I stayed against the wall, as if my spine connected through the plast and through a pipeline, making my body immobile. I wasn't afraid of fighting Marla. I was afraid of losing. I was afraid of the shame and humility if I lost. And If I won, would I feel a great, spiritual relief I had never felt before? If so, would I have a need for Tyler? Would pain mean nothing to me? I realized the consenquences of losing and winning a fight with Marla. I reminded myself that who I was in Fight Club was not who I was in the rest of the world. But what if that didn't apply to me?
Tyler looked at me. He always came in a time of need. He strided up to me, placing a strong hand on my shoulder. "If she kicks your ass, no hard feelings." He said, which was encouragement coming from Tyler. To me, it was as if he read it from the bible. No, it was as if the minute he said it, they were recording it in the bible. Of course, they'd replace ass with rump or something.
He still wore his blue tuxedo pants. His coat was hanging on the banister, as well as some ritzy monarch shades. His plain, white undershirt was stained with blood and beer. It didn't much compliment his wedding theme. With those pants and coat, he could have a spontaneous wedding any minute of the day. With his shades, he could instantly become a clever drug dealer.
I smiled and Tyler patted my shoulder, leaning against the wall beside me. He crossed his legs as the fight between Michael and Calvin ended and they retreated into the crowd. "You're up." He said, shoving me into the ring. His brief sympathy was over.
Marla waited in front of me, already in a fighting stance. I swallowed nervously and mirrored her, flexing my fingers before putting them into fists. "Hit me." I said.
It was the first time I had gotten Marla to do my bidding, because she did hit me. Straight in the jaw. I felt a slight crack and quickly righted my jaw, rolling my shoulders. Her fist balled up and socked me in the chin. I fell backwards, my head knocking on the floor loudly. It was as if the volume had faded then been turned up as the shouts from the crowd grew into a mass. I opened my eyes. The ceiling and hungry faces were spinning briefly, before Marla's fist met my face. I'll admit that it was one good punch. The kind that felt like slow motion, where I could feel the touch of her knuckles against my cheek, the force cutting your teeth into your gums and finally knocking your head to the ground. Over and over again she pounded me, my head jerking left to right.
Slowly, I regained awareness to her beating the shit out of me, if she hadn't beaten it all out yet. There was no stopping her. It was like releasing a bull into a bullfighter's stadium. There was no sending that bull back. I was staring into a ceiling light, and slowly the light began to dim.
When your in this type of position, the crowd is doing one of the following: Rooting on Marla, laughing because it looks like she's screwing me, or booing Marla. They weren't doing any of the three, which was bad. They were silent. And when the crowd is silent, that means my face must have looked like it was blugeoned with a bedpan. It must have looked like my father bred with a badger and produced a mutant, which was me.
As quick as I could, I rolled over. Instantly I was on top of her, and she was staring bewilderedly. I knew she expected me to punch her, so I didn't. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her backwards, holding her in a tight headlock. She lie in my lap while I attempted to near her to suffocation. Her body uncomfortably writhed and her fingers clawed at my own. I began to wonder if she would tap out or not, because she seemed caught in my grasp for quite a while.
I felt her body go limp, her head rolling to the side and her cigarette falling from her lips and onto the floor. Slowly I let go. Her neck was bruised from my grip. The rooting and shouting coming from the crowd died. I stared, blood from her last punch trickling down my chin. Was she dead? I felt her pulse. No. Just unconscious.
I stood up, picking her up by her waist with me. She layed limply, lifelessly against my shoulder. A rush of cold spread through my body. What if she was dead? Tyler and I had never meant Fight Club to go this far.. To killing. Well, at least I felt that way.
Tyler stared awkwardly for a moment before taking her from me, cradling her in his arms. It appeared gingerly, though I assume he hadn't meant it that way. Her head dropped as her neck rested on his arm, and her legs hung over his other arm. He began toward the stairs and stopped, turning and looking at the crowd. "Fight Club is over. There is no homework for you." He said and began up the stairs. I followed behind. I wasn't guilty. I don't really know what I felt. But it wasn't guilt. It was the same relief I felt when hugging Bob- when I let go and cried. I didn't want it to go away, but it did.
It went away the instant we climbed into Tyler's car. Tyler put Marla in the passenger seat, leaving me no choice but to sit in back. He was silent the entire car ride. I watched Marla's bobbing head when we hit bumps to occupy myself.
