Re: Great Gatsby: Jude/Clem/Shane/Graham
Clem didn't know Shane was coming inside. She didn't know Shane was there. It wasn't surprising, not a lick, but she didn't know. She hadn't even known when Graham was coming, and days were like water in a glass and she couldn't tell when one drop turned into another. She wasn't real fine, and it took a few seconds for her to realize things had gone real bad. First, she saw Shane, who was there being all ordering around, and she thought it meant they'd go. Finally, and no more talking. Just be gone, and no one would throw punches, bite anyone or go dying. She just wanted to go, and why was that so hard? Her hands shook, but she thought it would all be fine. Shane said go, and Graham said go, and sure enough, they'd go.
But they didn't, because things turned frigid, and she'd stooped to try to pick up some of the shattered glass, fingers shaking and sharp ends dotting the stairs with watery red. It hurt, bending, and she was a landscape of bruising beneath sage and mink, and she looked up when things turned frigid.
Jude was laying blame, and she shook her head like she'd done when her daddy got real ornery with her, small and a pinafore and no real understanding why talking to this boy or that was wrong. Jude was kin, he was family, and she shook her head hard. "No one brought anyone anywhere. Jude, no one did nothing. We just want to get on," she said, and why couldn't he understand they'd been living in hell? But his eyes went real black, and this wasn't happening. After all the hell they'd lived on through, this wasn't happening here.
Something snapped, crack, and it wasn't audible but it showed in her eyes. The sound from the terrace finished it off, because it scared her, and she'd been terrified for days on end. Endless, and they'd all thought they were going to die in that locked up room.
She stood, shard of bottle-glass in her hand, and she walked toward Jude. She was near dead as a zombie, eyes gone blank and something plenty broke reflecting back at him. Pushed too far, and she couldn't take being scared of a damn thing just then. She lifted the shard, pointed it straight off at his throat. "You listen to me, and you listen good. We're leaving. You're letting us go on, and we're leaving. No one's done a damn thing to you, and you're being a selfish man, Jude Murphy. You spend a week locked up, men torturing you, things turning into monsters all around you, and death around the corner. Or worse. You let them strip you naked and make you all vulnerable, and then you come on and talk to us. We can barely stand, any of us. You're in no danger from anyone here. We're going. And you're just shutting up and bidding us a real good day."
The glass in her hand, right up against his throat now, dripped blood all over his fine clothes.