Soul Of Gatsby

Roses and Jack

[Here's a cover of the song (above) from this chapter]

I woke up early that morning and I felt the aching of my head, and I looked around what I assumed was my room, but found that it definitely was not. I look to my right and see Gatsby sleeping there, peacefully. My eyes widened as it all processed what happened last night. We were drunk, and it was all an accident and it won't happen again. I remembered the woman I was to marry back home, and I decided that maybe that was a waste of time still, but then I remembered that I had just laid with a man for the last six hours or so. I decided to ignore the million thoughts buzzing through my mind, and instead I lay back down and put my face to Gatsby's bare back. He still hadn't gotten dressed from the night before, other than his briefs that he had thrown on just after I got out of the shower. He looked at me then, and sat on the bed, asked me a few questions and fell asleep. I let those moments play over in my head. Those moments that burned in my lungs and made me want more. I sighed softly, keeping myself right up next to him. He was warm, and I liked the change of having a human next to me in my bed, and especially since it was him. It was a strange thought, really, having him next to me in bed.

I never thought a subtle movement could terrify me more than when Gatsby had stirred in his sleep, rolling over and sighing softly. He was facing me now, I could stare at his features. He was beautiful the more I thought about it. He had a face sculpted by angels and I couldn't tell if there was a single error or mistake, I could see no blemishes or marks. His soft, pink lips twisted into a little frown that proved he was still asleep. I reached out and pushed his hair out of his face. Even when he's sleeping, his hair and his lips, his nose, everything was so intricately carved by Gods. I wasn't paying attention to how much I was touching his face, tracing his glorious edges and curves, but it must have been enough to wake him because after a few moments he spoke up.

"You must really like my face if you're touching it like that."
I stopped, pulling my hand away hesitantly.
"I'm sorry, Gatsby, I didn't mean to wake you."
He finally opens his eyes again, his bright diamond eyes shine in the morning glare from his window.
"You know, I used to look out that window every morning and wish I could hold Daisy Buchanan. For some odd reason I feel something different this morning." He smiled through his tired eyes, though he said nothing, and didn't entirely smile.
"Well, I guess I understand. I feel very similar."
"You do? Huh."
"What?"
"I had imagined you. . .Weren't interested. The thoughts passed through my mind as you showered last night." He looks over at me, running his hand over the sheets ever so softly.
"Well, I suppose. . .My emotions have always been. . .There. They've existed internally, and I hadn't realized them until the other day."
"So, you're saying that maybe you'd like to. . .Spend an afternoon with me, or more. . . ?"
"Don't I already?"
"I suppose so. Well, why don't you come with me, I have something to show you."
"Right, well then lead the way, Gatsby." I say softly, still slightly tired.

I follow Gatsby through the halls of his house until we find ourselves down below the piano and Klipspringer takes one look at Gatsby and he starts playing a song, and soon enough there Gatsby is singing a song so familiar to me, yet I couldn't grasp what he was singing. Until it hit me what he had been singing.

"Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, Let me see what spring is like, on Jupiter and Mars,"
"Gatsby?"
"In other words: hold my hand, In other words: baby, kiss me,"
"Gatsby, what--"
"Fill my heart with song, and let me sing for ever more. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore,"
I stopped trying to interrupt him, and just let him sing, listening intently to his words.
"In other words: please, be true. In other words: I love you." He continues, and I listen intently until I'm sure he's done.

"That was quite beautiful, if I must be honest."
"It's all for you."
"Well, if its for me, then it must be important, huh?"
"What makes you say that?" He says with a little smirk.
"Well, everything you do is for a reason, isn't it?"
He thinks it over for a moment or so, twisting his ring around his finger.
"I suppose so, yes." He says softly as if he were still turning those words over in his head.
He then looked at me with a sudden unearthly amount of hope in his eyes, making me think he was possibly planning something. I knew of course that he would eventually tell me, but yet I stood there, thinking of all the 'what if's' it could be, not caring if he had planned to tell me or not. I had been thinking about it so hard that I nearly didn't hear him when he called my name.