Part XV: Heavy in Your Arms
"...I'm so heavy, heavy
Heavy in your arms
I'm so heavy, heavy
Heavy in your arms
And is it worth the wait
All this killing time?
Are you strong enough to stand
Protecting both your heart and mine?
Who is the betrayer?
Who's the killer in the crowd?
The one who creeps in corridors
And doesn't make a sound
My love has concrete feet
My love's an iron ball
Wrapped around your ankles
Over the waterfall..."
"Heavy In Your Arms" - Florence + the Machine
Sunday
July 1, 1923
Pacing the hallway outside Gatsby's bedroom door, Rebecca waited anxiously with Wolfsheim. The party had long since ended and the staff had taken care of the guests, but Rebecca couldn't bring herself to come away from the door. Her parents, Nick, Elizabeth…they had all left the party in ignorance of what had transpired in her dressing room. Mr. and Mrs. Carraway were probably already on their way to Gatsby's countryside estate in Westchester County. The beaming groom and blushing bride were far happier without the knowledge of Ares' attempted murder.
For the past few hours, silence had been the only thing keeping her and Wolfsheim company in the lonely house as servants below worked quickly to straighten the house under both Mr. Crawley and her housekeeper's watchful eyes. Wolfsheim's surgeon was with her husband and Rebecca could only silently pray that Gatsby lived. She wasn't ready to become a widow. At twenty-three, she wanted to live life and take in the breath of fresh air that Gatsby had given her in the past few days. There were things she wanted to tell him and if he died, Rebecca knew she'd spend the rest of life regretting the words she never spoke to him.
Just as she was about to take another turn in the hall, Wolfsheim grabbed her elbow gently and looked at her with worried eyes. The same tiredness she felt in her bones was visible in his eyes and he frowned slightly. She knew that even though she'd changed clothing and had washed Gatsby's blood away, she was still a mess.
"Sit down, darling," Meyer pleaded with her softly. "You're going to exhaust yourself and become ill. Jay wouldn't want you to do that."
Looking at Wolfsheim, Rebecca barely felt herself being guided to a chair that seemed to appear out of nowhere. A tray of tea also arrived without her knowledge and she accepted the warm cup that Wolfsheim pressed into her hands. His words about Gatsby not wanting her to make herself ill rang true, somehow. With the way Jay had been acting for weeks, Rebecca could easily imagine the uproar he'd cause if he could see how tired and strained she felt and looked.
"What if he doesn't make it?" she whispered brokenly, looking up at Wolfsheim. "What if he...dies?"
"Don't think like that," he whispered back to her. "Jay is strong. He'll pull through, I know it."
"What if he doesn't? What if he…"
"If he dies, you will be taken care of Rebecca. Jay made provisions in his will. I saw the document weeks ago when he had it drawn up again and changed. In the event that he dies before you do, Jay made sure that all his income and fortune goes to you and any children you share with him. Besides, you know that I would never leave you destitute in the streets. I would never allow that to happen," Wolfsheim told her firmly as he took one of her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over the back of her chilled hand. "You will never have to fear poverty. I won't let that happen. You have my promise."
"I don't fear poverty," she said brokenly. "All I want is—"
The door to Gatsby's room opened without warning and the doctor Wolfsheim had summoned stepped out into the hall. Had it not been for the maid standing nearby and quickly claiming the tea cup in her hands, Rebecca was sure the cup would have shattered on the ground as she stood up quickly and looked at the man anxiously.
"How is he?" she nearly begged the doctor as Wolfsheim's hands steadied her on her feet. "Please, tell me, is he alright?"
"Come with me," the older doctor slipped his glasses off and rubbed his brow as he turned back to Gatsby's door. Quickly fallowing the man, Rebecca barely took in her surroundings as she stepped into the one room in the house she'd always dared not to enter. In the back of her mind, she registered that the entire room had changed since the night of her disastrous proposition to Gatsby of the consummate their marriage. The furniture had been changed as well as many other things including the window treatments and rugs. There was one thing that hadn't changed and it was the large four poster against the wall opposite the French doors leading to a balcony and the two small nightstands on either side it.
