In Tyler we trusted



Chapter 2: Back to Normality?



Author's note: Okay, this pretty much the same as the last chapter. This was originally going to be the last chapter, but I edited it so that I could start doing a series. Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

Oh and for those people that are worried that Marla has sold out. Don't worry! It's all gonna get mentioned later on. Oh yeah, I don't know anything about the hotels in LA, so don't flame me saying the hotel doesn't exist because I have no idea.




Florida to LA. Planes, time loss, single serving friends. It's all coming back to me. Marla has me going from one place to another. Even if I don't want to. Gee, de ja vu, Mr Cornflower Blue Tie. I moved out of her apartment last week and into the apartment below. Some may say that this is not really moving out, but I really don't think I can be too far away from Marla. I don't love her! It's just that she's been very good for me. It feels like yesterday when I told her about Tyler and his general non-existence. It's feels like an afternoon ago when in the federal credit card building with Tyler I saw Marla, below, striding along with all the people I had met in the support groups. Lung Cancer, Brain Parasites, Incest Survivors, Positive Positivity. They were all there looking up shouting "We want to help you!".

But I shouldn't think about things like that. That's not me anymore. It gets me depressed. Which is one of the reasons why I bought the lap top. I didn't use for business because I don't own one and I don't use it for work because I don't have any. I have the lap top because with I am able to play Doom wherever I am and the fact I have an Internet connection means that I can download any number of stories from the net, print them out and read them on the flights. I love downloading the really weird Fan Fiction. This is the stuff written by fans of TV shows who really have nothing better to do with their time then make up ridiculous excuses for their fictional heroes to fuck. I'm talking Superman fucking Wonder Woman, Bugs fucking Daffy, Archie fucking Jughead, Indiana Jones fucking Lara Croft, the list never ends. If these people can get them to fuck, they will! And I love reading them. "It's comforting to know that there are people out there, sicker then I am" as Tim Curry once said.

However, I am unable to enjoy my freakish porn this flight. This si because of my Single Serving Friend. An Obese man who was wolfing down bag after bag of complimentary peanuts. He had this horrible grating accent. It sounded like the accent I heard on that British gangster movie with that soccer player in it. "Scouse", I think that's what they call it. Each peanut he shovelled into his mouth died an largely audible death. So even if I looked out of the window beside me or closed my eyes I could still picture him slobbering and licking his fat fingers and chubby lips. The initials on his briefcase read BFF. This I translated as Big Fat Fucker.

Thankfully, after an hour my bladder allowed me to take a piss. Now imagine. You come back and you find BFF has taken it upon himself to move into your seat. All your belongings s have been moved over to his seat. U count to ten, as your doctor has told you and you begin to talk. Excuse me, you say, you're in my seat. There's no response. BFF just looks at you and you find yourself lowering your head and looking at your Hush Puppies. You are Jack's shame.

"What?!" says BFF.

"Your in my seat" you stutter, "I need the seat by the window."

You don't tell him the reason. That ever since you came out of the nut house, you've become prone to flight sickness. Reason number 2 for the cartoon porn: distraction.

"There's a window in that aisle" he slobbers pointing behind you. You take a quick look and then turn around smiling.

"I appreciate that, but I booked this seat." you say. Hoping that your voice didn't sound too harsh. Remember, the doctors said avoid all confrontations. Treat all your enemies as friends.

"Sir, there's no need for that kind of language" You say

"Why the fuck not?" BFF says stern fully.

"Because if you keep talking like that you're gonna raise your blood pressure, Tubby. And what with the salt on the peanuts you've been shovelling down your neck, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack. You'll be dead before the plane even makes the emergency descent to land.

These are not your words!

Tyler!

BFF is staring up at me. His face white. Tyler squeezes past and sits down next to him.

"Now listen, Friend" Tyler beams, "You are going to move and let my other friend sit down."

Tyler points up at me, but you can tell by BFF's face that he can't see anyone. Tyler's words ring in my head. Sometimes you imagine yourself watching me. Tyler's not there. I'm sat in that seat. I'm the one with his arm around BFF and shaking immense gut with the other. It's me, not Tyler, because Tyler doesn't exist.

"Oh yes I do." Tyler smiles up at me.

I feel nauseous and I run to the toilet, Tyler's laugh can be distinctly heard behind me. Before I've even locked the bathroom door, I'm sick in the sick and down my pants. Fifteen minutes later I come out of the bathroom. Tyler has gone and so has BFF. The seat, in fact the entire row from one side of the plane to the other, is mine.





The LA Hilton. The biggest hotel in LA. Critically acclaimed around the world. However, I don't care about "the divine food". I fail to notice "the luxury bedspreads" and quite frankly, I could give less of a fuck right now about "the politeness of the staff". I'm more concerned about Tyler.

"Tyler!" I scream, "Tyler, I need to talk to you."

I stay in my room for a solid fifteen hours, before I fall asleep in the chair next to my "conveniately placed desktop with twelve sheets of headed note paper". I am woken by a women's screaming orgasm. I sit up and see Tyler sat on the end of my bed. He's watching the porn channel.

"Done that. Done that. Done that." he says, each time the woman moves herself into a different position or the guy penetrates her in a different orifice.

For some reason I laugh. He may have done these things, but it was with my body that he did them with. The cocky sonuvabitch.

"Well, look who's up!" Tyler says not even looking at me, "Make yourself a cup of coffee, we have a long talk ahead of us."