Chapter Text
3:27 AM.
I turned away from my watch and sat down in the parlor, cigarette ash gathering in the tray when I tapped it. Gatsby was pacing around the room, only occasionally satiated by a drag, the grey trail of smoke in the air following his anxious behaviour.
I couldn't believe what had happened. The car crash. Myrtle. When I saw her body, it pained me to think about how her body hit the windshield. How the eyes of the passanger of the obnoxiously yellow car would've followed her quickly bruised body to the ash ground, and how they would've screamed, shouted for the driver to do something.
Gatsby seemed to be no different, the only difference being that he actually experienced the crash. His eyes seemed to fly to one place from another, avoiding my gaze wherever he could. "Gatsby, are you-"
"I'm completely fine, old sport." His voice broke all of a sudden. With his back turned to me, the only sign of change was that he'd stopped walking.
"Can I ask-" I cut myself off before Gatsby could break again. That glass house of beautiful dreams was breaking down, piece by piece. I couldn't bear to see another wall of made of glass and fragile hope broken by the stones of reality.
"I'm completely fine," he mumbled to himself. I guessed the statement wasn't meant to be believed by me, but moreso to convince himself he was, in fact, fine. I stood up out of the cushioned chair, which made a quiet sound. However, Gatsby noticed. He now looked to the side, eyes following my movements to stand next to him. The blond took another drag, turning back to the picture perfect Sound.
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4:26 AM.
The story was elaborate. Gatsby kept describing Daisy in such ways that made me think of how I used to think about Jordan, and why I don't think about her anymore. The man standing next to me was, unfortunately, stuck in the quicksand of puppy love, wanting nothing more than Daisy. Five years of love, and he kept on loving. A devotion lasting a lifetime, I thought. If only it was that sure.
Daisy and Tom had had puppy love as well, when they were engaged. If it had lasted, I wouldn't be standing here, next to the golden man. The car crash would not have happened, certainly.
If Tom and Daisy were actually in love...
I didn't care to think about that any longer.
After Gatsby had told me his story, I stayed quiet. I checked my watch again. 6:24 AM. Autumn was coming, and with it later sunrises. The sun was just below the horizon of East Egg homes, the colors already changing towards their future blue. The yellow, orange, pink and all other colors.
"Would you stay?" The question snapped me out of my thoughts. "After all that has happened?"
"I am here, am I not?" My response came quickly, to reassure the other man I had no doubt answering.
Our cigarettes were gone by now. Reduced to ashes. As Daisy's love was a fleeting thing, so was the calm feeling I got from a cigarette. I began picking at my nails, trying to soothe the anxiety my mind had created when Gatsby became anxious.
I'd often heard that people pick up most habits from those they most loved, and wasn't surprised when my constant movement synced up with the way Gatsby kept his body busy while thinking. The man himself turned around and sat down on a couch, looking at the cigarette stump in the ash tray with disappointment. "Those were the last ones, weren't they?" The blond nodded.
I had never, ever understood his devotion to a woman who didn't share it. Building up everything for a girl who doesn't exist anymore. I would never understand it. "Why?", I mumbled to myself, "why would you..." The other man, curious about what I was saying, spoke up a bit louder.
"What was that, old sport?" I turned around and walked up to him, standing with an unexpected looming quality, as the sun had risen above the East Egg mansions, creating my shadow over the desperate man.
"Why would you build up a home for a woman who will never be a part of it?" And that's what broke him. Every possible emotion he'd been holding up that night came out into the morning light after that question. I didn't sit down next to him as much as I flung myself on the couch, seeing Gatsby... Gatz, shed a tear. Then another one. A sob broke out from his throat. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he collapsed at the touch. His head in his hands, his hair becoming more uncontrolled by the minute while ugly cries came up in his throat and filled the air with desperation.
I had suddenly realised how much that question meant to him. How much the answer was an impossible feat to create. How much his obsession... How much of it had consumed him, and how much of him could still be saved. How much of him could still be saved, actually? How much of his own face was left in the two-faced man?
How much of James Gatz had I really seen?
---
6:57 AM.
When the sun was wholly above the East Egg houses, Gatsby had finally calmed down. He'd ordered Alfred, his new butler, to go to town and get another pack of cigarettes. His tear-stained cheeks smiled at a joke I can't remember, and I couldn't help but return the gesture. His smile was different now. Not one of hope and assurance, but one of a broken man clinging to the possible glue that the joke might be to his shattered glass dreams. "You know, old sport, Nick, I'm sure Daisy will call. What you said last night- I presume it was the exhaustion clouding your mind- I-"
"Daisy isn't calling," I said, mostly to myself. My efforts would only fall on deaf ears, anyway.
"She is! I don't see why-"
"Gatz!" I shouted, knowing I would further shatter his reality, addressing him by his legal last name to let him know it was serious. "You are a ridiculous man." That was it. That was all I could bring out. I stood up and checked whether the butler was back yet. He was. I took the pack he gave me and I lit another one.
"Am I?"
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8:17 AM.
To stab at the lavish English breakfast the servant's eventually prepared was the only thing I could enjoy at the moment, although my anger had subsided with my stomach filling up. "I apologize for my direct behaviour earlier."
"I understand, old sport." His tone was resigned, unusually so. "I couldn't help but be surprised, actually. You don't often speak up about your own opinion on things unless I ask." I poked the egg yoke, the yellow liquid spreading as it's container burst. "I should really be apologizing, old sport. You see, I wasn't expecting the question, and I-"
"You were startled. I understand that."
"I can't help but point out- Why would you initiate all of this if you thought it was wrong?" I finally looked up and pondered the question. Why did I? Perhaps I'd figured that he was not that attached to Daisy. Perhaps I'd figured he simply wanted to reconnect with an old friend. Perhaps I was stupid.
Perhaps I only wanted to see that authentic smile on his face, where his eyebrows would rise and his eyes would shine and look into mine, where he would reassure me he understood me and smile that stupid smile.
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9:00 AM.
We had just finished breakfast. Out on the porch, I couldn't help but grab another cigarette to calm my nerves. "You really ought to slow down, old sport."
"I've seen Wolfsheim take 10 in 2 hours. This is my third in over 5 hours," I mentioned, "besides, it calms my nerves." And my mind. And every single thought that races on the highway of my brain. Even the ones about Gatsby himself would slow down a little and make way for regular thoughts.
The gardener, the last one of Gatsby's former servants, came to the foot of the steps. "I'm going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. Leaves'll start falling pretty soon, and there's always trouble with the pipes." His boss nodded, seemingly too deep in thought to listen properly.