The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 7: Chance Cares Too Much and Callaway Swears Too Much

Author's Note: Yay I'm actually updating on time this week! This chapter is quite long and slow moving hope that's not too much of an issue for readers. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 7: Chance cares too much and Callaway swears too much

"It's a great advantage not to drink among hard drinking people."

      - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby 

Chance

Boy was I lucky; it seemed as if drunk Callaway was impossibly easier to deal with than sober Callaway.

You know, other than the fact that he loses around half of his brain capacity and almost his entire ability to correctly operate his body, but at least he was a tad less judgmental and robotic.

As I led him into the dim lighting of the bathroom, Callaway made some idiotic remark about how he thought alcohol was organic.

I couldn't help but bellow in laughter.

Callaway noticed my amusement at his expense and groaned loudly.

" Sorry, but I was just thinking about how you should drink a little before we work together so we could finally be on the same level of intelligence," I joked lightly, as I helped Callaway to sit himself down on the edge of the porcelain bathtub in the back of the bathroom.

I think I might have accidentally put pressure on his hand, because once I had finished speaking and helped him down, he frowned deeply.

As Callaway inattentively examined his hand from where he was seated, I took a moment to scan my surroundings. Similar to the entirety of the house, the bathroom was huge. From my place beside the bath, I could see a full length mirror the size of a small car, not double sinks, but quadruple sinks, as well as what looked like a large painting of some old guy from the Renaissance.

Overall, the place looked pretty damn classy and in my hand-me-down jeans and secondhand sweater, I felt a little underdressed.

Is that even possible? Can a bathroom make you feel underdressed? I even felt a little intimidated by the fancy designs that the toilet adorned.

Now that was sad.

As I marveled at the furnishing, I heard the low rumbling of, "Like what you see?"

I turned back towards Callaway and slowly the pieces started coming together.

My mouth gaped even wider.

"You- this is your house? " I stared at Callaway in shock.

Callaway visibly flinched.

Based on his reaction, I quickly averted my eyes and decided not to press him for answers, as it seemed I had offended him and if possible, I wanted to stay clear of ways to get him to hate me more.

He took a moment to look down at his injured hand in an obvious way, to prompt me into looking for the all-important first aid kit.

I began rummaging through the multiple cupboards, maneuvering my way through bottles of shampoo and nail polish remover. After a few tries, I found a cupboard filled with towels, behind was a first aid kit.

I then skillfully fished into the cabinet and successfully pulled out the kit.

With the newfound box in my hands, I began looking for the tweezers that would undoubtedly be needed for Callaway's hands.

"No."

I looked up from my search to see Callaway looking directly at me.

Callaway cleared his throat, "No, this isn't my house."