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Tyler’s getting sick of my shit. I’ve been calling in, using nearly all my sick days at work in favor of wasting away on my lumpy spring mattress that creaks if you breathe the wrong way. I'm not depressed, I can’t sleep. I haven't been eating. When you lose sleep you lose the energy to carry out tasks that used to be simple, i.e., showering, making a bowl of cereal, and even attending Fight Club. This pissed Tyler off. Despite this, I knew I would decline for the third consecutive week tonight when Tyler would burst through the door like a Tasmanian Devil and pester me about attending this week’s match at fight club. Any minute now…
My body aches from laying in the same position and I feel a headache just behind my eyes like someone is thumbing my sockets. They burn when they're open and burn when they're closed. There isn’t one part of me that isn’t hurting, why go to fight club if the job gets done from my bed? I hear Tyler stomping up the stairs as it shakes the walls, sending crumbs of drywall crumbling down and scattering to the floor. I'm dreading his upcoming speech. I’m tired of picking them apart, trying to figure out what they mean. I can barely think cognitively anymore, I will not decipher any more riddles. He can speak in tongues all he wants but I don’t have to listen. If I had the energy I’d lock the door but I don’t so I opt to pull a pillow over my head with a weak groan instead.
Knock knock
Tyler barks in a thundering voice, “Little pig little pig!” I pretend to be asleep.
The door swings open on its rusty hinges and slams against the wall. The flick of his old Zippo-style lighter cuts through the silence. I hear the soft crackle being pulled from the drag of his cigarette before I hear him speak again saying, “I know you’re not asleep.” He didn’t sound angry, his voice delivered neutrally. I tried not to let it shake me.
I fought to steady my palpitating heart as it threw all my other senses out of whack. My ears rang and my vision spotted before my eyes slipped shut. I started to sweat. Why? I don’t know. I shouldn’t be so scared of Tyler, he’s my best friend. I’d also hate to feed his ego. I flatter him enough with my tenacious devotion.
He knows I worship him. He’s seen the way I look at him - hell everyone has - like he hung the moon and stars. I follow him like a fool and believe it or not, Tyler does the same. I don't honestly believe he could leave me even if he wanted to.
Tyler doesn’t necessarily worship me but I’m fine with that. But we are equally tethered to one another. I’m perfectly content being an obedient servant to the holy face of Tyler Durden. I’m not stupid. I know he’s not god but he’s what I believe in and that’s more than I can say about anyone or anything else. What’s a tyrant without their loyal disciple?
I found equanimity in our codependency. The cancerous attachment bleeds us dry and concurrently feeds us; like an addiction. You never bite the hand that feeds you, even if it hurts you. One thing about addicts is that once you're an addict, always an addict. You can break free from one addiction but not without gravitating towards another. It’s a harsh reality people condemn but I've got a healthy dose of insight from personal experience. Support groups to fight club, fight club to Tyler Durden. And he hoped he’d never be clean. The day he’s Tyler-sober will be his last.
That being said, if Tyler doesn’t get the fuck out of my room I’ll seriously consider lacing his next meal with broken glass.
He carried on a deep poetic rant, hard to decipher, and as soon as it was over I rolled over. The sheets stuck to my side due to the accumulated sweat that tacked my skin. I blink once at him before responding with a blank stare. “Leave me alone,” I whispered.
Tyler rolled his eyes whipping his cigarette out on the floor -of my bedroom might I add- before walking over to me. My eyes followed him as he grabbed the foot of my blankets and yanked them off me.
Around a smug smirk dancing on his lips he says, “Up ‘n attem, sweetheart,” and that infuriates me to no end. “Tyler, I’m seriously hurt. I can’t get up, much less fight.”
Tyler rolls his eyes. Believe it or not, I’m probably more embarrassed by my whining than he is; more perturbed at least. I’ve been told I whine a lot (mostly by Tyler) but I’ve never heard it so painfully conspicuous.
He finally quits his efforts to pull me out of bed and instead flops onto the foot of the mattress. He’s laying on his side, looking at me as I'm propped up against the mold-stained wall.
