The thing is, you’d never been ashamed of it. You’d never been ashamed of your past, of your extravagances. Of the drugs you did, the alcohol you overconsumed. Of the sex you had, the partners you’d discarded. It was all part of the past, and it was just something you’d done and were over. It was regrettable, what had happened, who you hurt in your wake, but you weren’t ashamed.

But looking into his eyes, those bright innocent eyes, you just can’t tell him. You can’t tell him about the man you were, because it would shatter the image of the man he wants to think you are. The Lex he knows is troubled, sure, but wouldn’t take out his troubles on others. The Lex he knows wouldn’t betray a friend because he wanted to sleep with his girlfriend.

But that’s not even it. It’s not that you want to protect him, it’s not that you want to shield him. It’s not that you don’t want to shatter his perception of you. It’s that you want him to be right. You want to be the person he sees. You want it so bad you can taste it.

So even when it becomes apparent that he’s in this no matter how much you don’t want him to be, even when you see the field of dead cows and know that you can’t shield him any more, you still can’t stand the thought of telling him.

When that gun goes off, you think ‘now he’ll never know he was wrong about me,’ and you feel relief.

But the bullet doesn’t kill you, and for one second, you’re sorry it didn’t.