All her thoughts slipped away as she easily spotted Gatsby lying on the large bed with a pillow beneath his head and sheets tucked around his waist. Gatsby looked so weak and frail in the sheets that Rebecca could almost believe that the bed would grow a mouth and swallow him whole. Rushing to Gatsby's side, Rebecca perched down next to him and covered her mouth with her hand as she looked over his still form. His skin was pale and a sweat covered his body as his bare chest rose and fell with each shallow breath he took. A large bandage covered his side and the crisp white sheets he was laying in were obviously newly applied. The sheets and blanket covered him until just above his navel. In the back recess of her mind, Rebecca registered that it was the first time she'd ever seen Gatsby without clothing on. Just as quickly as the thought came, it floated away as a nurse walked past her carrying a wooden basket. Rebecca could easily see the dark red stains against the crisp white sheets and she felt any hope that had been barely living inside her heart drain away. There was so much blood that she felt faint as the woman walked towards the valet door in the other room. Wolfsheim grabbed hold of her arm to prevent her from falling from the bed as she turned to look back at Gatsby. He must have seen the sheets because he turned her body away from the nurse and held onto her shoulders loosely.
"Will he be alright?" she asked the surgeon in a shaky voice as she reached for Gatsby's hand. Rough and yet somewhat smooth, she traced each of his knuckles with her shaking fingertips.
"I can't say anything for sure," Doctor Weston murmured. "A fever has already set in and I've done everything I can to minimize the chances of infection. If he makes it through tonight and pulls through tomorrow, Mr. Gatsby might very well live. Beyond that, however, I can't make an accurate predictions about the future, ma'am. I've done everything I could do. Now, we must wait."
A sob formed in her throat, but Rebecca swallowed it back. She refused to cry in front of anyone especially this new, unknown surgeon that she was placing so much blind faith in. The sounds of Wolfsheim and Weston's voices faded from her hearing as Rebecca looked down at her nearly lifeless husband. There had once been a time in her life where she had silently prayed Gatsby would meet a tragic end. She'd never meant it and now, Rebecca couldn't help the feeling that maybe she'd caused his accident.
If she'd never thought about Jay getting hurt, none of the events that had landed them in their current situation would have happened. Swallowing back her tears again, Rebecca shook her head. It was impossible that her thoughts had caused what had happened. Thoughts weren't actions and she wasn't responsible. She hadn't been the one to pull the trigger and shoot Gatsby. Ares Patrick had pulled the trigger and she had no idea what had become of the man. Wolfsheim's men had dragged the Southern bastard off. Her imagination could only conjure up what had happened and nothing she conjured up was pleasant. Her train of thought was broken by a squeeze on her shoulder. Looking up, Rebecca's eyes met Wolfsheim's and he gave her a sad smile.
"Doctor Weston and I are going to step outside," Wolfsheim said softly. "I'll be back. Is there anything you need?"
Shaking her head and turning back to Gatsby, Rebecca let a tear escape and fall down her cheek as she listened to Wolfsheim and the doctor leave the room. Watching the man she'd always loved, Rebecca couldn't hold back the silent tears as they fell.
She'd spent days and months convincing herself that she'd never loved Gatsby. Over and over again in her mind, she'd told herself that she'd never been in love with Gatsby. Everything had been an illusion and she didn't care for him. In Matthew, Rebecca had found reprieve from the storm and for months, she'd told herself that Matthew could show her true love. He could show her a love that Gatsby could not and never would show her. At the time, her mind had succeeded in beating her heart. The lies she'd told herself had eased the pain and suffering. It had made life bearable and filled her life with some joy. However, at the end of the day, the things she'd told herself had been exactly what they were all along.
Lies.
Watching Jay struggle, even for one breath, made her see the truth. She'd loved Jay Gatsby all along and in a single second, Rebecca felt all the walls she'd been building up tumble away. Running her fingers gently through Gatsby's hair, Rebecca couldn't help the sob that nearly escaped her. The Jay Gatsby that she'd fallen in love with had slowly been coming back to her and she wasn't prepared to lose him, not when the powers above had given them both a second chance.
