The first thing you do when you get back is get drunk. You grab the bottle of Absolut from the freezer and drink it down in a matter of fifteen minutes. If you were anything but ordinary you would have to worry about an ulcer. Since you are not you don't. The only thing you can ever be thankful for being a meteor mutant is your miraculous immunity for almost anything.
After drinking the vodka you throw the bottle against a wall and scream profanities in Latin about self-righteous boy scout bastards who like to wear underwear in bright offensive to the eye primary colors and who can get away with it.
In that moment you really hate Clark, like you love him, but the hate is far more profound.
The scientist in you wishes to cut him open so you could see how exactly the alien body works, the Luthor in you wishes to snuff out the life of Superman so that the irritating vigilante would stop ruining your business deals, the scorned lover in you demands for revenge and killing off Lois because if you can't have him then anyone else shouldn't either, but the bruised child and used friend in you still remembers how Clark was the first person ever beside Bruce to listen to you or try to be your friend.
You knew your friendship was doomed the moment it started because you are a Luthor, and despite your best wishes and tries everything you touch turns to ash.
Still it was so nice to be cared for.
It didn't last, like it didn't last with Bruce, but at least Bruce is not living in the same city with you and trying to stop every business deal you make 24/7.
They both believe you don't know about their extra curricular activities and you can't understand how they can think so? You would recognise them from everywhere. Their voices, their movements. No rubber masks or alien holographs could fool you. You, who knows how they sound in bed if they like something particular you have done, how they smell. Still you don't say a word and let them live in their ignorance.
You love them, or the bruised child and to a fault loyal friend does. You can't seem to kill them, or strike them out from your heart, though you have tried many times. And it would make things so much easier for you if you could.
The plots to kill have always been half-hearted and you hope the day you get over them arrives soon, because this loving-hating thing is killing you and you want to be rid of these last feelings you consider a great weakness. Because Luthors have no feelings of love. And you want to be a real Luthor since you are not good enough to be anything else. And not being the best is not acceptable.
It has been years since you and Clark were friends and even more with Bruce.
You are sure one day one of you will step over the line and get to the kill.
You are not sure who it will be, you or them.
Some days you wish it were you who killed them, who would make them scream and beg for mercy for ever breaking your heart. For not believing in you. For abandoning you. Then you remember that both Bruce and Clark are so self-righteous that they would never ever beg. Atleast beg for anything from you.
These are the days when you wish one of them would hurry the fuck up and off you already because this half existence is unbearable.
Still you bear it. Being a Luthor demands it.
You live like the thing you promised you would never become when you still were friends with Bruce and Clark. You can't seem to stop and now you don't even really want to. It was so naive to believe you could become something else than a Luthor anyway.
So now you only have to wait and see who finally finishes this game the three of you play. You know it will not be long now. Not after this.
Definitely not after this.
You will be prepared, as will be they.
You drink some more and toast to the winner, Whoever it might be.