It's been a while. School stuff... band concert's on Tuesday. And thank's so, so, so much for the reviews, Yuna Cifer! It means so much. A sardonic, condescending Nick would be fun. Though I was going to make Jordan somewhat like that later. And, yes, Gatsby is a bad-ass. Thank you for noticing. Here we go:
"What?" I asked him.
"Well, this. Everything," he replied.
"Okay."
"Daisy is going to leave Tom, I promise you that. The only thing is, I'm afraid of the aftermath. I'm afraid for Daisy, for myself, you and Jordan, and even Tom. You know what he's capable of, right, old sport?" I nodded. "He could do any number of things to me, or, worse yet, Daisy. I don't know what I'd do if he hurt her because of my actions. I wouldn't be able to live myself. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Alright."
"Now, there's one more thing. It's really important."
"What is it?"
"If anything happens to me, old sport, I need you to take care of Daisy for me. Can you do that?"
"Nothing's going to happen to you."
"I just want to make sure. If anything should happen to me, I want you to worry about Daisy, not me. Can you do that?"
"Of course," I replied, and Gatsby smiled. He started walking again, browsing the aisles for supplies.
"Nick," he said abruptly as we strolled down a long aisle stocked with first-aid supplies. "Thank you."
"What for?" I asked, piling packages of gauze into a basket we had picked up in the store's front.
"It looks like we're done," he said, waving his hand, smiling at the filled baskets.
"Alright," I said, and we started to the front.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I mean thank you for promising to look out for Daisy." He paused, and then added, "I love her." No, Really!? I wanted to shout. But that would be rude. So I only smiled and suppressed a chuckle.
"I'm well aware of that." We found Daisy and Tom at the front of the store, and, silently, we trudged back across the street, goring Biters with chair legs as we went along. It was quite a sight to see.
Later:
"I'm tired," Daisy complained, and we all turned to stare at her.
"Mm," Tom grumbled. "Corpses don't need sleep." We all gawked at him.
"What?" Gatsby asked, his head tilted.
"She's dead to me," Tom explained. "And so are you." Gatsby balled his fists, then opened them back up and sat on them. He was trying, at least, a greater display of self-control than any I'd ever seen from Tom.
"You're implying Daisy is dead?" George asked, breaking the silence. "And is my wife dead to you, too? I'd really quite like it if she were. Then maybe you could stop—"
"DON'T!" Tom shouted, enraged. "Don't say it!"
"Then maybe you could stop having an affair with her!" George roared in response, trembling, raising his voice to match Tom's. Once again, I was in the middle of an elaborate love… rhombus? No. Let's see… Daisy is married to Tom. She's having an affair with Gatsby. Tom is having an affair with Myrtle. Myrtle is married to George. So, a love pentagon? Whatever it is, I was trapped right in the middle of it, left only to stare at it, dumbfounded.
"Damn you!" Tom screamed. So George knew about Tom. How were we going to survive the Biters when we all hated each other?
"Yeah, I'm tired, too," Myrtle said suddenly. "What time is it?"
"The clocks aren't working," I said bluntly, wistfully.
"You're sure?" she replied, hoping, as I was, to draw out the nonsensical and awkward conversation as long as possible.
"Yes." Tom stood, strode swiftly into the corridor, and disappeared from sight. An agitated George followed, as well as Daisy, leaving me and Myrtle to talk about time while Jordan sat in a corner and watched.
"So, it's as if time were standing still?"
"Only it isn't"
"Oh, I see. Time goes on, but the clocks stop."
"And as time goes on, so do we."
"Uh-huh." The corridor door opened a bit.
"Old sport!" Gatsby said, sticking his head through the small and giving me an awkward grin. "Do you want to choose where you'll sleep?"
"Yes," I answered, and he threw the door open fully and walked casually into the lobby.
"Well, let's see… you could sleep with George and Myrtle. Or Tom and Daisy. Or Jordan and I." Jordan shot him an annoyed glance, and Gatsby snickered. "Tom's arrangements," he offered.
"I'd like to stay with you and Jordan," I said.
"Alright, old sport. Second door on the left. It's a bunch of desks. I moved some sofas from the lounge Daisy and Tom are sleeping in to the room, so we'll have something to sleep on. Just choose one when you're ready. I'll be sleeping if you need me. Don't worry about waking me," he said, and left.
"Time for bed!" Myrtle chirped, following shortly after Gatsby. Jordan and I exchanged a frustrated look. We both knew we'd eventually be locked out of the room; Gatsby would be doing something with someone. We just didn't know who, yet. Reluctantly, we followed.
The room was small. It held only a few desks, and the two sofas Gatsby had managed to haul in there. Much to our surprise, and delight, we found Gatsby asleep on the floor, curled up into himself, his jacket draped over him like a blanket and his tie lying on the floor beside him. He'd saved the couches for us. I took one happily, and Jordan made herself comfortable in the other. I made a mental note to thank Gatsby the next morning. The sofa was comfortable. It was warm and soft and cozy. I felt bad for Gatsby, lying there on the cold hard floor beneath one of the desks. Rolling my eyes and mentally laughing at myself, I shimmied out of my own coat and laid it on top of him. I'll get it back in the morning, I promised myself. But for now, it's the least I could do. I laid my head down on the cozy sofa and closed my eyes wearily. Jordan breathed softly elsewhere in the darkness, and as I slowly drifted off to sleep, I watched the rise and fall of Gatsby's steady breathing. It occurred to me that we might be rotating on and off the floor. I hoped, albeit rudely, that Gatsby slept there every night. And I wouldn't put it past him to offer to do so. Finally, I fell into a dreamless sleep, counting nonexistent sheep and imagining what the next day might have in store.