Thursday
July 5, 1923
Twisting the cloth filled with cool water, Rebecca gently dabbed the cloth against Gatsby's forehead. Alone with Gatsby, Rebecca dimmed the lamp next to the bed before soaking the cloth back in the cool water. Twisting the cloth again, she gently ran the cloth from his shoulder to his wrist. Any other time, Rebecca was sure she would have been fascinated by just the touch of Gatsby's skin. There was a birth mark just below his collar bone that she'd never seen before and a part of her ached to someday discover more of him. It was impossible to deny that she desire Gatsby because she'd always desperately desire him. A flame of passion had long since been ignited in her and even thought Ares had tried, he hadn't smothered the flames that burned beneath the surface.
Despite her desire, Rebecca knew that any chance of ever experiencing those desires was dwindling. It had been three days and there was no change in Gatsby's condition. He was still feverish and Rebecca was losing hope as each minute ticked by. She wanted to be hopeful, but it was hard to feel hopeful when those closest to her always left. Matthew's soft voice drifted in her head telling her to have a faith. As quick as the thought had come, Rebecca pushed it out of her mind. Matthew was the last person she wanted to think of in that moment. Just thinking about the man as she sat at her feverish husband's bedside felt wrong.
The whole situation felt wrong.
Putting the cloth down into the water bowl and standing, a sickening feeling began in Rebecca's stomach as she walked over to the opened French glass doors that led to Gatsby's balcony and the gardens below. A soft breeze came off the bay as she stared out the glittering blue water under the night sky. The outside was so joyous and peaceful that it seemed to be a tortuous irony that the last few days had been so lovely. Without a doubt in her mind, Rebecca knew that Jay would have gone driving. He would have taken his custom yellow car out on the Fourth of July and he probably would have taken her like he had been playfully threatening to do. His car had always made her nervous, but Rebecca couldn't help herself as she wondered if Gatsby would have made good on his threat to take her with him. The thought of driving in the countryside with Gatsby brought a sad smile to her face because she was sure that she would have liked it. He could tease her and push her, but Rebecca knew Gatsby wouldn't force into doing anything she didn't want to do.
Turning back and looking at Gatsby, Rebecca felt the familiar butterflies come alive in her stomach. She'd only truly admitted to herself that she'd loved him and once she'd let the love she felt for him come alive inside her, no part of her was spared. She could feel her love for him engulf every part of her to the point where Rebecca was both amazed and petrified of the feeling. It amazed her that she could ever feel so deeply for anyone, but it also scared her more than anything because she was afraid that Gatsby wouldn't feel the same way she felt. For the past few days, her mind and heart had been engaged in a fierce battle of wills as she pondered the truth about Gatsby's own feelings towards her.
Could he love her in anyway?
Walking back to his bedside and sinking down onto the edge next to him, Rebecca clutched Gatsby's hand in hers. He'd stepped in front of her and took a bullet without a second thought. It didn't matter to him that Ares had been pointing a gun at her, Jay had stepped in front of her. He'd done it with no reservations and Rebecca desperately wanted him to open his eyes. She wanted to look in his eyes and know that he was alright. Brushing her thumb over his knuckles, Rebecca couldn't help, but smile bitterly.
God seemed to be so cruel. She hadn't always believed that God had been cruel, but she wasn't left with any other belief. How could love ever be true and unconditional like Matthew had once told her it could be? It would be her fate that Gatsby didn't love her like she loved him. All the men in her life always made grand gestures, but rarely was there ever true love or any kind of emotion behind the gesture besides greed and desire.
Rebecca could remember the first time she'd ever seen 'love' at work. At barely eleven, she'd been a young girl the first time she'd caught her father having an affair. Stuck in the transition between being a girl and a young woman, she hadn't been sure what had happened that night, but she knew that it had been the first night she'd seen what happened between adults. The summer had been hot and the air had been so damp. She'd only snuck out of bed to go walking and stopped when she'd heard giggling. The nanny had put all three of the children to bed early because of her parents' annual summer ball. Together with Mary, Rebecca had watched the women arrive from the window in the nursery before being put to bed. Hours later, she'd snuck out and had stumbled upon her father and another woman in his study kissing passionately. From the darkened hallway, Rebecca had watched her father touch the woman and murmur to her over and over again how he loved her.