He asks, “What’s your deal, man?”
I shrink in a little, my posture immediately closing me off. Tyler takes notice. Of course, Tyler noticed.
He doesn’t say anything but he makes a face that tells me all I need to know.
“I can’t sleep..” I mumbled.
To his credit, he didn’t laugh or berate me like I was expecting. He just looked curiously at me.
“What’s new?” He asks. I drag a palm over my face. “I haven’t been eating or.. moving. I get up once to go to the bathroom then I come back just to stare at the ceiling for hours”
I feel ready to cry. I didn’t before but explaining what's wrong has always been a weakness of mine. Telling people what’s wrong knowing they can’t help is pointless and it hurts saying it out loud; like an unnecessary reminder. Like salting a wound. I wondered briefly if crying would actually help me sleep like it used to, maybe I shouldn’t fight these tears.
Tyler stayed silent for once, playing with a loose string on my blanket. He just stared at me while waiting for me to finish. He knew I had more to say and I held back for a moment before letting it all rip.
“You don't understand, I'm in pain. My eyes burn, my stomach hurts, my head is spinning, my body is sore, and my back is stiff.” I fired complaints faster than Usain Bolt. “My skin is itchy from stewing in my own filth for days. I feel like I'm dead, I rot the same alive.”
“Smell the same too,” he said, then making an exit.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I haven’t smelled a good scent since moving in here and I'm sure Tyler hasn’t either. If he tells you you smell like a corpse, you smell like a corpse. In the end, I did both, laughing wetly as tears cascaded down my cheeks. I haven’t cried like this since I was a small child. Not even while attending support groups. Is this “hitting bottom”? If it isn’t then I know reaching bottom is unattainable for me. I’m not strong enough to hit any lower than this without hanging from the ceiling. If letting another man strip you of your identity and turn you into an empty shell of a man isn’t rock bottom what is?
The tears have rolled and the pain has numbed, I think it’s time to sleep. I reach down to pull the blanket over me and drift off the second it’s draped over my shoulders. Tyler comes back and I’m unaware. He weighs his options, the pros and cons play ping pong on opposing sides till he makes a final decision. My upper half is held up then my legs and suddenly I’m airborne.
I don’t know that he’s holding me but I feel it. Like my mind won’t remember but the body does, it always does. Despite this, I hardly stir at all while hanging placidly in his arms even with the slight turbulence that rocks me as he’s walking us down the hall. Sleep stubbornly hangs over me. I haven’t been held in so long, the peace falls heavy on my eyes and I don’t dream of anything. My mind plays static which acts as white noise.
I’m not a man, I'm a boy. I’m small with boyish intentions, boyish words, and boyish loneliness. And boyish cravings for physical affection but no intent to seek it. I won’t ask for anything but if you don’t give it all up for me anyways you’ll meet your ends at the hands of my boyish rage.
I am Jack’s underdeveloped frontal cortex.
I startle awake the second my body touches cold rusted porcelain. Tyler has his back to me as he turns the water on. The pipes groan before off-white water is sputtering from the faucet. It’s cold on my calves and it’s brought to my attention that I’ve been stripped naked. I don’t acknowledge this, I don’t say anything yet but a groan slips out as the warming waters rise steadily. A cloud of smoke lifts over Tyler’s head as he turns and sits on the bathroom floor next to me. He says nothing so I stare silently at him with the dead eyes of a market mackerel.
“Don’t ever say I don’t take care of you,” he says, taking a drag from his cigarette. I roll my eyes. “You get that one from my mother?” He snickers at this. I hesitate before I ask him if this is just some ploy to get me back into Lou’s. “I’m offended you think so lowly of me,” he replied. “I figured it’d flatter you.” I said, equally insipid.
I welcomed the taciturnity that was drawn out after that. Would Tyler let me clean up around here? It’s not vain to want to clean this rust bucket of a bathroom. Concentration camps were upheld better than this bathroom. I don’t mind the brownish water now that I’m warm and pleasantly sedated but I will mind it tomorrow. Why do I still act like I have standards for myself? I laid in bed for a week without so much as washing my hands after I piss and I think I deserve a clean bathroom? What would it be for since I hardly use it? I make myself sick.
