His fingers are always moving, now, always tapping a steady rhythm against his damp chest as though there lies the faint belief that he's needed to beat his heart after that terrifying frozen moment in which it had stopped. It seems a lifetime ago that he had first taken Miss Baker aside, but then, it was. Jay Gatsby stands split between two lives; this one and the one before, and nothing to tie them together but the invariable moment of his death.
The water had cleansed him of a prior life, but Gatsby still wears all the sins of his past. "I'm sure we'll be able to persuade someone into some charity, Miss Baker," he says, his optimism sounding hollow to his own ears. He wonders what she must think of him, now, after everything. He wonders how uncharitable it is compared to the legions of rumors that had swirled around him like a tornado borne of bad tales. "How is it you came to be here?" he asks, fighting off a chill that struggles to take hold.
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Date: 2013-11-22 12:52 am (UTC)The water had cleansed him of a prior life, but Gatsby still wears all the sins of his past. "I'm sure we'll be able to persuade someone into some charity, Miss Baker," he says, his optimism sounding hollow to his own ears. He wonders what she must think of him, now, after everything. He wonders how uncharitable it is compared to the legions of rumors that had swirled around him like a tornado borne of bad tales. "How is it you came to be here?" he asks, fighting off a chill that struggles to take hold.