She'd heard her mother and father murmur to her and her sisters that they loved them, but it had been the first time Rebecca had ever heard it from her father to another woman. Before she could see or hear anything else that night, her nanny had grabbed her harshly and Rebecca had received the beating of her life. She'd barely been able to sit for the next few days afterwards. Fear of her own father knowing she'd been watching him had kept Rebecca silent about Nanny Sarah's abuse. From that night on, Rebecca was sure she'd become a woman. Childhood had been left behind that night and she could never forget what she'd witnessed. The image of her father with another woman besides her mother had haunted her for many nights and even though she cared for Edward Harper, Rebecca questioned if she'd ever truly loved the man. She questioned if anyone in her family had ever truly understood what it meant to love another person.
Her father loved whatever brand of women was his fancy for the week and her mother loved whatever material possession gave her the comfort and emotional care that she needed in the moment. Never in all her years had she ever heard her father or mother tell each other that they felt anything akin to love for each other. Years had passed after that fateful night and Rebecca had watched as her family had continued to 'love' their comforts.
While he doted on his daughters, Edward Harper also incited fury and fear. His temper was violent, fierce and Rebecca had lived in fear of ever feeling its wrath. She'd only seen her father's temper in person once and it had been the night he'd thrown Mary out of Harper House. All Rebecca had wanted to do was to scream that Edward and Katherine were nothing but hypocrites, but fear had kept her silent. How could they turn their backs so quickly on the little girl they had once claimed to love?
The fear of her mother's harsh words and her father's temper had stopped her from calling them both out for their faults that night. Fear was the only thing Rebecca was sure she'd known growing up with Edward and Katherine. Yes, there had been brief moments of happiness in her childhood, but most of it was clouded by fear and never had she felt the feeling of love from either parent. Love wasn't something Edward and Katherine Harper ever made her feel. It was a word they said, but she'd never experienced from them.
In many ways, Rebecca both hated and envied Mary. Mary hadn't let fear control her. She'd lived her life how she'd wanted and even though her life had been short and tragic, Mary had lived far better than she had. Looking over her shoulder, Rebecca stared out at the blinking green light in the distance. The light gave the room an eerie glow that reminded Rebecca of Mary. Mary's eyes had been a greenish color and Rebecca couldn't help but wonder about Thomas.
Was Mary's son happy?
Was he as sweet and charming as Mary had been as a baby?
Or did Thomas take after Tom Buchanan?
Gripping the bed sheets at the mere idea of Buchanan, Rebecca felt a chill pass through her body. Tom Buchanan, Ares Patrick, and her father were the worst sort of men. They lied, used, and abused to get what they wanted. In their own minds, they were Gods and nothing would ever stop them. There was nothing that was unachievable to them. They used up good people until there was nothing left of that person and then they moved on to their next unsuspecting victim.
Buchanan had practically sucked the will to live out of Mary and Rebecca knew that no matter what, no punishment was good enough for him. To her, it was as if Tom pulled the figurative gun himself that killed Mary. She blamed him and nothing would change her belief in his guilt. She also blamed Edward Harper for Mary's death. Weren't fathers supposed to protect their children? Love them? Encourage them? Keep them safe? Edward hadn't done that at all. There was nothing in his actions that ever suggested he'd loved Mary.
In reality, Mary's life had shown Rebecca the truth about the men around her and she wondered if that was the deep root of her fears. Mary had unintentionally showed her how men used women for their own means and it scared her. Rebecca's own experience had also shown her that same truth about the men in her life. What Ares had done to her hadn't ever been about love. An act that Matthew had once shown her to be about nothing but love and respect had been twisted around into her worst living nightmare. Nothing she ever did would erase the horrible nightmare that Ares had brought to life in a few short hours. He'd left her broken and damaged while he moved on. He told her over and over again how he'd loved her during the time he'd been with her. Just hearing the word from his lips had left a pit in her stomach. Nothing about what Ares had done had been out of love. Rebecca doubted that Ares even knew what love was.