That's when I heard the faucet angrily buzzing as it winded to the right till it was off. The newfound silence gave me a moment of peace in my thoughts. But of course, it couldn’t last before water poured from above and rained down on my head and face. I gasped and shot up gripping the sides of the tub before shooting a look at Tyler. He stood above me holding a (now) empty cup.
Do you mind? I asked. “I didn’t toss you in here out of the kindness of my heart? I did it so you could get clean,” he scoffed as if it were obvious and it was but moments of tranquility passed me by so often that whenever I feel it I’d appreciate holding onto it for as long as possible. “.. kindness of my nostrils..” he mumbled. But Tyler couldn’t let it linger. He always had to stir some controversy and chaos and I always had to string along. For it’s what good puppies do.
As he roughly scrubbed through my hair I sighed and went limp. “I’ve never had a moment of peace. Not since I was swimming sperm,” Tyler rolls his eyes at this but I don’t see it. I’m looking straight at the wall ahead of me. “Quit your whining, man. This pessimistic bullshit is getting real old.” He demands. I obey. That’s usually how it goes. It still hurts though.
I take his cigarette out from between his lips and bring it to mine. He lets me take a long drag from it. With that, it was reduced to a simmering stub. That was the last drag either one of us would’ve gotten from it and after, I put it out in the bath water because don’t you know rusty cigarette water is clarifying and promotes soft supple skin?
He flushes my head once again with the cup of water. It pulls the soapy suds down with it before the cup clatters loudly against the wall. He threw it hard enough to make it rain drywall. I almost flinch.
He stares threateningly from where he’s crouched down next to me, waiting for me to make eye contact. Tyler likes looking at you in the eyes before ripping your heart out. I muster the courage to give him what he wants.
His pupils are blown, giving the illusion of black eyes. I’ve only seen his eyes go black like that after a fight. My heart drops. He’s enjoying this. “You’re so fucking pathetic. Y’know that?” I’m sure I’ve paled visibly. I want to cry but instead, I scowl.
“You’re just not worth it. I could’ve done all this without you,” he says.
The wind is knocked out of me as my mouth falls slack. A few slow blinks later and his hand grips my jaw in a bruising grip as he physically forces eye contact. I didn’t even notice I'd looked away. I smack his hand away and the sad confused look melts into a furious one. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” I snapped. He laughs again. “It means what I just said? don’t be stupid.”
“Get away from me. Don’t talk to me.”
He shrugs and leans back against the wall, he couldn’t care less. I whisper, “You're mean,” in utter disbelief.
It sounds dumb; childish and it is. But on a dime, it was the first thing that came to mind. The only word I could find to describe him. At the very least, there's some veracity to it. It's honest and unlike Tyler, I didn't aim to hurt him, I was pleading with him. I didn't have time to rehearse, stew in my own bitter spite, like I did with Marla. It was raw from a weeping wound beneath the flesh.
“Learn that one on the playground?” Tyler’s biting sneer is humorless as I bare my teeth. My body rises and falls in time with my panting breaths. “Fuck you.” I make a point to hold excruciating eye contact, even with his face so close to mine. His face falls flat as he barks at me, “Grow up!”
I finally flinch at that as spit hits my face. He sees my eyes are shiny with a light sheen of fresh tears. He doesn't stick around to watch me cry, he just disappears down the hall. I watch him leave and restrain myself from reaching out toward him. A few tears had piled up and trickled down my face till it trembled along my jaw. It irritated my cheeks and made red tracks that I hardly bothered to wipe off.
As he leaves and I’m left alone, bled dry, I'm hit with a wave of lucidity. In this reflective state of mind, I ask myself why every time I have to reach out while he gets to walk away. It's so easy for him to leave and it's too easy to get me crawling back.
Every day we are faced with choices and every day I choose to be completely pillaged; gutted. He's a thief that has deracinated me and raped my soul. As far as I know, he's guiltless. I carry what's been stolen, not in my arms that itch to hold it but in my mind, it weighs heavy as a memory.
