It was getting to me. I knew it was. I could feel a gnawing sensation in my stomach as I quietly shut the door behind me, taking a few soft steps into my apartment before slumping against a nearby wall in defeat. I felt sick.

Hell, I'd known it had been coming for a few weeks now. I just didn't think it would come so soon. I wanted to believe that I wasn't getting this way. All of those stupid weekends in therapy weren't exactly helping. Not that I had expected they would. Setting me up with pills and a straight-faced therapist who never seemed to smile occurred to me as something that was only going to make me feel worse.

…Although, I guess for sometime I had believed the pills could do it. Do their job. Make me feel better, drag me out of this fucking depression I seemed to be caging myself in. But the fact was, they weren't working…

Well, in a way, yes, they were. But they were the source of my sickness. They are the source of my sickness. Every fucking day I spend worrying about whether or not I've taken this medication. And every night I return back to this apartment, to sink into the sofa, watch those damn reruns on TV before falling into a deep sleep. My life in general nowadays. But then again, at least I'm actually sleeping…

I clawed a hand through my hair, shutting my eyes briefly as I wondered where Marla was. I could vaguely remember her saying something about being round later. Had she said something about her going somewhere? I didn't know. I guess I must have been zoning out for that short period of time. Oh well. Must have been one of her many clubs she had been mentioning? For a moment, I almost envied her.

I pictured her standing in front of me for a moment, in an attempt to relax. Ever since the destruction of the buildings after Project Mayhem, everything had gotten slightly better. Despite the fact I never actually told her why I had been involved. I kept it all to myself for the first few weeks, and in between the police interviews I'd find myself being drawn towards her presence. She managed to not let me sink rock bottom, I guess. I wanted to thank her. But I wasn't ready to tell her about my…problem. And why not? Because my problem had gone. Gone far away. And hopefully, my problem wasn't coming back. Not that it could anyway.

She'd wanted to move in with me. Or to get me to move in with her. I kept resisting. I do like her, of course I do. I just…wasn't ready. Am not ready. Moving in with someone is considered a big thing. And…I can't help but sometimes wonder if what me and Marla have together is such the big thing that I'd originally thought it would be…

I punched the wall, infuriated with myself. All the tension I'd felt building over the past few days felt like it was oozing out of me. Not a nice feeling, I'll tell you. Again, I envisioned Marla standing next to me, her soft voice whispering in my ear, soothing me as she always did. My little mirage of her didn't appear to be helping.

I am Jack's cry for help.

With a small sob, I crumpled to the floor in a heap beside the wall, tilting my head backwards so I could repeatedly hit it.

Thump. Thump.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why the fuck am I feeling like this?

Thump.

Jesus, I thought I had sorted this out with Sarah, the therapist. Fat lot of good she appeared to be doing for me. I smiled thinly.

Thump. Thump.

Okay, my head was hurting now. I grimaced and paused for a moment. Maybe I should write a list or something? Find out the source of my fucking issues. That could help. Possibly?

Thump. Thump.

Yeh. The pain was a bit of a relief. Feeling it throb through my head warmed me slightly. I could feel something. That was a start, right? I let my body relax for a moment, thoughts buzzing.

Was Marla making me like this? My eyes travelled towards the picture opposite me, and as I scanned it, my fingers tightened in my hair, and I realised I couldn't remember clutching it in the first place.

With a little groan, I attempted to lift myself off of the floor, feeling my body shudder slightly, almost as though I was cold.

My eyes widened.

I am Jack's cold sweat.

All this time I'd been thinking about my fucking pills. And I hadn't taken them this morning. I knew I'd forgotten something.

Shit.

I stumbled over my own feet as I rushed towards my bathroom, cursing as my shoulder hit the doorway on the way. As well as my head throbbing, I now had a new pain blossoming in my left shoulder. This day was getting better and better.

As I walked into the immaculate tiled room, I forcibly suppressed a shudder at the whiteness of it. The tiles glimmered at me from all directions, almost blinding me as I swiftly switched on the lights. I had no clue why I'd bothered to get the bathroom refurnished when I'd moved in. It had originally been a dump. The whole place, in fact. But after I had dished out a shit load of money, the place looked…neat. Tidy. A small voice nagged me in the back of my mind.

It looks a lot like your old apartment...

"Fuck." I murmured, wiping stupid thoughts from my stupid mind as knelt down, close to a small set of drawers. I kept my stash of medication there. Not like I was going to keep it under my bed for safe-keeping, right?

My mind whirled back for a moment, as I remembered the day I'd admitted to the police what I had done. About my leadership in Project Mayhem. I'd never felt so brave in my life, nor so fucking afraid. But the thought of Marla getting even more suspicious had spurred my actions. I sighed. The police had suspected me anyway. But the thing is, after admitting, I hadn't been taken seriously. I grimaced. Members of Project Mayhem were still in the police force. They were everywhere. I couldn't escape from them. It was fucking impossible. And the thing that scared me was that they had known. They had fucking known I was ready to admit. Just like I had before. They managed to convince people I was innocent, that I was just some crazy lunatic. I guess, in a way, I am. And they'd kicked me out of the station for it. I'm still thankful to this day my balls haven't been cut off.

I stared down at the jar of pills in my hand and blinked twice, turning it over and running my thumb across its label. I hadn't realised I'd taken it out. Weird. I quickly let my mind drift.

Fight Club members were everywhere. They were literally every place I went to. Wherever I walked to. Took a plane to. Took a bus to. It was impossible to escape their knowing gazes. Although, for a while I managed to hold their expressions. I had to. Otherwise Marla would have wondered why I was edging away from society. And I wasn't going to tell her.

