Verse The Great Gatsby - Tumblr Posts

Art would be lying if he said he was sad about the news of the judge’s death. He’d heard about it in the papers, but he hadn’t said anything about it until Johanna came to him and told him. He doesn’t know who killed him. He doesn’t care. The only important thing is that he’s dead and he can’t hurt Johanna anymore. He doesn’t blame her for not being here. She has a funeral to plan and she has so many things to worry about.

He sits up and gently tugs her into his side. “I don’t blame you. I’ll never blame you. You’ve been busy, my love.” They could run away. There’s nothing holding them back now. If he ran away, would Tashi look for him? Would Patrick? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He rubs her shoulder and kisses her temple. “Stay with me tonight?” It feels incredibly selfish to ask her such a thing when she’s still trying to figure everything out, but he can’t help it. “Tashi’s out somewhere. We’ll have the house to ourselves.” And they can plan their escape.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson sent: [ REST ] sender places their head in receiver’s lap.

❝ he's dead. ❞

it feels melodramatic, really. theatrical, yet wrong. this is the kind of news that she would burst into the library with, wet coat sticking to her skin and hair dripping on the floor while lighting cracks outside. there hadn't been the slightest hint of a drizzle when she heard the news herself. her footsteps were heavy as she tried to tie a dressing gown around herself. ( the housekeeper insisted that she didn't waste time getting dressed for this news. ) a constable that she recognized from prior events sat her down to deliver such somber news. he had no idea that she wouldn't be the sobbing widow on her news begging for it to not be so.

no, johanna had gripped her skirts, blinked, and stared him right in the eye to confirm it for her. ( "yes, madam, i'm afraid your husband was murdered...only a few hours ago. . ." ) it was the best news of her life.

why does she still feel numb from it?

the back of her hand rests on art's shoulder. fingers ache with a tingle to run through his hair, twist this moment into something wonderful. he's dead. isn't that perfect? now we can finally run away. . . there is still tashi. there is still patrick. johanna is still a new widow with a young daughter and a black dress that her maid sets out for her every morning, but she ignores it.

❝ i don't know if you had heard from the papers already, ❞ she continues in a mumble, ❝ but i wanted to tell you in person. he was murdered a few nights ago. the police are still looking into why. . . apparently, there were multiple deaths that night. ❞

her guardian. her husband. her rapist. her own murderer.

she grits the back of her teeth. he should have been killed long ago. she should be celebrating. [ JUDGE FOUND DEAD. . . MASSACRE IN BARBER'S SHOP. . . "BLOOD EVERYWHERE," WITNESS SAYS. . . ] even the papers seem to have more soul than she does.

voice steady, just as it was when she explained things to laura. the same tone as when she promised her daughter that they would get out of new york as soon as this is all over with. her throat only tightened when she asked about lily and art. johanna can't bring herself to hope.

a long sigh. ❝ that's why i haven't come around lately. i'm sorry for ignoring you. that's not what i meant. i-i-i. . . there's so much you have to do to prepare for a funeral and the house and the inheritances. . . ❞ a pause. ❝ i don't know how to pretend that i'm a grieving widow. i don't want to pretend. ❞

He was worried she’d forgotten him. He’d gone off to war and she had gotten married. It was an easy thing to assume. Art had never forgotten Johanna. But he’d married Tashi because he’d heard that Johanna had married someone else. He had thought it best to move on and try to forget her, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he could never forget her. The light at the end of her dock didn’t help. He’d built his house—his mansion—on the opposite shore just so he could watch the light every night. If he didn’t have Johanna, the light was enough.

And then she’d come back to him. He still can’t believe it sometimes. He still can’t believe they found each other again. He knows they’re both different people now—Johanna has a daughter and so does Art—but he can pretend they’re young again, if only to take his mind off the truth of their circumstances. He wishes he’d married her earlier, before he went to war, but that can’t be helped now.

He smiles slightly, tugging at the button on his sleeve to undo it and roll the fabric up to his elbow. “I never forgot you, either.” He’d written her letters when he was away. He’d never sent them, but he’d written them anyway. He still had them in a box in his room. He had to remember to give them to her soon. He rolls his other sleeve up. He doesn’t tell her that she was the only reason he came home. If he didn’t have Johanna, he doesn’t think he would’ve made it back.