I grab the rag he put on my stomach a while ago and I lazily scrub myself down with it while he’s gone. I'm not clean and I never will be. Tyler’s probably pissed, I don't know if he’ll be back. I pull the plug but I don’t get out, not yet. The water twirls around the drain slipping away and the warmth engulfing me sinks lower and lower. Twirls around the drain. Slipping away. What engulfs me sinks lower and lower. Twirls. Slipping. Sinks. The bath has been fully drained. It’s an empty shell with a sad boy inside it.
I crawl out like the fucking exorcist and pull a towel over my shoulders. Not around my waist. As I stood upright, I caught a glimpse of my reflection for the first time in a while. Even during my brief daily bathroom breaks, I avoid the mirror at all costs as well as most reflective surfaces. I wasn't brave enough to stare back at an unrecognizable hollow shell of a man. And that proved to be within reason as I’m left breathless at the face in the mirror. I feel a bilious tickle rise up my throat. I flinch away at first glance but then something changes. Maybe my reflection can act as a wake-up call of sorts. I brave the mirror and am met with the saddest sight I’ll ever see.
My eyes are puffy, glassy, and red and my cheeks are peppered with burst capillaries from god knows what. My face has thinned a lot and my complexion faded to a grayish-pasty white. The bags under my eyes nearly swallowed them. I don’t know what to make of it. I've never cared much about my looks, was never that kind of person but I'm disturbed by my appearance as it hardly even resembles a person anymore. Treat your body like shit and it’ll show. Huh, who would've thought?
I step out of the bathroom before I blow chunks. As I try l bee-lining it to my room, I see Tyler leaned against his door frame out of my peripheral. I don’t acknowledge him as I try slipping past undetected. Of course, Tyler won’t let that happen. “Get over here.” He orders. I still from where I’m standing and turn to face him. “Sometime today would be nice…” he says. His voice is significantly softer than it was moments ago. Maybe he’s sorry. I almost laughed as the thought crossed my mind.
I drag my feet all the way to him before standing in front of him, awaiting a new set of orders. He doesn’t say anything but he grabs my upper arm pulling me into his room. He lets me go and shuts his door. He never does that. I don’t wait for further instruction this time I crawl onto his mattress and clutch the towel hugging me.
He fixes the blanket balled up in a corner and tucks us both in. “Go to sleep.” He whispers that against my neck. “We’ll talk more in the morning.” The way he said that made my stomach churn. I was not looking forward to that conversation.
Tyler’s cruel and unusual methods raised questions but you can’t argue with results. I fell asleep within the next hour.
For the most part, I slept like a baby. Dawn struck through the window. They are sun-kissed with a divine yellow glow, hardly muted by the fetid striped curtains in Tyler’s room. There are no morning doves that chirp, they don't come around here, but there are a few crows perched on the telephone wire outside. They occasionally squawk dissonantly.
The towel is wrapped loosely around my waist by the morning, dragged down due to occasionally tossing and turning. I hear a grumble over my shoulder but I don't turn to look at Tyler.
The bed shifts as he sits up, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll put on a pot..” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep. He roughly claps the place my back meets my shoulder twice before hopping off the mattress that lays flat on the floor. I turn to watch him leave, only when I know he won't turn around.
After coffee, I find it in myself to make something good for me. Some eggs and toast will do. I still can't believe Tyler went grocery shopping by himself, I'm proud like a mother. Tyler’s proud of me too, he doesn't say it but I know it. And I glow under his tacit praise. I nearly forgot all about last night.
He asks how I slept and I don’t respond. Instead, I shamelessly shovel eggs into my mouth like Cool Hand Luke and nearly choke. Tyler scoffs a laugh before he moseys over from where he’s leaned against the counter across from me, to the hallway behind me. He picks up a stray piece of egg off my plate on his way up the stairs and I nearly growl like a rabid emaciated dog. He doesn’t miss the glare I send his way.
After all this, I find I’m a changed man. I’d call into work but it happens to be a day off so I promised my boss over the phone I'll be in tomorrow morning. Fighting is a release, physical or otherwise.