Goodbye to Yesterday

By Wendy Richards <>

Rated: G

Submitted: June 2004

Summary: Another friend of Clark's reacts to his "death." Story 4 in the Yesterday Series.

Author's note: Many thanks to Kaethel and Elena for beta-reading. All rights in the characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Bros; no infringement is intended by their use in this work of fiction.


Dear Clark,

I feel as if I should be writing "Dear John", but that's just silly, isn't it? How the heck do you start a letter like this? A letter to tell your boyfriend, who you're not actually sure is really your boyfriend, that he's dumped?

It's over between us, Clark. Whatever there was between us at all… And that was mostly the problem, you know? I never knew where I stood with you! Was I your girlfriend? Or was I just a convenient companion once in a while? Someone you'd go on a date with because you had nothing better to do… or no-one better to go with?

When you kissed me, Clark, what were you thinking? Was it me you wanted? Was I the woman you wanted to hold in your arms? When you went to bed after we'd been on a date, did you dream of me? Did you ever, even for one moment, want more than kisses with me?

Did you ever even think, for just one second, that you might love me?

See, I don't think you did. I know the truth. I was just 'convenient'. You were settling for me, because the one you really wanted wasn't interested.

Were you trying to make her jealous, Clark? If you were, it worked. You have to have noticed the way she looked at me sometimes. Especially that night I cut in on the two of you dancing. If she'd had a knife in her hand at that moment, it would've ended up between my ribs.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. If you didn't already know that she hated seeing you and me together, I'm doing you a huge favour. But right now I don't feel like doing anything nice for you. I'm angry with you, Clark. Very angry. I feel used. I invested emotional energy in you — and you never wanted me. I *loved* you — and you never wanted me.

Well, sure, if I'm going to humiliate myself, I might as well go all the way. Yes, I was in love with you. I really, really wanted this to work between us. I thought you were special — that you were the one. But I was the only one who saw what we had as a relationship, wasn't I?

You sure made me jealous, anyway. Any time I saw you with Lois… You always looked at her as if she was your dream come true. And I guess she was. No, I know she was. Though what you see in her I can't imagine. Especially given the way she treats you — and yet I know she wants you. She just won't let herself admit it. And there's no way on earth she'll tell you. I can't imagine why. Except she is some sort of control freak, isn't she? God knows what she's like in bed. But then, you wouldn't know that either, would you? Well, just get used to following orders, Clark. But then, you're already used to that, aren't you?

God, that was bitchy. But I'm not going to apologise. I don't feel like apologising.

Every time you smiled at her. Every time you touched her. Every time you did something for her. Every time you left me to go back to her. Every time you cancelled a date with me because she needed you to work late. Do you know how jealous I was? And how horrible I felt for being jealous sometimes, too. You're just one of nature's nice guys, Clark — some of the time, anyway. Any time you went to meet Lois because she needed your help, I knew it wasn't just because it was her. Your 50-year-old neighbour could have called and you'd have gone just the same. And I guess, if I'm being fair — though why the heck should I? — I'd admit that you'd walk out on Lois too if someone needed you.

That's not what I'm complaining about. I'm complaining about being taken for a ride, Clark. Strung along. Used. Taken for a fool.

I guess if I was being honest with myself I'd admit that I've known for a long time that I was fooling myself to think that we had something serious going. But then, if you were honest with yourself you'd admit that you've been giving me some very mixed signals. If you really weren't interested, then why ask me out? Why keep calling me? Why accept my invitations? Why let me kiss you? Why kiss me back?

And yet the signs were there. If I had any pride, I'd have walked away after I realised how hung up you were on Lois. I felt humiliated then… and yet I still came back for more. Clark, I was throwing myself at you! I had no shame at all. You trampled all over me, and I still came back for more.

What an idiot I am. Was. Was. I'm not doing that any more. Because this is it, Clark. I am officially dumping you. Or letting you go. Or admitting that I never had you in the first place. Whatever.

You know what finally made me come to my senses? These last couple of days. When everyone thought you'd been killed. Murdered. Shot dead by one of those resurrected gangsters. You know how I found out? I read it in the Daily Planet while I was eating breakfast.

I read about the death of the man I loved in the freakin' *newspaper*!

Nobody called me. Nobody thought that I was important enough to contact personally to break the news to me. Nobody even knew that I was part of your life.

I even went into the Daily Planet offices, Clark. I don't know what I was hoping to find — maybe some shred of comfort from being in a place that was important to you? Or the comfort of knowing that other people were grieving — and thinking that they might invite me to share their grief, that they might offer me comfort too. And no-one noticed me. They were all too busy comforting someone else.

Yes. Her. The other woman. Lois. The grieving widow — or that's how she appeared. She was your partner. Your friend. Nothing more — so far as I knew. And yet everyone was behaving as if she'd been your soulmate.

And I… I stood there, watching her. My heart was breaking. I was so grief- stricken I couldn't even cry any more. And yet I felt like an interloper, as if I had no right to feel pain over your death.

And it was then that I realised how much she had that I never even got close to. I heard someone mention that your parents had called Lois. And I realised that I'd never met your parents. I didn't know anything about them. I had no idea if they even knew that we were dating! Is it any wonder I don't know where I stood with you?

And then, when I thought you were dead, when I was wondering what to do, whether I even had the right to contact them, I realised that I didn't even know where they live. I couldn't call them, tell them that I was your girlfriend, that I'd really like to attend your funeral…

I existed on the margins of your life, Clark Kent. I was in the shadows. I barely know you really, don't I?

And as if that wasn't bad enough, the second insult came the following morning. How do you think I found out that you were alive after all? You've got it. The Daily Planet again.

Am I asking too much to think that you should have called me yourself?

Even if we were just friends, Clark. Even if you never cared about me at all. Even if I was only imagining that we ever had something between us. Even then… just sheer damned *courtesy* would dictate that you should have called me yourself!

Well, at least now I know. I know just how little I mattered to you. Just what place I had in your life. And I've come to my senses.

So you're dumped, Clark. To the extent that you were ever in my life in the first place. It's over. Finished. History. You're yesterday, Clark, and I'm finally moving on. Tomorrow is another day, and you won't be in it.

I hope you find what you're looking for. She doesn't deserve you, of course. But then, given the way you've treated me, you're probably perfect for each other. Yes, I'm bitter. I'll get over it. I'll get over you, too.

Don't call me. Don't reply to this letter — I won't read it. Anyway, you'd be wasting your time. I've put in for an immediate transfer out of Metropolis, and I've got it. I'm leaving in a few days' time. A new start, somewhere else where no-one's ever heard of Clark Kent.

Goodbye, Clark.



Wendy Richards 2004

Dedicated to Pelican.