Abstruse
He doesn't dirty his own hands. He doesn't cry his own idiotic tears. He doesn't fuck and he doesn't laugh and he just doesn't- I do.
I let him do it and I take it. I swallow the pill and think back to his rare smiles. I crave them still.
Marla's lip, I want to see it bloodied, I think tonight. Maybe just a bruise on her left jaw, her eyes bloodshot and a jagged smile on her face. I'd kiss her softly and think about Tyler, and he'd be the intruder, the outside force digging deeper, deeper into my mind. But I'd let him in.
We're just running in circles and maybe it's all just a dream. My eyes are flooded with love or blood, I don't know, but I don't want these feelings to ever leave. Marla's smiles weren't ever smiles to me, and her dark eyes gleam in the hushed night. She'd moan and wriggle beneath me, and I'd think back to that night in the parking lot, to Tyler's eyes and his soft skin, despite his rough movements, and I'd wish he were still here. But he left me and whatever we built had tumbled down.
"Get up." He'd kick me in the stomach in the daytime, and kiss my bruises in the nighttime. I let him do it because I wanted him to. He'd trace circles on my back, and his breath was cigarette smoke, now.
The more I thought about Tyler, the more I'd want to hurt Marla. And she'd fall back into her habitual bouts of suicide, and I'd draw her from it with false love because in my eyes she would be my Tyler.
Infinity was visible from my vantage point, but I'd turn away from it and I'd keep playing pretend. I'd play with her human life to try and save my own, but Tyler probably wouldn't want that.
He'd like to hurt me, just to see how much I love him, and I'd close my eyes, open my arms and show him.
In my Fight Club stories, Tyler is a real person. Jack is the narrator, because I guess that's his adopted name now. And well their love is complicated. Thank you anyone/everyone.