He wants to marry her so badly it hurts, but he knows they can’t. There’s too many factors at risk for them to even consider getting married. “We can’t get married.” He hates that he’s saying it, but it’s true. “We can’t—it’s too much of a risk.” He undoes his shirt—it’s incredibly hot out today—and drapes it over the diving board. (Sometimes he marvels at his ability to do something as simple as take his shirt off in Johanna’s presence. He’d never do such a thing with Tashi or Patrick.) “You have Turpin, and I have—I have Tashi. We can’t divorce without it seeming suspicious, and we can’t marry without it seeming even more suspicious.” He wishes they could, but they can’t.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson says, " i thought you'd forgotten me. "

legs are carefully dangling in the pool. the rest of her body poised to catch herself---just in case. ( what threat might push her in? she doesn't know. ) the air is too sticky to stay above ground. she would feel better if she let go of the concrete sides, letting pink sink and long curls sink her to the bottom. drowning. breathless. cold. she'd imagined herself falling to the bottom of the ocean before, but now she imagines art standing there with a towel and wringing out her head scarf for her.

❝ i could never forget you, ❞ she says, turning her head slightly to see him better. head is throbbing slightly from the sun, the sun is pecking at her skin with a burn that she can already feel, but it feels as if she moves, art might fade away and all of this will be a strange, yet happy dream. johanna draws her skirt further up her leg. ( ...not just because she wants him to see---! it's hot. ) fingertips brush against the back of his hand. ❝ not just because of the parties or the lighthouse, i couldn't forget you. the pearls may have been hidden in the back of the drawer, but you were the furthest thing from the back of my mind. ❞

through the war that separated them, the long years where she caught glimpses of his rise to fame, her blood on her husband's knuckles, he was always there. those days felt like this one: heat that pools in her mind and makes her ache. the letters she could never write to her soldier was like submerging herself in the pool water. turning, her knee rests against the concrete. ❝ i prayed every day that you would come home. here. ❞ with me. ❝ i still want to marry you. every time i think about who i want my husband to be, it's you. it's hard to forget the man you promised to run away with one day. ❞ she smiles. ❝ you were my first kiss, too. and my best friend. i couldn't ever forget that. ❞

Art doesn’t want to get dressed. Art wants to stay in bed for another three hours and do absolutely nothing except admire Johanna. He can’t, though. And he knows he can’t. They both know that. The girls could come in at any moment, and Johanna will need to go home soon. Still, he can’t help but be selfish. He thinks he deserves it, after everything he’s been through. And isn’t that a change? Art Donaldson thinks he deserves to be selfish. Someone should alert the newspapers. He pushes the thought to the side, watching as Johanna pulls her slip on. He moves across the bed and kisses her shoulder.

Hopefully they have longer than a moment or two. He settles against her chest, draping his arm carefully over her waist. “Thank you.” He knows he doesn’t need to thank her for holding him, but he feels like he should. On the worst days, he always hates his desire to be held, but he never hates it with Johanna. He presses a lingering kiss to the underside of her jaw. “It has.” He wishes she could stay until the morning. It’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson asks, “  will you just…hold me? please.  ”

act three, scene five: two lovers wake in a world not meant for them. the scene plays out the same. juliet will argue that it is a nightingale outside her window. romeo will say it is the lark. lovers will kiss. lovers will part. but johanna hears no lark nor nightingale outside. she is in the presence of a robin. she looks at art and sees the same resilience. survival despite harsh winters. she feels less like a juliet and more like the young boy sneaking out of a window. there is never enough time. the lark is already too early. but she glances at a clock and relaxes her shoulders. the girls are playing outside the door now. there is time for this.

❝ you'd better get dressed. i don't think it's long before the girls burst in. laura always has something up her sleeve. ❞ but johanna pauses at his simple request. is her paranoia playing tricks on her again? is her fear slipping through the cracks of her skull, making up reasons to leave when her heart begs her to stay? she is always flighty. always exhausted. can't she allow herself this one time? a pause before easing her slip over her corselette and drawers ( she likes it when she can feel art's gaze on her back as she does ). ❝ i'm sure we have a moment or two more. ❞ johanna slips next to him in bed again. a kiss to his shoulder. she lays his head against her chest. ❝ it's been too long, ❞ she whispers into his hair. it's been too long since i could stay.