The Edward Harper, Tom Buchanan and Ares Patrick's of the world abused the word 'love'. They knew nothing about the word or the emotion. In her mind, they were incapable of feeling the emotion. How could a man like Tom Buchanan claim to love a woman after the way he'd treated another person? How could he claim to anyone that he 'loved' his daughter after turning his back on his own son? Love was an overused term that meant nothing anymore to anyone. The definition was gone and it was simply now an adjective to describe self-seeking and self-satisfaction in the highest degree.
While the world seemed cold, Rebecca also knew that it wasn't completely full of men like Buchanan, Harper and Patrick. Out in the far corners of the world, spread far and few, were men like Matthew. There were men who cared and understood that love wasn't a way to manipulate and abuse people for their own greed and satisfaction. Matthew had shown her the light in the darkness and she would forever be grateful to him because he brought the firm belief in her heart that Gatsby wasn't like the Tom Buchanan's of the world. If anything, Matthew had somehow proven to her that Gatsby was simply lost and misguided into believing himself in love with a woman who made Ares Patrick look like a tamed, lovable kitten.
In short, love was a dangerous game that Rebecca wasn't sure she wanted to play, but knew she needed to engage in. Closing her eyes and turning back to look at Gatsby, she fought back the tears that seemed to be forever present in her eyes.
Could Gatsby love her in anyway?
Could he love a damaged, broken woman like her?
A small voice in the back of her head answered that Gatsby had already proved that he loved by one simple action. He'd stepped in front of her the moment he'd stepped in the room and had seen Ares waving his gun around like a crazed mad man. Jay had to have known that Ares would have fired that gun. A man as crazed as Ares Patrick didn't make threats that he had no intention of keeping. The moment Ares had pointed the gun at her, Rebecca had been sure that Ares was prepared to fire it. So, why had Gatsby stepped in front of a bullet for her?
Her heart whispered to her that it was because he loved her. He loved her enough to end his own life without a second thought if it meant she was about to live. Sinking back into the comfortable chair next to the bed, Rebecca rubbed her forehead as her other hand never let go of Jay's. Everything felt confusing around her. Her mind swirled with unanswered questions and she desperately wanted answers to them. She wanted, no, needed for Jay to wake up. She needed him like a fire needed air to burn. He could mistreat her all he pleased, it didn't matter.
All she wanted was for him to wake up.
All she wanted to do was tell him that she loved him and she hoped he could someday return her feelings. Rebecca wasn't sure she could suffer anymore heartbreak if he couldn't return her love. Not even Matthew could save her from the misery that would suffocate her should the only real love she'd ever felt for another human being be crushed for a second time.
Wolfsheim looked down at Ares Patrick in disgust. Tied down to an uncomfortable bed in Gatsby's car garage, Wolfsheim watched as Weston checked on Ares' bandages. The man gave a groan as Weston prodded around and Wolfsheim couldn't help but feel some satisfaction knowing that they'd deprived the son of a bitch of any kind of painkiller.
"He's healing up well," the doctor pronounced in a somber voice.
Not saying a word, Wolfsheim stalked around the garage like a caged animal. The urge to kill Ares Patrick was overwhelming, but he resisted it. Men like Patrick didn't deserve to be alive in Wolfsheim's book, but he was leaving the pleasure to Gatsby. God only knew that his business partner and almost brother had the right to end the despicable human being currently being kept alive in the garage.
"Dare I ask why I should even bother keeping this man?" Weston asked grimly.
Looking at the man who had been his long time surgeon, Wolfsheim shook his head as he slipped his pocket watch out of his vest. Checking the time and replacing the watch, Wolfsheim smiled at the surgeon.
"Everyone's mothers and daughters, nieces, cousins…everyone will sleep better at night," he said softly. "All I need from you, Weston, is to make sure this man is healthy enough to be transported out of Gatsby's garage. God only knows the fit Mrs. Gatsby would have if she found out we were keeping this man here. You wouldn't want to upset a woman in a delicate state like hers, would you?"
