Who is Tyler Durden?
Author's note: Bit of a special chapter this one. It's here to sort of clear the pallette before the big showdown. Bit of a crossover chapter as well. I won't tell you who with, but you'll see. Also, yet again I fucking with Fight Club's history, so don't flame me going "ooh, this wouldn't happen" because in the words of Ridley Scott, "It bloody does now".
Dedicated to Lynx Pardina: Thanx for all the encouraging comments.
Since you never gave a damn in the first place
Maybe it's time you had the tables turned
Cuz in the interest of all involved I got the problem solved
And the verdict is guilty...
...MAN NEARLY KILLED ME
Steppin' where you fear to tread
Stop, drop and roll - you were DEAD FROM THE GIT-GO!
BIG MOUTH FUCKER - STUPID COCKSUCKER
Are you scared of me now? Then you're dumber than I thought
Always is, never was
Foundation made of piss and vinegar
Step to me, I'll smear ya -Think I fear ya? BULLSHIT!
Just another dumb punk chompin' at this tit
Is there any way to break through the noise?
Was it something that I said that got you bent?
It's gotta be that way if you want it
Sanity, Literal Profanity HIT ME! - "Spit it Out" Slipknot
The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club.
The second rule of Fight Club is YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB!
He broke the first two rules. First he spoke to Marla about me, then the police, those doctors and finally those fucking movie producers. He did all this before finally breaking my heart. He did all this, but I don't blame him. It's not his fault. He became my enemy through no fault of his own. It was those fucking commercials. They brain washed him. What the hell was Marla thinking putting him up for commercials when he had just had a brain enema?! They influenced him and used him. So much so, that when he needed me he didn't even realise it.
It didn't always use to be like this. He use to be so beautiful. There was nothing I wouldn't do for him. I remember the first day I met him. He was five years old and he had jut fallen off his pogo stick. His father was nowhere to be seen and his mother was at work. His brother was less interested in his baby brother's grazed knee and more interested in the girl he was about the fingerbang in his room with Black Sabbath on the speakers. So it was left up to me. I went up to him, kissed his knee and told him that no one was gonna help him but himself. I was only five at the time myself. He got up, smiled and hugged me. From that day our friendship blossomed. There was only one problem. His mother. We had to keep our relationship a secret because Mommy Dearest didn't think our relationship was healthy. However, it didn't stop us talking late at night. We talked about nothing and everything. I taught him how to look after himself and how to be a big boy now that his daddy had gone.
He believes that I just disappeared after he hit about eight. That's not true. I stayed with him and watched. He wanted me to, but didn't realise it. It's strange to talk about inhabiting his mind with out sounding like a paradox. I had no eyes or ears, but I could hear and see everything he did. Like the time he passed out at the senior prom. I took over and I went up to Lucy Gillis, the girl he had been trying to fuck all night, and I got her. I helped him lose his virginity. That's how much I loved him. Even though something could have happened between him and Lucy which would have meant my total removal, I did it for him.
Since then I tried to keep my head down. I didn't want him to know I was still around. As far as he was concerned any women he slept with, including Lucy, were merely drunken one night stands. When his insomnia began to kick in it meant I had an excuse to walk around the city and watch a movie, but most nights I just used to look at myself in the mirror and stare at the amazing reflection in front of me. Then one day something happened that made me realise I had to come back for good. He had taken a trip over to New York for some business meeting about a recall. While he was there he had got friendly with this guy, Patrick Bateman. That's right! Patrick Bateman, the stockbroker that had gotten arrested for all those murders last year. Turns out he had a stake in the car company that Ikea boy worked for. Anyway, they had gone out for a couple of drinks and when Ikea Boy passed out on his hotel room floor I decided to go and see what this guy was really like. There was something that didn't seem right. All style, no substance, if you know what I mean. I went over to his apartment and I was immediately sick to my stomach. Phil Collins could be heard playing even before the door was opened. I knocked loudly and he answered. He was quite handsome, but had the body of a middle aged man that probably looked better when he was in his twenties. Now, he just looked tired and as if he was using more steroids then he should be.
He let me in and we talked for a while with me under the guise of Ikea Boy. Soon, the conversation began to get really boring. Everything he talked about involved clothes, money, what the best hi fi was, the fucking piece of shit he called art on his ugly white walls and anything else that made the eighties not worth living. It was then that I realised that this could happen again. The 90's could end up just like the 80's. I mean, already people were concerned about what music you should listen to and whether Nike are releasing the same type of shoe they released 20 years ago, but at $50 more then the usual price. This had to be stopped.
I say, fuck Nike.
I say, deliver me from clever art.
I say, deliver me from Swedish furniture.
I say, deliver me from the Patrick Batemans of the world.
I say, it ends now.
Remember when I told Ikea boy that I had never had a fight until I met him. I lied.
I stood up and called Patrick an asshole. No real big plan to it. I just thought it might piss him off enough to want to fight me. I had the urge to fight. I wanted to destroy something beautiful. He didn't move. He just breathed in sharply and laughed.
"Now why would you say a thing like that?" he said,
"Because you are." I said,
I didn't know how I was gonna start a fight with him, but did know that I needed one. He just looked at me and shrugged.
"You wouldn't be the first one to say that.."
"And I..." I started
"And I bet you are not the last." he smiled
He wasn't getting angry. There was something in his eyes though that said if he were pushed correctly, he would lose it. Then it struck me, I knew how to get him really pissed. I took the Crystal Champagne flute I had been drinking out of and I threw at his Hi-Fi. The glass shattered into a million tiny pieces and Phil ceased singing about feeling it in the air tonight. There was a brief silence of about six seconds before Patrick was out his chair and at my jugular like a hyena in an Armani suit. I beat him to a frustrated pulp. The fight lasted a good twenty minutes and in that time I managed to destroy his TV, his paintings, his CD collection and anything else I could get my hands on. I wanted him to realise that he didn't need all this to be who he was. Okay, so at the time I didn't realise he was a serial killer, but you get the point I was trying to make. In fact, it's no coincidence that the next morning's newspapers all talked about another five bodies being found around New York.
When I got home I knew I would be safe from the police or any assault charges because it's not in Bateman's interest to have his face plastered all over the papers. It doesn't look to good for his company. I got back into bed and kissed Ikea boy lovingly on the head. It would be a long time before I saw him again. I had to work something out. I hoped that he would see things the way I saw them, but I needed time to work out what to say to him. How was I to convince him to join me in a campaign of misinformation that would rid the world of material possessions and unnessercary desirables. I lay low for over two years and I waited. I waited until he would really need me again. Till he would be so broken that he would listen to everything I had to say. My chance came. The rest is history.
It's all gone now. Bye bye, all gone. He doesn't feel the same way I feel. He's betrayed me. He doesn't love me any more. So, if he's not part of the solution, he's part of the problem. I will sort something out. That incident in the hotel room was just a comfort blanket for him. My way of putting him into a false sense of security before I wash the floor with his face. My time is coming once more. As Prince said, "I've seen the future and it will be. I've seen the future and it works".
Before people write to me about how they don't like Patrick being in it, I needed someone who would really piss Tyler off and who better then someone who's the complete opposite of him. Anyway, all characters belong to their respective copyrights blah blah blah.
The next chapter might take a couple of weeks to upload because I'm going home for the summer and I need to get my computer hooked up to the Internet. Also, I'll be working for most of the time. However, as soon as it's finished, it'll go up. By hook or by crook.
