A/N--First of all, I posted this as soon as I wrote it, without having it beta'd; I therefore beg that you forgive the sucky portions. Secondly, this is rather twisted, so if you can't deal with blood, mild torture, and OOC sadism, then I suggest you avoid this fic. And finally, please review! I don't live for reviews, per se, but they greatly spice up an otherwise bland existence.

P.S.-The title is a quote. Bonus points for you if you can identify it.

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"Lana."

She opened her eyes to darkness and the sound of his voice. She felt the stiffness of ropes that bound her wrists, the hard, cold floor of…where?

"Lana? Are you awake?"

She shifted, mind spinning in panic. His voice was not concerned and soft, as it should be. This voice was cold, rough, out of control. But he was shaking her now, growing impatient. She had to say something.

"Clark?" It was barely a whisper. She tried to sound normal.

She felt a blindfold being ripped off of her. It was not much lighter with her eyes uncovered.

Clark leaned over her, eyes burning, pupils deep red. Oh no; he must be on something—

"Well, well, well. How are you feeling, Lana? I tried not to do too much damage to your pretty little head."

"Clark, what's wrong with you?" she asked frantically, struggling against her bonds. But the ropes held fast to the wooden railing of the loft, and Clark's malicious demeanor did not change.

"Nothing is wrong with me, Lana. We're here to talk about what is wrong with you."

"Clark, please," she whispered. She realized he was completely out of control, and no amount of talking was going to save her. She could only wait.

"I can't believe you," he growled. "No matter how much I think about it, how much I try to rationalize it…you betrayed me, Lana."

"No, Clark, I would never do that," she insisted.

He gazed at her, eyes faintly sad. "I don't think you realize that you already have. And that's what kills me." He sighed brutally. "You don't realize how much you've hurt me! You never stopped to consider anyone but yourself!"

"That's not true, Clark," she interrupted gently, but he cut her off with a slap to her face.

"Lana," he sighed, kneeling down beside her. His voice was saccharine now, almost sweet but not quite. "I only lied to you to protect you. If there had been any other way…Don't you see, Lana? I loved you. No, I love you."

She looked at him, almost forgetting he was holding her prisoner and had smacked her face. "If you loved me, you would have told me the truth. No matter what."

He snarled, and she remembered the circumstances.

"You obviously don't understand. You don't understand how much I cared for you." He inhaled, suddenly a little shaky.

"If you loved me as much as you said you did, then why did you take up with Lex Luthor?" he snapped, composure regained.

Why did she take up with Lex? Once upon a time she would have said love, but recently she hadn't been so sure. Yes, she loved him, but she also needed his fire, and his truth, and his darkness. She needed something in stark contrast to Clark Kent.

"I needed to get you out of my system," she said, settling on a convenient half-truth.

"Really?" he replied, sounding fairly amused. He paused for a few moments, considering.

"Well, Lana," he said at last, "you are not out of my system. Not by a long shot."

He caressed her face, taking in her delicate features. She tried not to quiver in disgust.

The man who touched her face was not Clark. He was on drugs, or alcohol, or something that was making him this way. But regardless of what was wrong with him, she had to get out of here. She had to—

A knife was pressed against her throat.

"I control you now, Lana," he breathed. "You threw me away for some rich pretty-boy, and now you have to pay."

He ran a thumb over her trembling lips. "You will beg for forgiveness to save your life; I have no doubt about that. But will you really mean it?" He sighed. "What can I do to make you really mean it?"

"Clark, please. This isn't you; you need help," she begged, her voice sounding hoarse and desperate to her own ears.

"The only one who will need help after I'm done is you," he hissed, and he drew the knife across her belly.

She cried out as she felt the knife cut her and blood come to the surface of her skin. "Clark!"

"That wound is shallow, Lana, compared to what you've done to me," he said with another quick flick of the knife.

She bit her tongue against the pain, trying not to scream. She prayed that she would live through Clark's bout of madness. And she suddenly remembered...

"My baby," she said frantically. "You'll hurt it!"

"But of course I'll hurt it. Why wouldn't I? It's a Luthor, and it would grow up to be just like Lex. It's a good thing I'm sparing the world the burden of another Luthor, Lana."

"Noooo," she moaned as she felt the knife sink into her. Her blood felt like hot melted butter on her stomach.

"Oh, yes, Lana. Your little Luthor baby is dead, or will be soon. And so will you. What a happy family you'll be, burning in Hell together."

"Wha—Lex?" she sobbed.

"Yes, Lex. Lex is dead. I killed him right before I snatched you out of his bed and took you here. I didn't want his filthy blood to stain your skin."

"Lex," she wept. Another bite from the knife as punishment for her wounded cry.

"Tell me you're sorry," he demanded.

She hesitated.

'Tell me you're sorry!"

Was she sorry? Well, she had loved him. Loved him deeply and truely. But he had lied to her. And regardless of the reasons why, he had hurt her. Yes, he had hurt her, not the other way around. She knew it even now, as she lay on the floor of his loft, her family gone and her body broken.

"I'm not."

"Then goodbye, Lana," whispered Clark, and for the first time she could hear the sadness of a farm boy in his voice. "You have no idea how much I wish things were different." A pause, a bitter breath. "But the wicked must repent," he said with a sharp smile, and he was merciless once again.

At first it hurt, and she screamed, but after a short time all she felt was warmth. The only pain now was in her aching heart. She ached for Lex, her baby, and all the loved ones she'd leave behind.

And Clark.

Her final thoughts were for him, hoping that he regretted what he did as soon as he was sane again.

Now she could admit to herself: she wished him the best.