Daisy Fay loved the theatre.

More than anything, she loved the attention people gave her in the theatre. She loved the fancy clothing. She loved being around people of her own status. She loved being one of the first to view famous plays. She loved being able to dress up and show off. The theatre gave her that opportunity. Jay, of course, knew this was the reason she so desperately wanted to go in the first place. Daisy always wanted to go somewhere. She wanted to be seen. Otherwise, she felt as if she was wasting her good years.

Naturally, when the Gatsby's entered the theatre, New York's elite turned and looked. Daisy shook hands, told a few people she barely knew how lovely it was to see them again, complimented a woman on her engagement and spent nearly fifteen minutes discussing the dress she was wearing. Jay simply nodded a few times, answered a few smiles, and then sat down in his seat.

''What has gotten into you?'', Daisy whispered, almost as soon as she sat down next to him.

Jay turned his head towards her and frowned, ever so slightly.

''You haven't spoken a word all evening. These people want to talk to us, Jay. They're our friends''.

''No they're not''.

''Well – they could be! Are you all right?''.

She sounded genuinely worried. Lovingly, the young woman took her husband's hand and he kissed it, putting the smile back on her face. ''I'm great. Just great'', he whispered. She believed him. Within seconds, she was lost again in conversation.

Jay took his time to admire the theatre. He didn't leave the house very often – let alone to go see a play, but he understood why people loved it so much. It was truly a breathtaking building. The interior designed perfectly to match the spirit of the roaring twenties. The stage had been decorated with black marble pillars, the ceiling covered in art deco's golden geometrical patterns. The lights that hung on the walls were dark blue, decorated with a flower pattern of bronze. They shone a soft, golden light across the seating area which, in its turn, was filled with seats from the finest red velvet – Jay suspected there was room for at least two hundred people. In the back of the room was a bar, hosted by two men in bowties and black jackets. As they poured a few gentlemen their drinks, Jay noticed the bartenders looked almost identical. Right down to their perfectly shaven mustaches.

More and more people came pouring in. Many strangers. Some of Jay's customers. All of them sickeningly rich. The women were covered in jewels - their hair was perfectly done, their eyebrows plucked, their lips painted red, their hands hidden away in satin gloves, their foreheads hidden behind bejeweled headbands and feathers. Jay had always found it funny looking, but the style had become custom for the rich women of New York.

''So'', Jay whispered, slowly turning to his wife. ''What's this play about? Why is it so famous?''.

Daisy laughed and rolled her eyes, turning towards him.

''The story goes about a young woman who falls in love with a man she can never have. Truly tragic. She goes mad for him and decides she must have him at all costs – so she decides to become his very dream. She becomes what he wants her to be, what any man would want their wife to be, only to realize that- Oh.. well, I suppose I'd spoil it for you if I told you''. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. ''You'll find out'', she whispered.

Jay smiled and nodded and as if it were planned, the room went silent. The lights were dimmed. The play had begun.

And the audience loved it. They chuckled when the doctor made a terrible joke, they gasped when his wife suspected him of adultery and one man nearly spat out his drink when he watched her hit him. Because of the assault, the good doctor had finally reached what seemed to be his breaking point and he left, leaving his wife to cry in their house all by her lonely self. When it became evident that the doctor went on to see his mistress, many sat silently judging while equally as many fantasized. The scenery changed and suddenly, there was a wooden door. The doctor stumbled towards it, visibly upset by what happened between him and his wife. Apparently, thought Jay, not nearly as upset as he should be.

''Eleanora?!'', he cried out, desperately banging on her front door.

There was no answer. Jay chuckled. Maybe Eleanora had given him the boot. Good for her.

''Eleanora, would you please open the door?''.

The doctor seemed desperate for this woman, and Jay wondered how a man could invest so much emotion into somebody he didn't truly love while simultaneously ignoring the one he did. He wondered even more how Eleanora allowed herself to fall victim to this man's adulterous ways. But then came the moment when Eleanora cracked and answered the doctors pleas. The front door opened, slowly – but once it did – the doctor fell straight into his mistress's arms. Light softly shone onto her face, and Jay heart's suddenly stopped beating. He gasped for air and three faces turned towards him, including that of his wife. When she saw the look on his face, much like he'd just seen a ghost, she frowned. Her husband had turned an unhealthy colour. Pale white. His jaw had dropped and his eyes were focused on the stage. Not once did he blink.