Marla knew I was partially responsible for what happened in Project Mayhem. I just never told her the whole truth. I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want her to have to hear it. I used the hole in my cheek as a lie. An excuse to get out of the situation. It still makes me feel guilty. I'd managed to convince her I was the victim in the event. She went along with it. Things progressed significantly. Things have progressed significantly.

But anyway, members were everywhere. Still are pretty much everywhere. They wanted to talk with me. They thought I was still their fucking leader. They're just an army of space monkeys with no commander.

I lowered my gaze further downwards in disgust, feeling myself quiver inside for some unknown reason. I managed to shy away from everyone apart from Marla. I did some journalism kind of work at home. I still do. Fight Club members still carry on. I'm always one step ahead of them though. I can predict what they'll do every time. And I see it on the news constantly. I don't know who took over the place, but they really need to learn how to be sly. Because of Project Mayhem, a few members were caught and thrown into jail. I don't pity them. Brainwashed space monkeys. That's what they are.

Resting my head against the cool side of the sink from where I was perched on the floor, I closed my eyes and tried to reengage myself in my memories once more.

Marla had told me I needed professional help. I don't know what made her say it though. I'd been sleeping fine. I'd been working fine. I'd even been eating a lot more than usual. And I'm not generally a great fan of eating these days, hence why I've lost some weight. But she signed me onto some therapy. Not the stuff I liked either. This was deep stuff. I knew Marla had suspected something, after the way I went on about Tyler. But still, it shocked me. I'd gone in the end. After all, was there something better to do in my life? No. I didn't think so. She'd pushed me into a room, with a stupid couch and the smell of coffee lingering in the air. A woman, Sarah, had introduced herself. We didn't hit it off. Although, I think she did try at first. Her insufferable questions made me grow agitated. I carefully dodged any questions I knew could lead to me talking about Tyler. And I also managed to convince her I was depressed, and that was why I was there. She fell for it. She fell for it really hard. And so did Marla. In just a few days, I was scheduled for more meetings, prescribed with happy drugs, and Marla was informed to spend as much time with me as possible.

They reckoned I was suicidal. I snorted in the emptiness of my bathroom at the absurdity of it. No fucking way. And although I knew I was on my way to being depressed, I wasn't about to believe that I was as fucked up as I used to be.

But anyway, a few months afterwards, I'm still going, despite the fact I'm currently sitting on the floor of my bathroom, pale as a ghost and shaking because of something that I can't quite figure out.

Marla wasn't here to talk to. I didn't realise I'd become so dependant upon her just being in the same room as me. I felt sick because of it. And not only that. I felt sick of Project Mayhem, even though it was almost 8 months ago. I felt sick of its members. I felt sick of this fucking apartment, how the cleanliness symbols normality, and how far away I was from reaching it. I generally felt sick of life today. No change there.

I chewed on my lip, biting down so hard that I could taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth as I pondered on how Marla would react if one day I just disappeared. Vanished. I was genuinely sure that she was becoming tired of me anyway. Oh, what a shame it would be to her if I edged out of her life. I smirked sadly. She probably wouldn't mind. After all, being like this was just keeping her down, right? And hell, I had pondered over her sanity as well, half-wondering if she might commit suicide sometime herself and end up leaving me alone.

Well, she hadn't. She was still alive. At this stupid club thing of hers. I glanced at my watch, shivering. It was getting towards nine in the evening. She'd be round about half ten. I had ages to wait yet.

I sucked in a deep breath and glanced at the pills in my grip, picking out the ones I'd grown familiar with using, before growing tired with how slowly this was taking and pouring out masses of them into my hand, watching with a dull expression as they overflowed on the edge of my palm and clattered onto the floor. Lots of them seemed to be surrounding me. An army of pills. I hastily tried to retrieve them; scooping up large piles and pushing them back into the jar, before stopping and staring at them.

Blankly, I tried to recollect how many I was meant to take. Two? Yeh, two. But hey, today I wasn't feeling so good. How about five? Or, scrap that. Ten. Why not? Why shouldn't I take at least ten of these fucking pills and just never wake up afterwards? It sounded interesting. It sounded like an attractive kind of idea. I blinked. No, I wasn't suicidal.

I just wanted a rest. That too much to ask? No. Lots of people have normal lives. But where I live, who I socialise with, what I've been through…

They're not exactly normal things.

So, why the fuck should I have to deal with them anymore? I could throw it all out of the window right now. I quivered again, a shudder working itself up from the bottom of my spine as I let a few pills fall through my fingers. It was a reasonable idea.

Eyes glazing over slightly, I half-wondered how I'd gotten into this situation. My life was just crazy, I decided. I pressed my forehead against the sink, harder. And then, I felt something stir inside of me.

Leaning towards the toilet, I just about managed to open it before spilling my inside's contents out in a long heaving gasp. Fuck.

I gripped the edge of the toilet so tightly, my knuckles turned white as my teeth chattered. Today was not a nice day. And the day before that had sucked. And the day before that.

Letting out a groan, my legs bucked again and I fell heavily onto the floor again, beside the toilet, still gripping onto it. And slowly, I turned towards the pills spread out against the white canvas of the floor.

I am Jack's complete lack of interest in life.

I shifted my weight, grabbed as many pills as I could, and mused on it for a moment. Well, it certainly wouldn't be painful, right? I rolled my eyes. Who the fuck cared? I raised at least 5 in a cup motion with my hand. I could end my suffering now, and no-one apart from Marla would care. I vaguely wondered what my funeral would be like. If I had one, of course. My hand grew closer to my mouth.

"Don't even think about it."

I froze, the pills already so close to touching my lips. The voice came from the doorway. And the voice was familiar. Eyes widening, I lifted my head to stare in the direction of the voice. And then I dropped the pills.