Chapter 54
Daisy
"Daisy." Gatsby's hands were on my shoulders, shaking me frantically. He leaned down to look me directly in the eyes. "Daisy, what happened?"
"I-I think I killed her." The words came from my mouth, but I wasn't here. My mind was back in my dressing room, with Lilly's dead body.
"Who? Daisy, are you hurt?"
I shook my head and stared out into the dark. The rain made it impossible to see past his stairs.
How did I get here?
"Let's get you inside. You can tell me everything in there." Gatsby's voice seemed so far away. Numbly, I let him lead me into his enormous home. We took the elevator instead of the stairs. "What happened?" he asked.
"I can't..." My chin trembled. I closed my eyes and crumpled to the floor. The doors opened, and he scooped me up. He tried to take me to the bathroom, but I fought him. I scrambled away from him and went to the bed, where I curled and sobbed.
I'd blacked out, but some things were coming to me. Foggy visions of Lilly and I in my dressing room came to me.
"Gatsby, or better known as Emile ‘make-a-meal-out-of-you’ Dumas, your man, is a monster."
"He was proven innocent."
"Maybe before, not now. Max found someone who told him what really goes on at those parties he throws. Did he not tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Gatsby came to lay with me. He wrapped his arms around me and let me cry. I closed my eyes tighter. Max was wrong about him. Not my Gatsby. It couldn't be true.
"He kidnaps people, spends a week tattooing them, writing their supposed crimes on them so that they'll forever be branded, and then you know what he does?"
"You're lying."
"He eats them."
It was late, and the rain had finally let up, when I opened my eyes and took in where I was.
I remembered scrambling out of the building and getting into the car. I remembered Gatsby shaking me. I remembered telling him I...
Slowly, I moved his arm off my body. He had fallen asleep holding me. I climbed out of bed and looked down. This wasn't the Gatsby Max claimed him to be. He couldn't be, could he?
Quietly, I moved around the room and paused when I saw his keys on a dresser. Carefully, I lifted them and left his sleeping quarters. I'd been with him enough times this summer, I was familiar with what key unlocked what, and I knew what key I needed now. I sorted it out of his keyring, and as if in a trance, I walked upstairs and to the only room he kept locked.
The key pushing the chambers to unlock the door seemed to echo through the hall, as if trying to alert someone to my presence here. I turned the knob and went inside, locking it from the inside. I couldn't bring myself to turn the lights on. I climbed onto the chair, lowering the back to lie down, and broke down again. I pulled my knees up and covered my face with my hands.
I'd killed Lilly.
"What are you doing? Daisy, please, put that down. Don't ? —"
Her blood-curdling scream as I took the hot curling iron off my vanity and smacked her in the face with it echoed in my mind. I'd beat her to the ground, and then abandoned it when she swatted it back at me, burning my exposed flesh.
I sat up and lifted my arm. The evidence was right there. Right over my very first tattoo. The word 'beautiful' was stained with red. It wasn't enough to scar, but it stung.
I deserved every ounce of pain.
I rolled off the chair and paced the nearly empty room. I'd killed someone on purpose… again. She'd told me that she was going to hurt the man I loved, and I saw red, just like the first time.
I went to the mirror and looked at the marred tattoo again. I wasn't a beautiful little flirt, like my Gatsby had claimed all those years ago. I was a monster. Taking his keys again, I went to the cabinet where all of his tattoo equipment was. I was no better than the criminals Lilly claimed he'd taken. I was sick and hurt people and needed to be punished. If Gatsby was writing their crimes on their bodies for everyone to see, then I had to do it as well.
I pulled out black ink and the machine with the needles. Having seen him do it enough times, I figured I could manage. I poured the ink and dipped the needles into it.
"What are you doing?"
I spun around, the machine in my hand .
"I'm doing what you would. I am a monster. I killed someone. I need to be punished." My voice didn't sound like mine. It felt unfamiliar and too calm.
"Tell me what happened." He stuffed another set of keys in his pocket and came to me, reaching for the machine. I refused to let him have it.
"I killed her. She was going to expose you, and my mind went blank. I didn't know what I was doing until it was too late."
"Who? Where? Daisy, explain what happened."
"Lilly… She was at the opera house. She was in my dressing room."
"She's dead? How?"
I closed my eyes. I didn't want to remember, but I did.
"I-I hit her with my curling iron, and then I stabbed her with my awl. A lot. I stabbed her a lot. There was so much blood, Gatsby, I don't know what took over me!" I cried out.
"Ssh, it's okay. I'm going to take care of this. Where is her body?"
"It's still there. I ran. I'm a coward, just like the first time." I raised the tattoo machine and went to the mirror, lifting my arm.
"Daisy!" Gatsby stormed over and spun me around, ripping the machine from my hand. I fought him, pummeling my fists into his chest. I pushed him and continued to reach for the machine.
"I need to be marked, just like your men. I'm no better than them!" I screamed, and he froze.
"What?" He set the machine on his table.
My chin wobbled. "She told me what you do. You tattoo their crimes on them before you eat them. I'm just like them."
"You're nothing like them."
I laughed. "So it is true then. All of it. This is sick. We're both fucking sick, Gatsby. I knew, in my heart, that it was true, but I couldn't bring myself to think it. And now look, another person is dead." I picked up the machine again. "Now, either I mark myself, or you do it for me. You choose."
Gatsby's green eyes were tortured as he stared at me. Our fantasy world was crumbling around us, and there was nothing left to do. I watched his eyes go from concerned to furious in an instant.
"You want to be treated like the men I put in my chair? Fine." He stormed forward and pushed my shoulder. I stumbled back and fell to the floor, catching myself on my elbows, causing a jolt of pain to shoot through my body. Gatsby crouched over me. My blood chilled as I stared into his eyes. They were wild with an excitement I'd only seen once before, but I recognized in an instant.
Emile was pushing forward, claiming my Gatsby.
Gatsby reached for my wrists, yanking them up over my head, pinning me to the ground.
"The men I bring here are violent rapists and murderers. They are cruel, violent pieces of shit whose only goal in life is to hurt others. That's not you, Daisy."
"But I killed two women..." Tears spilled down my cheeks.
Gatsby let go of my wrists and I left them up as he went to the neckline of my dress. With two hands, he yanked it, tearing it open. Pulling out a switchblade from his pocket, he cut my dress and bra, exposing my breasts.
"I like to make them as exposed as they did to their victims." He hacked at my clothing, leaving me naked, with shreds of fabric around me.
"Mark me. Label me as you'd label them," I demanded. "I'm a monster."
Gatsby leaned over me, his lips finding mine. I protested, but his persistence urged my lips to part, his touch commanding yet gentle. No! This wasn't right. I wasn't meant to be rewarded.
"Punish me!" I cried out as I moved my head away from his. He sat up.
"You want to be punished? I don't think you're a monster, Daisy. Because if you're a monster, then what does that make me?"
When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me with a grim expression.
"I-I don't know."
Gatsby leaned across to the table in which the tattoo machine and ink sat. He brought them down and dipped his needles in and turned to me.
"I do."