''Jay?'', Daisy whispered, softly tugging on his arm. ''Sweetheart, are you all right?''.

Once again, Daisy's voice was being drowned out. In fact everything was. Everything went mute to Jay's ears. Everything but her. Eleanora, the doctor's breathtakingly beautiful mistress - was the ghost of Rose Dewitt Bukater.

But it couldn't be.

For a couple of seconds, Jay thought he'd gone mad. He thought that maybe, he was asleep. Maybe he'd passed out in his office. Rose is dead, he reminded himself. She's dead. This can't be. But still.. the way her red curls danced across her face, the sound of her voice, the way she moved – it was all truly her. God, it even seemed like he could smell her. A subtle scent of florals, spreading across the room with every step she took.

Suddenly, Jay felt faint. His head started turning and in an effort to make it stop, he hid his face in his hands, his head leaning back onto the headrest. ''Jay?!'', Daisy hissed, softly. She glanced across the room to see if anybody was watching them, but the audience was much too involved with the scene on stage to care about the one right next to them.

''Jay, what are you doing?!''.

He couldn't stop it. He couldn't call the endless turning to a halt. His head was spinning, faster and faster, his lungs seemed to contract to the size of two grapes and he suddenly became extremely aware of his pulse. Without saying another word, Jay jumped up from his seat and fled the room. He ran through the hall, right past the theatre stewards offering to bring him his coat. He flung the doors open and fell straight into the crisp evening breeze, collapsing against a wall in the alleyway of the theatre and slowly sliding down onto the ground. His heart. There was something wrong with his heart. He managed to undo the first two buttons of his shirt as he gasped for air, though his hands trembled uncontrollably. He folded them onto the back of his head and he squeezed his eyes together as tight as he could, desperately trying to force breath into his lungs. Desperately trying to make sense of what he just saw.

''This can't be real'', he whispered to himself, rubbing the palms of his hands across his eyes. ''I'm going crazy. This isn't real. Wake up, man! Wake up!''. His voice echoed loudly through the air as he yelled it.

He knew he was in trouble. His heart was racing in his chest, he was short on breath and he began to saw patches of black. Rose. It was her. Undoubtedly, unmistakenly her. But it couldn't be! HOW could it be her?! He'd searched for her. She never made it to New York. She never made it onto the goddamn Carpathia!

''FUCK!'', he roared, slamming his hands against his forehead. ''Wake UP, man! Wake up!''.

He repeated it time and time again until finally – his lungs accepted the air he so desperately tried to force in. It took a few more seconds for him to be able to open his eyes and though it helped – his hands still trembled. Almost immediately, he noticed a small, black and white poster hanging on the stone wall of the theatre.

It was her.

She looked straight at him – her curls kept together by a ribbon, her lips painted. She sat on a chair, her legs pulled up next to her, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. In her other hand, she held a single rose. She smiled at him.

Then, Jay noticed the letters beneath her picture.

''Rose Dawson'', he whispered.

Dawson.

Slowly, Jay forced himself to get up on his feet. He stumbled towards the pamphlet and reached out for it, afraid that if he were to touch it – it would disappear right beneath his fingers. But it was her. Rose. Her eyes, looking straight into his. Open. Alive. Kind. And her lips.. oh, her lips. A feeling came across Jay. It was something that he hadn't felt for a very, very long time. It was the same feeling he'd felt when he realized she hadn't made it onto the RMS Carpathia. His chest felt as if it were filled with rocks, his heart felt heavy and his throat felt sore. Suddenly, he felt something wet roll across his jaw – and then he broke down.

Right there in that cold, dark alleyway, the rich, well-respected Jay Gatsby shattered into a thousand little pieces. He ripped the pamphlet from the wall and let out a cry of desperation, sliding back along the wall, falling onto the stone pavement. Tears rolled from his eyes and with every excruciating breath he took, a cry followed – the likes of which could have broken even the toughest man's heart.