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Nick Carraway was of the opinion that he was the unluckiest man in all of New York.
It seemed as though he was incapable of avoiding trouble these days. Between Tom and Myrtle and Daisy and Jordan and Gatsby and work, he just couldn’t catch a break. Not to mention his current… predicament.
Mr. Carraway had what he believed to be a dilemma of the highest magnitude. That was only a slight exaggeration. He, along with almost every person around, was completely and utterly infatuated with one Jay Gatsby. However, Nick was infatuated with him in a different way. He wanted to take him to the beach, to hold his hand, go on boat rides with him, run his hands through his hair, spend long nights in his library with him reading to each other, help him realize that he deserved better than Daisy, help him see that Daisy didn’t care about him the way he did, help him see that he was worth more than his possessions, just help him. He loved him, goddamn it. He was in love with him. And to think, he could have had all this and more, but he just had to play into Gatsby’s obsession and reintroduce him to his cousin. His cousin for god’s sake. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke with no punchline.
Although… after tonight, it seemed like Gatsby and Daisy’s relationship had reached a dead end. The grand plan to meet up with Tom and tell him that his wife doesn’t love him and never did had failed miserably (as Nick had expected). The scene replayed in his head: Tom, violent and vindictive, Daisy, sobbing, Jordan and him taking it all in.
Daisy was nearly hysterical, trying to rationalize her feelings in a way that could satisfy everyone. She loved Tom, she loved Gatsby, she didn’t love Gatsby, she loved Tom again, she was leaving, she was staying, she was trying to achieve the unachievable. Men like Tom and Gatsby didn’t share. Men like Tom and Gatsby would butt heads until one of them got what they wanted or destroyed each other trying, and that’s what they did. Tom was tearing Gatsby with everything he had, trying to expose the life he had created for himself... no, for Daisy. And even though he held himself together so well, Nick could tell that every word hit him like a physical punch. Gatsby was vulnerable, he could tell. When they were all banished from the suite at Tom’s bidding, they left without a complaint. They were all eager to get out of the tension in that room.
Then there was the wreck.
It was like a nightmare. Seeing the police cars in the road had caused an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Tom stopped the car, insisting that they’d only take a minute to see what all the fuss was, but then he saw the body and it all went downhill from there. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots here. Nick had known, somewhere in the back of his mind that all the secrets and affairs that he had been a witness of since arriving here would connect eventually, but he never expected it would be like this. He was vaguely aware of Tom moving to talk to the policemen.
Auto hit her.
Instantly killed.
Yellow car.
Gatsby.
Shit.
His first interaction with Gatsby after the crash was… not at all what he was expecting. In all honesty, he didn’t even want to talk to Gatsby at the time. He had just seen the aftermath of a horrific car crash (which Gatsby was definitely involved in somehow) and he was so unbelievably tired. All he wanted was to go to sleep and forget about all of this until the morning, but Jay fucking Gatsby came crawling out of his bushes in his pink suit that seemed to look even brighter in the moonlight. Normally Nick would find this endearing, but he was in no such mood tonight.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just standing here, old sport.”
Just standing here, my ass, Nick thought. He was angrier at Gatsby than he thought he was capable of being. Then Gatsby asked about the crash, and he managed to get even angrier.
“Was she killed?”
The audacity of that man to even ask that. Of course she was killed, you hit her head on!
“Yes,” Nick said, biting his tongue.
Gatsby only cared about how Daisy was holding. Sure, he was upset about Myrtle. Yes, he had just been in a fatal car accident, but Daisy stood it pretty well.
As Gatsby went on about how he was fairly sure that no one saw them, Nick wanted nothing more than to tell him to shut up about Daisy for just one second. Think about himself, how he’s holding up. Suddenly, Gatsby said something that shook him from his brewing thoughts.
“I tried to swing the wheel-” Gatsby trailed off awkwardly. They both knew the rest of the story, except for one detail.
He tried to swing the wheel. He wasn’t driving. That means that- “Was Daisy driving?” Nick questioned him urgently.
Gatsby seemed hesitant to answer. “Yes, but of course I’ll say I was.”
He continued on, something about how Daisy thought that driving would calm her nerves, how she lost control over the car, how he reached for the wheel, but was too late. Nick could only think that this development was no better than believing Gatsby was responsible for Myrtle’s death. Vehicular manslaughter is vehicular manslaughter, whether it’s committed by your neighbor-turned-friend-turned-love-interest or your gold digger cousin.
“...I felt the shock- it must have killed her instantly.”
“It ripped her open-”
You didn’t have to see the aftermath. You didn’t have to see what you caused.
Gatsby winced. “Don’t tell me, old sport.”
Guilt gnawed at Nick. Of course Gatsby isn’t to blame. He’s obsessive, emotional, extreme, and can be nearly manic at times, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“She’ll be alright tomorrow” Still, always about Daisy. “I’m just going to wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness this afternoon. She’s locked herself into her room, and if he tries any brutality she’s going to turn the light out and on again.”
Nick tried reassuring him that Tom had greater concerns than their squabble earlier, but Gatsby was insistent upon staying and watching for as long as he deemed necessary. As ridiculous as he thought Gatsby was acting, Nick couldn’t help but wonder, what if Tom found out that Gatsby wasn’t the one driving? that his wife had been the one to kill his mistress? There was no telling what he’d do then.
He had to check for himself.
“You wait here,” he told Gatsby. “I’ll see if there’s any sign of commotion.”
He snuck around until he could get a good view of both Tom and Daisy. They were sitting across from each other eating dinner. Cold fried chicken. Nothing amiss. Nick wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but lukewarm domesticity wasn’t it. Nevertheless, it was certainly better than fighting, screaming, or crying.
He made his way back to Gatsby, who was exactly where he left him.
“Is it all quiet up there?” he asked, noticing Nick’s return.
“Yes, it’s all quiet.” Nick hesitated. Was Gatsby really going to spend the whole night outside, waiting for a message that’ll never come? Of course he will, this is Jay Gatsby we’re talking about. “You’d better come home and get some sleep.”
Gatsby shook his head, saying that he would wait until Daisy went to bed.
“Good night, old sport.”
If these are the lengths he’s willing to go to for her, Nick thought, she really will be the death of him one day. Poor girl probably won’t even realize it.
And so Nick left him alone under the light of the moon, watching and waiting for some sign telling him that he still had a chance to live out his life with the girl of his dreams.