The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 31: Whoever Said That Gay Meant Happy Lied

Author's Note: So yeah, I'm a little bit of a shitty author. I'm terribly sorry for not updating for a month. I hope you guys didn't die from anticipation!

Alrighty, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 31: Whoever Said That Gay Meant Happy Lied

"He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Chance

"I'm sorry."

The words were so small as they left the boy's lips; slipping into the air in little less than a hushed breath and threatening to dissipate as fast as they appeared. But they remained; soft and definite.

Something within me wanted so hard to believe - to believe the words that spilled from the boy's lips.

But I couldn't.

Because they weren't true.

I could feel my own naïvety calling out. What if he really means it? What if he's really sorry?

But before I could fall for my own optimistic enthrallment, I stomped it out; refusing to let the thought drive my hopes. I was sick of trying to see the good in everything and the good in everyone.

Because with some people, it's just not there.

Maybe people are born with that spark of light within them, with the power to grow and to consume. But they are also born with the darkness that encompasses everyone's conscious.

And though the light may be radiant and luminous, the lull of the dark is excruciating and hard to fight.

Callaway was born with so much darkness within him and he didn't even try to fight it; he let it ravage him, eating up very bit of light that he had ever possessed. He let the oblivion consume him.

And the light that had once shined so brightly within him - what had lulled me to him - seemed to be gone. And now all that was left was the porcelain carcass of a boy I thought I knew - a boy who hid behind a hushed whisper of an empty "I'm sorry."

And I refused to let his darkness consume my blazing light.

So I watched him leave, letting myself feel that pang of hope, before exchanging it for a different emotion. I looked at the empty spot where the drunk Callaway had stood with mustered indifference. I let the feigned indifference consume me, hoping it would drown out all else. I made myself pretend I didn't care before turning back to the class.

Behind the mask of indifference, I let the accumulating anger, sadness, heartbreak and fear collide within my chest. The emotions clashed and fizzled as they ascended into something bigger; brighter. Separately, the feelings were useless and dangerous, but together they induced a stagnant burst of adrenaline. And through it all, I felt determined.

So I sucked in a profound breath, letting the air fill me and propel my mind.

And I gave the most kickass presentation I could muster.

I talked; enthusiastic and only glancing down every so often at the written presentation. I got looks - glares -  when I proceeded with the topic of homosexuality, but I didn't care; I trekked on in what was, most likely, my social destruction with a flippant confidence. I spoke of hidden meanings, subtle hints, significant symbols and 'obvious' tells that F. Scott Fitzgerald had surely intended. I waxed poetry about green lights, extravagant parties and striving for riches; about loss, unrequited love and death.