The drive was quick. He stopped before our house, climbing out of the car and closing the door behind him. I climbed out as well, leaning on my door till it shut. He opened the door on the other side and pulled Marla out, once again cradling her gingerly in his arms. He closed the door with his foot and headed into the house, while I trailed at his heels.
I closed the door behind us. I followed him up the stairs. I stopped at the top of the stairs, watching him carry her into his room and lay her on his bed.
How gingerly he had been, picking her up. It made me feel terribly guilty for suffocating her. So I followed him. It was the first time I had actually set foot in Tyler's room. I had only looked at it every once and a while when I was looking for Tyler, or when I asked him not to "hump so loud".
Tyler walked past me into the bathroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him. I sat on the bed next to Marla, watching Tyler's door swing slowly on it's hinges. I got lost staring at the door. I got lost in it's rythym.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm. I gasped and realized it was Marla's hand. I looked at Marla. Her eyes were open, and her grip on me was as tight as if she had never been strangled.
"You startled me.. Are you alright?" I asked.
"Yea." She said, releasing her grip on my arm.
"I thought you were dead."
"No." She said as if she rather forget the incident, or at least have me stop talking about it.
She sat upright, pulling up the strap of her tank. She scooted a little until she was next to me. The tension felt a little awkward, I'll admit. I still felt my guilt heavily, as if it were part of my aura. I wondered if she could feel it on me.
I stared at my feet as if I were in a waiting room. I wasn't in a waiting room, I just had nothing to say. Suddenly I felt a hand on my inner thigh. It startled me, though I knew it was her. I didn't look at her. I knew what was coming.
Marla's hand slid down my back and leaned her head against my shoulder. I didn't understand her affection. I had lied to her, then strangled her. I didn't deserve affection. If I deserved anything, it wasn't affection. At first I thought that was it. She just needed somebody to lean on, which I was ok with.
Her head snaked forward, and her lips touched my neck. When was the last time I had been kissed? Since Tyler burned the shape of his lips onto my hand. I glanced at my hand.
What was Marla doing? Tyler was in the bathroom. He could come back any minute. I'm no sex-genie, but I think one guy screwing you was enough. I glanced at the bathroom door and closed my eyes, hoping Tyler would magically appear and knock the crap out of Marla for hitting on me. I don't think he would dare hit her, though. That sort of thing he saved for Fight Club. Was that what she was asking for? Did she think she was teasing me?
Her lips brushed my neck and kissed my cheek. I stood up, shaking her off of me. "What are you doing?!" I gasped. I headed for my room. I felt her eyes on me. Where, I didn't know. But they were watching me.
Tyler looked at me. He always came in a time of need. He strided up to me, placing a strong hand on my shoulder. "If she kicks your ass, no hard feelings." He said, which was encouragement coming from Tyler. To me, it was as if he read it from the bible. No, it was as if the minute he said it, they were recording it in the bible. Of course, they'd replace ass with rump or something.
He still wore his blue tuxedo pants. His coat was hanging on the banister, as well as some ritzy monarch shades. His plain, white undershirt was stained with blood and beer. It didn't much compliment his wedding theme. With those pants and coat, he could have a spontaneous wedding any minute of the day. With his shades, he could instantly become a clever drug dealer.
I smiled and Tyler patted my shoulder, leaning against the wall beside me. He crossed his legs as the fight between Michael and Calvin ended and they retreated into the crowd. "You're up." He said, shoving me into the ring. His brief sympathy was over.
Marla waited in front of me, already in a fighting stance. I swallowed nervously and mirrored her, flexing my fingers before putting them into fists. "Hit me." I said.
It was the first time I had gotten Marla to do my bidding, because she did hit me. Straight in the jaw. I felt a slight crack and quickly righted my jaw, rolling my shoulders. Her fist balled up and socked me in the chin. I fell backwards, my head knocking on the floor loudly. It was as if the volume had faded then been turned up as the shouts from the crowd grew into a mass. I opened my eyes. The ceiling and hungry faces were spinning briefly, before Marla's fist met my face. I'll admit that it was one good punch. The kind that felt like slow motion, where I could feel the touch of her knuckles against my cheek, the force cutting your teeth into your gums and finally knocking your head to the ground. Over and over again she pounded me, my head jerking left to right.
Slowly, I regained awareness to her beating the shit out of me, if she hadn't beaten it all out yet. There was no stopping her. It was like releasing a bull into a bullfighter's stadium. There was no sending that bull back. I was staring into a ceiling light, and slowly the light began to dim.