Wolfsheim didn't say anything else, but he knew that the doctor understood his meaning. The man nodded and closed his leather bag.
"He is healing fine and he'd probably survive a car ride. A few more days and he'll be up and walking like there never was a bullet in his shoulder. Call me when you need me," Weston sighed. "I'm going to go check on Mr. Gatsby and encourage Mrs. Gatsby to get some rest."
"I will be up in a moment to help settle, Mrs. Gatsby," Wolfsheim replied as he watched Weston leave before nodded at his second-in-command. The doctor's confirmation that their new prisoner was healing up just fine was all he needed to hear. Letting his man handle it, Wolfsheim left the garage as two burly men stepped up and forced Ares into the trunk of a car. Once moved to a different location, Wolfsheim's plan was to have his second-in-command keep the Southern bastard alive, but just enough so that Gatsby could have the pleasure of sweetly ending Ares' life. Wolfsheim had come to think of Rebecca as his own sister and Gatsby as his brother. They were family to him and he would be damned if he saw Ares Patrick hurt anyone in his family or anyone else's.
Ares' life was about to become more miserable than it ever had been and by the time Gatsby was fully healed and ready to pay a visit, Ares would be begging for Jay Gatsby to be a merciful man and end his miserable, pathetic existence. Soon, Ares would be nothing more than a dark chapter and horrible nightmare to everyone. As time passed, all traces of Ares would fade from everyone's memories like a forgotten book wasting away on shelf.
Sunday
July 7, 1923
The morning sun shown into Gatsby's room and the birds chirped happily outside the opened French doors.
The slight breeze from the bay blew the near translucent white window treatments around as the fresh smell of summer flower permeated the air. It was as if nature was completely oblivious to Gatsby's own personal struggles, Rebecca reflected wearily as she sat on the bed next to next holding his hand. With her legs tucked under her and her heeled shoes kicked off on the floor, she sat next to him trying not to lose hope. Having grown tired of the chairs, Rebecca had moved to sit next to him in the hopes that maybe if she was closer to him, somehow he'd get better. She was refusing to see anyone who came to the door and for the most part, Wolfsheim had kept the shooting out of the papers. Rebecca didn't know who he had to bribe, threaten, or pay off. All she knew was that she was very grateful that no word of the accident had reached the papers.
"With thee conversing I forget all time, all seasons and their change, all please alike," she murmured softly as the words crossed her mind. "Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet. With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun when first on this delightful land he spreads his orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth after soft showers; and sweet the coming on."
Holding Gatsby's hand in hers, Rebecca tried not to grasp it too tightly as she continued, "Of grateful evening mild, then silent night with this her solemn bird and this fair moon, and these the gems of heav'n, her starry train: but neither breath of morn when she ascends with charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun on this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, glistring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night with this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, or glittering starlight without thee is sweet."
Finishing softly, Rebecca let her eyes trace over Gatsby form. His figure still appeared to be thin and frail. His dark blonde lashes brushed against his skin and his lips were parted slightly. Still pale, Rebecca couldn't help but brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Even looking sickly, Gatsby was still handsome. Letting her fingers trace his face, Rebecca nearly jumped when Gatsby's eyes flickered in response to her touch.
"Milton," he murmured softly.
The feeling of his hand adding slight pressure to hers cause her heart to pound in her chest as she looked at him with hopeful eyes.
"Jay," she called softly, "Can you hear me?"
Gatsby slowly opened his eyes and blinked tiredly at her. His normally vibrant blue eyes appeared dull in color and even though he'd been asleep for days, Gatsby looked exhausted.
"Milton, you're reciting Milton's Paradise Lost."
His voice sounded harsh and foreign to her, but Rebecca couldn't help the smile that graced her lips at hearing him call her name.
"Yes," she told him softly. "Everything is going to be alright, I promise."
A weak smile graced his lips, "I know."
It took all Rebecca's strength to tear herself away from Gatsby's side. Not caring that her feet were bare, she raced to the door and nearly threw it open. Wolfsheim stood on the other side of the door with his fist raised and poised to knock on the door.
"He's awake!" Rebecca breathed. "Jay is awake. Get the doctor, quickly!"
