A/N: Our English class has just finished writing a really good book called The Great Gatsby. On a lot of occasions some conversations are left out because Nick leaves the room or isn't there, or something like that. As a writing assignment, I chose to write the dialog of a "missing" scene from TGG. It goes from the instant Daisy hits Myrtle Wilson until Gatsby drops Daisy off at East Egg. Enjoy!
"Daisy!" Gatsby's exclamation was a withered gasp. His hand still rested on the steering wheel, where he had attempted too late to direct the car away from the woman now bleeding in the street behind them. He closed his eyes, opened then, parted his lips like a man that has realized, after several seconds of discomfort, that he can no longer breathe. Trembling though they were, he managed to direct his fingers to Daisy's cold, white hand. They curled around the wheel like talons.
"Daisy, you must stop the car." Her eyes, black and glassy, never once removed themselves from the road, as if they feared that yet another would dart out in front of them. Her foot never relented from the gas pedal, the engine's growl escalated, and the Valley of the Ashes became a blur at either side.
"You need to stop." He insisted, desperate. Around him swarmed the sound of panic. It was in his voice, in Daisy's lack thereof, in the steadily rising roar of the car. And yet the woman he loved refused to stop.
Acting on impulse, Gatsby leaned forward and pulled the emergency brake. With a hollow cry Daisy sprawled towards and then away from the wheel, her fingers still curled and claw-like. Perhaps the violent stop awakened something horrid inside her, for she gave a great, keening wail and collapsed into Gatsby's lap.
"Please, try to calm down. I-I'll tell them I was driving. Are you listening, Daisy? I was the one that struck her." He spoke with a firmness that was unlike his character, though laced with agony as it was. It was just so horrible, the tears and blood so real.
This seemed to ease the majority of Daisy's troubles. She composed herself with dignity and easily moved out of the way as Gatsby replaced her in the driver's seat. However, her lilting tone lacked the gayness it had previously shouldered, and her words came out with a dispirited sigh.
"Jay, you always do look out for me." Her rich voice was like the peal of fallen pennies and torn money. She didn't look away from the road as Gatsby began the rest of the drive home..
"I don't think she survived, Daisy." It was better to let all the shock and tears out now, rather than have her break down at her house.
The statement, however grave, didn't seem to affect her as violently as he'd expected. Her eyes hardened and she seemed to sit up straighter, but the danger of further hysteria had swiftly past.
"Yes, I know. Oh, this day has just been dreadful." She brought a hand up to her lovely face, and Gatsby for an instant took back his previous thought of there being no hysterics. But he heard nothing. It was just a shuddery, papery sigh, then silence. He turned down a back road that he knew led to East Egg, swerving his head around to make sure no one saw them.
"What about Tom?" Daisy inquired reluctantly. It was obvious that this troubled her nearly as much as the woman she'd struck. "Oh, the things I said to him—"
"Don't worry about a thing. I won't let him touch you." Gatsby assured her. He turned to look Daisy in the eye as a silent emphasis to this vow, but she gave a shrill cry of protest and he had to quickly turn back to the road.
"Jay, I love him. I've loved him since the day I met him." She spoke with sudden, bright passion, a passion she'd lacked at the Plaza Hotel.
"Yes." Gatsby murmured, lowering his eyes. His tone wasn't convincing; he still clung to hope like a first-born son, so deeply caught was he in the tendrils of his own dark obsession.
Daisy suddenly took deep interest into the hands nestled nervously in her lap. She went on in a voice that just barely resembled a shriek. "And he loves me. I simply can't leave him. He told me he would treat me better. You remember, he told me he would treat me better after to-day."
"Don't say anything about the woman, Daisy. Please." Gatsby's voice picked up so closely after Daisy's that they appeared to root from the same sentence. He didn't want to talk about this love, this fickle attraction she held towards her unfaithful husband. It was just personal.
"Of course." Daisy agreed, nodding her head grimly. Daisy's mansion began to loom into sight, and beyond that the stretch of water that separated East Egg from the West.
"Turn your bedroom light on and off if he troubles you in any way." Gatsby urged, slowing down in front of the house. "I'll wait and watch till he goes to bed to-night."
"Of course." Daisy repeated. She delicately stepped out of the car, her poise composed, and as Gatsby watched her retreat into her home he felt such fear for her. Such fear and such love, such awesome and engulfing love for the married woman. He watched the dwelling with obvious adoration for a few moments longer, gave a great sigh, and drove down the road out of sight.