When your in this type of position, the crowd is doing one of the following: Rooting on Marla, laughing because it looks like she's screwing me, or booing Marla. They weren't doing any of the three, which was bad. They were silent. And when the crowd is silent, that means my face must have looked like it was blugeoned with a bedpan. It must have looked like my father bred with a badger and produced a mutant, which was me.
As quick as I could, I rolled over. Instantly I was on top of her, and she was staring bewilderedly. I knew she expected me to punch her, so I didn't. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled her backwards, holding her in a tight headlock. She lie in my lap while I attempted to near her to suffocation. Her body uncomfortably writhed and her fingers clawed at my own. I began to wonder if she would tap out or not, because she seemed caught in my grasp for quite a while.
I felt her body go limp, her head rolling to the side and her cigarette falling from her lips and onto the floor. Slowly I let go. Her neck was bruised from my grip. The rooting and shouting coming from the crowd died. I stared, blood from her last punch trickling down my chin. Was she dead? I felt her pulse. No. Just unconscious.
I stood up, picking her up by her waist with me. She layed limply, lifelessly against my shoulder. A rush of cold spread through my body. What if she was dead? Tyler and I had never meant Fight Club to go this far.. To killing. Well, at least I felt that way.
Tyler stared awkwardly for a moment before taking her from me, cradling her in his arms. It appeared gingerly, though I assume he hadn't meant it that way. Her head dropped as her neck rested on his arm, and her legs hung over his other arm. He began toward the stairs and stopped, turning and looking at the crowd. "Fight Club is over. There is no homework for you." He said and began up the stairs. I followed behind. I wasn't guilty. I don't really know what I felt. But it wasn't guilt. It was the same relief I felt when hugging Bob- when I let go and cried. I didn't want it to go away, but it did.
It went away the instant we climbed into Tyler's car. Tyler put Marla in the passenger seat, leaving me no choice but to sit in back. He was silent the entire car ride. I watched Marla's bobbing head when we hit bumps to occupy myself.
The drive was quick. He stopped before our house, climbing out of the car and closing the door behind him. I climbed out as well, leaning on my door till it shut. He opened the door on the other side and pulled Marla out, once again cradling her gingerly in his arms. He closed the door with his foot and headed into the house, while I trailed at his heels.
I closed the door behind us. I followed him up the stairs. I stopped at the top of the stairs, watching him carry her into his room and lay her on his bed.
How gingerly he had been, picking her up. It made me feel terribly guilty for suffocating her. So I followed him. It was the first time I had actually set foot in Tyler's room. I had only looked at it every once and a while when I was looking for Tyler, or when I asked him not to "hump so loud".
Tyler walked past me into the bathroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him. I sat on the bed next to Marla, watching Tyler's door swing slowly on it's hinges. I got lost staring at the door. I got lost in it's rythym.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm. I gasped and realized it was Marla's hand. I looked at Marla. Her eyes were open, and her grip on me was as tight as if she had never been strangled.
"You startled me.. Are you alright?" I asked.
"Yea." She said, releasing her grip on my arm.
"I thought you were dead."
"No." She said as if she rather forget the incident, or at least have me stop talking about it.
She sat upright, pulling up the strap of her tank. She scooted a little until she was next to me. The tension felt a little awkward, I'll admit. I still felt my guilt heavily, as if it were part of my aura. I wondered if she could feel it on me.
I stared at my feet as if I were in a waiting room. I wasn't in a waiting room, I just had nothing to say. Suddenly I felt a hand on my inner thigh. It startled me, though I knew it was her. I didn't look at her. I knew what was coming.
Marla's hand slid down my back and leaned her head against my shoulder. I didn't understand her affection. I had lied to her, then strangled her. I didn't deserve affection. If I deserved anything, it wasn't affection. At first I thought that was it. She just needed somebody to lean on, which I was ok with.
Her head snaked forward, and her lips touched my neck. When was the last time I had been kissed? Since Tyler burned the shape of his lips onto my hand. I glanced at my hand.
What was Marla doing? Tyler was in the bathroom. He could come back any minute. I'm no sex-genie, but I think one guy screwing you was enough. I glanced at the bathroom door and closed my eyes, hoping Tyler would magically appear and knock the crap out of Marla for hitting on me. I don't think he would dare hit her, though. That sort of thing he saved for Fight Club. Was that what she was asking for? Did she think she was teasing me?
Her lips brushed my neck and kissed my cheek. I stood up, shaking her off of me. "What are you doing?!" I gasped. I headed for my room. I felt her eyes on me. Where, I didn't know. But they were watching me.