"I struggleto believe that you're a man with monstrous tendencies," I said as I fell onto Gatsby's bed. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of his sheets. They smelled of so inherently him, I could live here.
I would, one day, I realized.
Somehow, we'd figure it out. Max and his idea of a happy little wife and family be damned.
I peeked one eye open and tilted my head up. Gatsby stood, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching me.
"You think I'm an innocent man?" he asked.
"I know you are. It wasn't you that killed Jessica. It was me. Gatsby, you went to jail for me. You took the fall for what I did." My words came out rushed, the horrible memories of that time in my life returning with such a strong force that tears came to my eyes in an instant.
"No, I know. The other stuff. What they said I did to her afterward. I never asked you what you thought." Slowly, keeping his hands in his pockets, he sauntered over.
"You told me not to believe them." I shook my head.
"And did you listen?" He reached me and bent over, placing his arms on either side of me. "Because I told you to do a few things, and you seemed to forget those requests." His hand found mine, and he lifted it, fingering the ring on my finger. Guilt turned my stomach.
"I never once thought you did what they said," I said firmly.
"Why not?" He tilted his head. His green eyes bore into mine. A cold chill ran through me. What was going on?
"Gatsby, you're scaring me.”
"Good." His lip curled in a snarl, and I found myself terrified but aroused. He leaned forward and tugged my lower lip with his teeth. He dragged it until his teeth dropped off. "I like it when you're scared. You come harder."
"What?" I squeaked. He pulled away, went to a nearby desk, and took out a sharp letter opener. My stomach tightened.
"Daisy, what if I told you I did eat that woman?" He returned to me, knife in hand, and pressed it to my chin. He urged me down, as silent tears began to slide down my face. This wasn't the Gatsby I knew. This was more like Jekyll and Hyde. What had come over him? He pushed me down, leading me with the knife poking into my skin. He moved over me, enveloping me with his body.
"What would you do if I confessed that it was all true? That after you left, I dragged her body into the kitchen and tossed her onto the counter, where I hacked her to pieces and cooked her?" He traced the knife down my bare skin. It stung, like a pinch, as he went.
"Would you allow me to touch you still?"
I shook my head, my tears stinging hot on my cheeks. "What are you saying?"
"I asked you a question." He lifted the fabric on my bust, and before I could respond, he stabbed the small knifethrough it, cutting it. I let out a small shriek as he cut my dress and began to tear it off me. "If I was a cannibal, would you still love me?"
"I-I don't know how to reply to that. Are you telling me you are?" I tried to roll from his grasp, but he was strong and held firm to me. He hacked at my dress until it fell in scraps onto the bed, leaving me exposed in only my bra and underwear.
“Maybe cannibalism has its perks,” he said as his tongue ran down my skin. I shivered and closed my eyes. This wasn't happening. Or was it, and I liked it? He was right, being scared was making me...
"You're so wet right now, I can smell your cunt, Daisy. I think I'm going to have a little taste. Do you think cannibals eat pussy better than everyone else?" He cut my panties off, and I tried to fight to keep my legs closed, but he was stronger than me and pushed them open. He moved me further onto the bed and sat back, sliding his tuxedo jacket off.
"Let me ravish you, and you can tell me later how I compare to the men who've had the pleasure of your pussy while I was away."
When I tried to argue against him, he brought the knife back to my chin and directed me to lay back on his pillows. I closed my eyes and tried not to shake from the tears as he moved between my legs and pushed my lips apart.
"You're crying, but you're soaked. What are you scared of, Daisy? Are you afraid that what they said about me is true? Or are you afraid that if they are, you won't give a fuck because of how hard I make you come?"
The second one.
His tongue made contact with my slick center, and I flinched. I was sinking, drowning in all that was Gatsby. But this didn't feel like him. No, this felt like... Emile, the boyso damaged he couldn't even tell me, his only confidant, the pain he'd endured at home. Emile, the boy who was so scared of whatever was going on, he changed his name to Gatsby and never looked back.
It wasn't Gatsby between my legs right now.
It was Emile.
And for that, I cried. What pain he had to have gone through to create such a monster. A man so calm, collected, determined to get his green light, he'd do anything, even accept a reputation as a cannibal to see his dreams come to fruition.