Art wasn’t expecting to love the countryside, but he thinks it’s inevitable that he did. He’s never been a city person. He grew up in Boston, and while he liked it, it had never felt right. New York was even worse, but he’d moved there because Tashi had insisted on it and Art wasn’t the type to say no to his wife. But he likes the English countryside a lot more than he was expecting to. It’s calm here. He doesn’t have to worry about throwing parties or Patrick knocking on his door at three in the morning. He doesn’t have to worry about anything except Johanna, Laura, and Lily.

The girls absolutely love it here, and Art thinks that’s partly why he fell in love with it so quickly. He’s always wanted what’s best for his daughters and if they want to stay here, Art certainly isn’t going to say no. He drops a kiss to the top of Johanna’s head. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen once the baby gets here. He has experience with newborns—they both do—but it’s always a mystery as to what the baby will be like. Lily was an easy baby. Art was grateful for it. He thinks Tashi would’ve killed him if she wasn’t, but then again, Tashi never did much in the way of mothering. It was always the nanny taking care of Lily, or Art when he wanted to give the poor girl a break.

He hums softly in agreement. Tashi hadn’t been thrilled when she found out she was pregnant. Art had been forced to stifle his excitement in the wake of her glare. He still doesn’t know why she was so upset, but he supposed it was just another failing on his part. “Tashi didn’t—.” He stops, like Johanna did. There’s no point in dredging up painful memories. Not now. “Lily was a surprise, too.” He doesn’t say much more, content to just listen to Johanna and the sounds of the river.

“You’re not fat, my love. You’re growing a child, it makes sense that your body is going to change.” He sits down next to her and tucks her against his side. “I know what you mean.” Having a baby with someone that also wants to have a baby is a novel concept for Art, but he’s enjoying it. He can mention the baby and ask Johanna how she’s doing without fearing her wrath. It’s a nice change. “How are you feeling?” He hasn’t asked her that recently, but he feels as though he should.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson admits, ❛ i shall miss this, our selfish, private hours. ❜

the english countryside greeted them with fresh air and johanna fell in love at first sight. this is where she was meant to have grown up. among chickens and wild streams. taken from london before she was old enough to remember the city, she was raised in long island. socialites, parties, jewels that are blind---that's the life the judge wanted. but this, where she can taste sweet rain and feel the sun on her shoulders, this is where she is meant to be.

she's dragged art to the riverbank that runs near the estate. dipping her toes in the water and leaning her head against his shoulder. ❝ i will miss them, too. ❞ private hours like these won't be easy to come by once the baby is born. they won't be able to tuck the girls into bed and kiss their foreheads and ask the staff to keep an eye on them as they steal a few moments just for themselves. there isn't that much freedom with infants.

❝ i don't know what it's like to have a baby with someone who actually... wants it. i wasn't even able to tell laura's father before... ❞ why is she dawning on the past? why bring up a late lover when she wears art's ring? ( most birds mate for life. ) ❝ i'll miss them, too. ❞ the fact that art wants to be in their child's life, wants to raise them and hold her hand until he's pushed out of the delivery room, is something she's still getting used to. johanna shouldn't have expected any less from him. art wasn't upset with her nor the fact that between the years, she had anthony. he took laura under his wing. treated her like she was his own. and lily! she was shocked at the sight of a man of his standing so involved in his daughter's life. ( it made her all the more in love with him. )

johanna tucks her legs underneath herself. ❝ laura was a complete surprise. obviously---you don't exactly seek having a child out when you're sleeping with a man who isn't your husband, but i didn't think i could even... ❞ a sigh. she glances up at him. ❝ i was sick. for a long time. ❞ is starvation a sickness? ❝ i didn't think i could even... but here i am again. fat. ❞ gaze falls to her stomach. thank goodness for this decade's trends! before laura was born, it was nearly impossible to keep it hidden. they have a few months yet, but it's noticeable. ❝ i feel like i'm a new mother. despite having done this before and the girls. it's just so different. a very good different. ❞

Art can’t help but lean into Johanna’s fingers in his hair. He presses one kiss to her palm and then two, turning his head to brush his lips against her wrist. He’s tired, and he knows if he lets himself, he could fall asleep here. He isn’t going to let himself. He doesn’t want to fall asleep yet. He wants to savor this moment for as long as he can. Art didn’t think he’d ever get to have moments like this. He didn’t think he deserved them. But now that he and Johanna are here and safe and happy, he’s going to cling to these moments as tightly as he can.

