finding a clique that would accept her. Her intelligence often got in the way of the normal girl things. When she was twelve she had sealed her fate as a loner when she was asked out by a boy in her class. Not getting that this meant holding hands and passing notes, the literal, logical Chloe asked him how they were supposed to go anywhere considering he couldn't drive. This honest question gave her a reputation of being a snob, and so she endured treatment similar to one who had been blacklisted.

Pete and Clark were the only boys that really even seemed to notice she existed. Yet, they only saw her as just another one of the guys, and so she played along, everyday hiding the heart within her that longed to be looked at like a rose, instead of just another stalk of corn.

The word 'beautiful' hung in the air, oddly making her the one who felt awkward, while he stood confidently beaming. Could the odd curve in his smile mean that he really did see her that way?

Chloe's cheeks pinken with embarrassment, seemingly lost in these uncharted waters. For as long as she had hoped that one day Clark's feelings for her might shift, allowing him to see her in the same light she has always seen him, she couldn't help but fear that it might be too risky a gamble to take. There was a certain comfort in knowing that what she and Clark shared was much deeper than the casual emotions involved in the week long flings that are the standard for teenage relationships.

Even though she had always resided on a different plane than her peers, sometimes her heart would allow her to feel the pangs of longing to be one of the normal girls who could find contentment in the silliness of youth. However, when it came to Chloe's internal struggles her mind had a way of always winning out over her heart. She could only allow herself to dream about a life that was uncomplicated. For she had been dealt a difficult hand, and she would play it, even if it meant she was the one who would always end up losing.

Blinking away Clark's mention of beauty, Chloe performs her role of sidekick tomboy, feeling security in the comfort of familiarity.

"Yeah, well flattery won't get you anywhere here" She says, flashing him her trademark smile. The smile that would have to continue to hide her secret, despite how much she wanted to explore what was hidden behind his. She could not will herself to risk losing Clark as her friend. He was a constant in her world full of chaos, and she had come to rely on him being there, needing his strength now more than ever.

Letting down her facade for one brief moment she says "Thanks for picking me up, I don't know what I'd do without you", she says, her eyes pouring out a piece of her tender soul. If only he wasn't too blind to see it.

Clark pulls up in front of the apartment complex, turning off the ignition. He unlocks his seat belt, ready to walk her up to the door.

"I'm a big girl, Clark" she says, popping the door open, hopping out, surprising him with her speed. "I won't get lost on the way up the stairs" she smiles, peering through the window of the closed door. "Thanks again, for the ride" she says, patting the truck in a 'see ya' kind of way. She turns away, running up the metal staircase in a way that can't help but pique his interest.

Chloe lets herself into the apartment, feeling her way through the darkness for the light switch. She flicks it on, revealing the tiny old, cramped apartment she and her father now call home.

"Dad?" she calls out, wading through the sea of boxes and garbage that cover the floor, her face appearing to have aged ten years from the moment she walked through the door.

"Dad!" she yells, setting down her backpack on the couch, grabbing up a trash bag. She begins tossing the beer bottles from the table into the bag, deliberately trying to make as much noise as possible.

Following the trail of alcohol she's led to her father laying unconscious on the floor. Sadly the sight no longer strikes panic in her, for it was becoming a routine, one she wished she never had to perform, but one she was required to on a nightly basis.

Gabe Sullivan's face is hardly recognizable as the man who had once been so respected around Smallville. His face was now bloated and puffy, covered with day old stubble. His body clouding the room with the stench of one with no regard for their own appearance. This man who had once been so modest around his teenage daughter was passed out wearing only a stained undershirt and boxers, revealing to her a part of her dad she wished she never had to see.

As though by reflex, Chloe begins the chore of waking him up, having to ignore the incoherent slurs he spews as she fights him off the floor and into his bed. She's able to tune out the harsh words he aims at her, yet the ones he speaks against her mother are difficult to swallow, striking her with the realization that she has somehow stepped into her mom's role herself.

Coming out of the room, she continues trying to pick up the mess, quickly becoming defeated by the overwhelming task. So many times before she had spent the night dealing with whatever mess her father had created that day, but this night she didn't have the energy. The strain of living a double life beginning to have an effect on her stamina.

She drags herself into the tiny kitchen, having not eaten all day, she was starving. Yet, the contents of the kitchen left much to be desired: a brown head of lettuce, a half empty bottle of ketchup, something unidentifiable in tin foil, and a couple bottles of beer. Not even Martha Stewart could whip something out of those ingredients, so Chloe saw no reason to try herself.

Not able to escape the silence of her loneliness with the luxuries of cable or internet, Chloe's left to fill the void with the only thing that can't be turned off by lack of payment. She opens her heart to the pages of her journal, revealing the truth of her sadness in the words she hides in the book of her life.