Let Me Occupy Your Mind [Natsby Fanfiction]

1.

Wonderful, gorgeous man. That was he. That was Gatsby.

I pondered on the fact that, out of a million people in this world, I happened to be the one in such a sufferable plight. So awful, yet, I yearned for it. So awful, yet, I craved the radiant presence of a man like him. In addition, men like me and men like Jay Gatsby don't get along often. Our worlds are too distant, too far apart from the moon and the sky and all the stars above. And while I search for a tribute to give the man of glittering skin and shining eyes; not even the most verbose writing could convey my sentiment. My patience dwindled as Gatsby spoke:

"Nick, I've commissioned a company in Staten Island to build me a cruise."

"Why so?"

If it were a guessing game, I would win the grand prize. Daisy was the only one for Gatsby. Meaning, I incited their adultery, my honesty would underpass this display of affection that a man and woman had for each other. Especially to Tom Buchanan- Daisy's husband. Frankly, I would care less either way; knowing that for Tom, he has had similar instances with several women at best. If there were a chart that listed all my strengths and weaknesses. Commitment would be something I lack immensely. In a far off state, in a far off land, there are letters I signed off with "Love, Nick" to a woman whom I plan to marry. Even so, I run and hide away from the possibility of that ever happening. For now, I favor myself to a man of many, remarkable feats.

In the midst, both Gatsby and I were seated at a table with Jordan Baker. I remember it being so difficult to stay seated near the sea of dancers nearly throwing me overboard. Jordan took amends to the bustling and continued conversation.

"Honestly, Jay, I could never imagine a single man doing such spectacles for one woman."

"Neither could I, until I met that one woman..."

Handed a martini, Gatsby sipped attentively. I watched, his eyes were made of blue zircon, I'm sure of it. He glowed, he illuminated the rooms he set foot in, even in a room this enticing. His skin, handsomely tanned and smooth. Those hands of his... they were of artisan's hands, crafted to perfection and of upmost care. With soft lips, he continued to drink. This is when patience ascended.

"...May I have a sip?"

"Sure, old sport."

To many, it would come across as platonic, but never to me. Never could I imagine that. Where I am hopeless romantic, eager to touch, to see, to smell the aura of Gatsby. Slender fingers met his, I delicately placed my mouth on the rim of the glass. Only for a moment, I closed my eyes, for I knew that the host was eyeing me. A gaze of curiosity was clear to both of us. My half lidded stare teased him even more. Gatsby's lips parted. For I knew what he needed: me.

As I moved away from glass. I sought another way to pleasure his instinct. Picking up the cocktail pick, I slipped the olive in between his lips. At this intimate moment, the rich man submitted to me. If I could relive to see his expression, I would. He, Gatsby, fluttered his eyes, and let me in to his mind. To think, at that moment, Jordan was keeping a watchful eye on us. This would be a core memory.

That night, I knew Daisy wasn't the only person occupying his mind.

     In the aftermath of it all, Gatsby contemplated. He would later admit how endearing the tension between him and I was. It would be never be admitted but he felt a magnetic urge to surround himself with my senses. A caress of the skin, a glint of my silhouette enticed him beyond Daisy herself.

     Feeling at ease was now his first achievement. Throbbing his heart out for a man, this could never reach the conformity he strived. The truth, was etched in stone. Gatsby's love for Daisy was mere obsession. A compulsive virtue to be attached to a woman, for that's all he knew to be normal. Anything further from that would cross fade into intolerable intrusion. But women were never a case of romance for this millionaire of West Egg. It had been men, it had been me.

     Most importantly, me: Nick Carraway.

That's when our meetings dwindled, Gatsby ignored my calls, my invitations, and cut off me entirely. As if nothing happened since the beginning. Jordan and Daisy had no comment on his whereabouts. Instead of an answer I would only get: "What happened between you two?" What a heart wrenching, eviscerating feeling.

Admittedly, I never understood his path of materialism for Daisy Buchanan. What had been his deal, anyway? Is he satisfied with leaving me in the dark? Feeling solemn, that's all what was left for me.

At any instance we happened to meet, I asked Gatsby why he thought it would be necessary to bring forth the topic of Daisy. Why would Gatsby pour cash into someone who wouldn't break a marriage off for him?

Spring had arrived, tulips blossomed in the front yard of my humble estate. In hues of purple, near a red violet shade, pinks and yellows were an addition to the bouquet garden. I wondered why some flowers were residing in thorns while some bathed in sunlight. The scent of rhubarb pie filled my home, a comforting reminder.

Gatsby rang. I answered.

"I'm doing get-together, old sport."

"Pardon?"

"Come by after work. Daisy, Jordan, and I are having a special occasion- I want you to tag along."