Sorrows and joys of Christmas

*This fanfic is underneath my folder titled “The Great Gatsby fanfics (Yes, you read that right)”. Gacha Club character designs are under this forum: https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/viewtopic.php?f=27&t=116005&start=1020. As the author note says, this is a fanfic of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s story “The Great Gatsby”, shipping two characters, Nick and Gatsby together. I hope you enjoy this fanfic, please read the original book, and Scary Creepmas!*

I bang the whiskey down at the table, flinching only a little bit when the glass cuts my skin. The glass hurts, but not as much as his absence.

Absence. As if he’ll be able to come back. The nights I spent lying awake at night, hoping that somebody would come to his funeral, that maybe Daisy might come, still echos throughout my mind. He was brighter than the green light he dreamed of being near and now that he’s gone, life has lost its luster.

I’m sitting on an armchair in my house. Well, it’s more of a mansion, but not as big as the Buchanans’, and not nearly as magnificent as his. I don’t think anything can be quite as beautiful as what he had.

I decorated the Christmas tree with tinsel and ornaments. The garland around it is gold, just like his dreams. I put Christmas holly and bows all around my mansion, yet still, I don’t feel that spark of joy. I don’t have enough words to explain the kind of blank coldness I feel now that he is gone. It’s been ten years since he died, but it still feels just like yesterday that he didn’t answer my call, just yesterday that he-the pool-Will it ever get any easier?

“Having a drink without me, old sport?”

I freeze. It sounds just like him, but it can’t be him. I saw his dead body. I visited his grave. And yet…

I turn around and there he is, standing by the living room door, his blond hair a bit messy with dirt, but still curling nicely, his blue eyes shining, and his smile as understanding as it was the day I first saw him.

Jay Gatsby, in my house.

“What-what are you doing here? What-aren’t you-didn’t you-“

“I did. But I got out. I’ve been lying low, waiting until the right time,” Gatsby says, walking towards me. Every step he makes is as if he’s on another plane of existence, apart of some other life. He’s glowing, more so than I ever seen him before. The crisp suit that he was buried in has stains on-red, blotchy stains. Was he out drinking?

“But how are you here? How did you find me?” I ask.

“Why do you ask all of the questions? Where is your sense of wonder? I woke up, I went out, then I came back to you. That’s why I came here. For you. You see, old sport, I was wrong.” Gatsby says, sitting down on the armchair next to mine. His blue eyes look sad, but now like how I’ve ever seen them before. It’s like he’s…upset with himself?

But Gatsby was never upset with himself before.

“I thought…I thought that Daisy would complete me. Ever since our time together, I thought that…that she was right. That she was the one. I dreamed of holding her in my arms, of giving her the whole world, because that was what I was meant to do, that I couldn’t be rich all by myself, that one day, she would realize how wrong she was about me and leave Tom, but then…but then you came along.”

I sit up a bit straighter. Does…does he mean that?

“You, who listened to me when no one else did, who stayed when you didn’t have to…I’ve been looking for love in Daisy, but I had it all right in front of me. I’m sorry I didn’t realize before, but…do you want to spend eternity with me, Nick?”

I don’t believe it. He’s said my name. He’s never called me by my name before. I’m not sure if he’s even here or if I’m just wasted, but I don’t think I care. He’s in my living room, he’s glowing more than I’ve ever seen him before and he just said that he loves me.

I nod, because I am at a loss of words on what to say and the stabbing pain of the glass is sinking deep, deep into my skin and Gatsby gets up from the chair, walking towards me, and-

He’s sitting on top of me, his face is moving towards my neck and now, I feel his teeth on my neck, biting me, sinking in so deep, drinking my blood like alcohol, holding me like he’s desperate for me to stay. Me. Me. Not Daisy, but me. He doesn’t want to let me go. He has me in his grip and he won’t let me go.

If this is a dream, then this is the best dream I’ve ever had. But I hope that this is real.