A/N: I don't own Fight Club, Marla Singer, Tyler, or Narrator. I do own Natalee Jacks.
Chapter One: Marla Singer: Never Home
Not here.
-Tyler
Marla Singer sighed, white smoke curling from her lips. Two simple words and a name; that's all he left her with. No tender goodbye, no loving words, nothing. Empty white lines. And his name; the 'y' curling delicately, the 'r' a quick scribble.
"Fuck you, Tyler." she hissed, throwing the paper in the air and stomping down the steps in three-inch heels. She had tried. No matter what her lazy eyes or thin mouth said, she had tried to love Tyler. But you can't love Tyler without being hurt.
Marla mashed her cigarette on an ashtray, studying the gray ash that fell like dead snow. Her apartment was empty like always; no friends, no one to knock on your door.
You're not lonely, she said to herself, You'll get over it.
And she was right. She always was.
Just a fun little thing I started today. Please review.
Love,
Fel