He hums softly as she kisses his eyelids, smiling slightly at the touch of her lips on his damp skin. He doesn’t say that she needs sleep, even if that’s the truth. It won’t help, and he doubts it’s what she wants to hear. “I’ve been sleeping fine.” He has nightmares, sometimes, about the war. About Patrick and Tashi. About all sorts of things. He never tells Johanna about them in the mornings. He never intends to. He doesn’t need to burden her with that information. “But I wouldn’t mind you kissing me some more.” He smiles at her cheekily, cupping her cheek with one hand as he presses a soft kiss to her lips. “I wouldn’t mind you kissing me all the time, actually.”

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson says, ❛ when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes, i feel like a person for a moment of my life. ❜

lavender hangs in the air as soap suds float around them. she can practically taste the scent. in the master bathroom of a long island mansion, it is easy to forget that they've back where they started. albeit, it's art's ring on her finger now. she's practically on his lap, washing her fingers of foam before moving his wet hair out his face. her own curls tumble down her back, getting wetter and more tangled with every contact with the water. they are tucked behind her ears to allow her to listen for any sudden sounds. this is the first night they've gotten to themselves since they moved back. between cuddles and endless amounts of stories some nights and surrendering their bed to the girls on others, they've been too exhausted.

kisses pepper across his eyebrows. she rests a hand on his jawline and hums at what he says. ❝ i haven't really slept for the past week, ❞ johanna admits. something she wouldn't typically say aloud. art makes her feel safe enough to; she can feel his breath on her bare skin as they soap together. ❝ it makes me feel like less of a person, too. ❞ seeing the empty space across the bay where a mansion used to stand lead her to kissing him a thousand times out of pure excitement. last night, when she woke up and looked out the balcony, she thought she saw it again. johanna hadn't fallen back asleep. ❝ have you not been sleeping well? ❞ a sly smile. ❝ or do i just need to kiss you some more? you can tell me. ❞

He can’t quite help the frown that crosses his face at the word mistress. He doesn’t like the connotations of it. Johanna isn’t his mistress. Johanna is Johanna. She’s his childhood friend. She’s the first person Art ever loved. She’s so much more than his mistress and he doesn’t want her to ever think of herself like that. Art sometimes thinks of himself like that, when he’s sitting alone in the dining room with a bottle of wine in front of him, but that’s not something he’s going to burden Johanna with. He just frowns at the word and tries not to look like he’s panicking.

“I get to be free with you.” It’s a strange feeling. He can’t remember the last time he felt free. But he feels it now. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like. “Run away with me.” He knows they can’t. But he’d like to pretend they can, if only for a moment. He’d like to pretend that they’re not who they are, that they can run away without fearing the consequences.

he needs to be held and she needs something to hold onto. on nights the judge is passed out drunk on the bed, johanna sneaks into her daughter's room just to tuck her curls over her ear and kiss her cheek. the gentlest of touches guide her back to the ground. with art, she knows he won't brush a hand against her knee. with art, she feels like she is more than she actually is. a stronger woman, a lover, something functional and pure.

❝ it's funny. when i can just hold you like this, i forget that to the rest of the world, i would be just your mistress. ❞ when she glances down at her hand, she sees the invisible outline of a wedding ring. she sees them running away together years ago and exchanging vows. his skin against hers transforms her into a younger woman. one whose head is full of fantasies and carries herself lighter despite it. the world will never know what happens behind the doors of a long island mansion. perhaps, one day the world will know her as mrs. donaldson. ❝ i get to be more than that with you. i get to be free. ❞