by Sarah T.
Amy never really understood why her mother wanted so badly for her to be invisible until after they moved back to Metropolis.
They hadn't been there a week before she felt eyes on her while she was cleaning. She straightened up, and Lionel Luthor was standing there, just...looking at her. She thought maybe he knew about what had happened in Smallville and was mad or worried that she was there, but then he smiled at her. It wasn't a very nice smile; still, it was better than the alternatives, so she smiled back and left the room quickly.
This kept happening for over a month, and she didn't know what to make of it. She didn't want to tell her mom--she'd probably think that Amy had been causing some kind of trouble again. She couldn't tell Jeff--he was in the hospital. There was no one to help her decide if it was a good or bad thing, so sometimes she lingered in certain rooms, hoping he'd find her, and sometimes she felt afraid to leave her own room.
Then the week came when her mom and dad went to Coastal City to help set up the new house there. The same night, Mr. Luthor called her into his study. He leaned back in his leather chair and looked at her again. "So, you're the little Amy who caused such a big ruckus in Smallville."
She stared at her feet, shifting uncomfortably. "I--I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to, I just--"
He waved a hand. "It's all right. I understand. Luthors always attract their share of admirers; you're hardly the most persistent we've ever had. Sit down--have a drink."
The glass was heavy in her hand. She wanted to say no, but Mr. Luthor was in charge and she didn't want to cause any more trouble. The alcohol burned her throat and choked her. After she was done coughing, she snuck another look at him. He laughed, and she thought she probably should laugh, too, but it wasn't funny.
The next few sips went down easier, and then she was drinking it as fast as she could. Each swallow made her flush hazy and warm, and anything was better than that feeling that told her she should hide in her bedroom, the feeling she had otherwise.
When Mr. Luthor bent over her chair, she didn't say no. She felt too far away. She didn't really want it, but his eyes were on her, hot and quick as his breath; he was still seeing her, and that made it seem like it might be worth it.
When she stood like he told her to, blouse unbuttoned, arms back behind her head, he called her a pretty thing.
Pretty thing, pretty thing, she chanted to herself as he pushed into her, as he showed her how to suck him. She would be a pretty thing.
Even if she felt exposed and helpless in Mr. Luthor's big bed, watching him crawl towards her. Even if she choked when he filled her mouth. Even if she wanted to cry when he made her feel good, because that made it worse.
She didn't cry until she got back to her own room and looked in the mirror. No matter how hard she stared, there was nothing there.
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