Author's Note: Here it is and here we are: the last chapter. I'm so inexplicably grateful for all of you and I hope you all enjoy!
Chapter 35: The Climax: Porn or Plot?
"Can't repeat the past?" he cried incredulously. "Why of course you can!"
- F Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Chance
Expect the unexpected. That's what everyone tells you, as if it's some sort of genius piece of advice. As if they're not telling you to do something impossible. They tell you to be prepared for anything; to be ready for anything that life can throw at you.
And perhaps it is possible to be prepared for a variety of possibilities, but how can you be prepared for all of them?
How can you be prepared for the divorce of your parents?
How can you be prepared for the constant absence of your mother?
How can you be prepared for the harsh conditions of your lonely life?
How can you be prepared for anything?
The answer?
You can't.
You can't be prepared for everything. And you're incapable of expecting the unexpected. Because it's not unexpected if you expect it, is it?
Tragedies form in the midst of contentment, and contentment forms in the midst of tragedy. No one expects the moment their life will fall to ruin. No three year old can expect their mom to leave. And no seventeen year old can expect their boyfriend to lie to them. Yet it happens. Right when we least expect it to; right when our skin meets the welcoming warmth of a flame, is when we start to burn.
Expect the unexpected.
The term isn't about being prepared for everything. It's about not letting your guard down. It's about not letting the veil of confort cloud your reasoning. It's about constant awareness.
It's not about expecting the unexpected, but being prepared to deal with the unexpected.
So though I was in no way prepared for the words that left Callaway's lips, I wouldn't be clouded by them and I would deal with them.
But he loves me. He just said that he -
I clenched my fist.
But I don't know if it's the truth.
I walked towards the silhouette blindly, just as I walked through life.
"What did you just say?"
A dark head of curls turned toward me, frigid eyes becoming exposed.
"I love you, Cha."
I felt my heart race and my skin dampen with sweat. My body began to thrum with anxiety and my mind rushes with thought. But with all my willpower, I coerced my being into stilling.
"Why?"
The question was calm as it left my lips, using little more force than a breath.
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The Gay Gatsby
FanfictionWho in their right mind would ask a teenager to write a 4000 word essay on the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald anyway? To me, English class was simply the fine art of over analyzing very old pieces of literature. It was usually pretty easy for me to st...
