"You can't repeat the past!"

"No, old sport. No... That's where you're wrong."

I Could never convince the love blinded man. How despicable and stubborn he was... But I just couldn't stop stop him. And that was what made the situation turn for the worst. I let him.. I.. He died because of me.

Mr. Gatsby was gone, and I know for sure it is all on my accord. It was my fault.

The night before he was murdered, I felt something in me that signaled something horrifying was going to happen. Boy, was I ever right... I really wish I wasn't, though. Too late for that, I suppose.

Besides that, something else that night also triggered inside of me. I noticed something I hadn't before. As I watched Mr. Gatsby talk and smile and wave his hands about, I could feel the butterflies within my stomach suddenly awaken. I had tried to put them aside in my mind, thinking it was impossible and a mistake, but they only got stronger, making me sick. It was worse when Mr. Gatsby sometimes patted me on the should or back or stood close to whisper something as if someone else other than I would hear him.

I realized... I was in love with this handsome, filthy rich man. But I couldn't have him.

"Daisy wants... Daisy and I... Daisy needs..." he always said, speaking only about this cousin of mine. I had no chance. I was a third wheel. Even if I did, homosexuals weren't exactly favored in a said crowd. I was doomed with just an annoying feeling and no partner to fill the spot.

And the morning he was murdered, I was in disbelief. I had been on the phone with his personal butler who was reluctant to let me speak with him... But I heard the shot and even Mr. Gatsby's last word before he hit the water of his pool.

"...D-Daisy..."

It stung and I could feel my heart breaking. I was the only other one to attend his funeral, other than is father. I was his only friend. When his father gave me privacy to speak to his corpse one last time, I lost it. That was the first time I had ever cried so much and so hard.

"How could you...?" I cried, leaning over the coffin with my face in the fabric of his expensive suit that hung loosely to his lifeless body. "You shouldn't... You should have told them the truth, Jay. You wouldn't have died. Y-you're a fool!"

I lifted my head to look at his face, a slight smile tugging at his pale lips. I was confused. I moved closer and noticed a strand of hair was misplaced against his forehead. Subconsciously, I gently brushed it back into place, looking over the still figure before me. Even in such a state, Mr. Gatsby was still beautiful. I sighed.

As if he could hear me, I whispered to him, "I can't... Daisy wasn't..." I let the words hand in the air a moment before speaking again. I leaned in closer. "Jay Gatsby, I love you."

I kissed those lifeless lips. It felt so wrong... But it was the only thing I could think of. After all, Mr. Gatsby was dead.

I couldn't remember much of the funeral after that. It didn't matter anyhow. I sulked and dove into a deep depression soon after. I never got into contact with the Buchannans –they were ignoring my calls anyway– and Ms. Baker confronted me once to tell me how much she disliked me with really no reason at all. I was truly alone.

And although I wanted to put the blame on Daisy, I couldn't.

I truly believed Mr. Gatsby's death was all my fault.