Archive of Our Own

I look at the hand that was curled by the other guy's side. I think that’s my blood on there. I feel my whole body run hot like an exposed wire.

You…punched me. My jaw hurts from moving it around the words.

"Yeah, asshole," the man's voice shook, betraying the tough guy thing he’s going for.

Before I could think of a reply, my body moves on its own and I’m on top of the guy.

The body beneath me twists and thrashes. It was like fighting a giant octopus. Limbs flying everywhere, sticky with sweat.

He's bigger than I am, maybe even stronger. But I still push my whole weight down and aim right for his stupid, square face.

My knuckles are on fire.

The room is roaring with indistinguishable cheers and yells. This lasts a while. It quiets down when I stand up, swaying side to side like a drunk above the body limp on the floor looking like a pile of grocery meat.

Some of the monkeys scramble to carry him to the backroom.

I feel the bruises on my face, the blood dripping from my busted lip. It's quiet when I walk up the basement stairs and grab my shirt from the coat hanger. I hope they were a little afraid of me. Tyler would get a kick out of that.

I knew it was a mistake to go without Tyler because I knew some asshole couldn't control himself without him there. He has that effect on people. He just has to look at you, and suddenly you're chained to the ground and waiting for a command.

I'm outside of the broken down house Tyler and I lived in.

I open the old door that was jammed half the time and walk up the stairs that will probably collapse within a few months without fixing.

It’s weird that this was more homely than any home I've had in my life.

I hear creaking near the bathroom when I reach the top of the stairs. I look at Tyler, leaning against the door frame.

He looks like a dream. The too small, vivid red of his Hawaiian shirt clings to his tanned skin. A toothpick indents the corner of his red mouth.

I lick the blood still on my lips. It’s sweet.

"Hey, psycho boy," Tyler almost coos, a smirk curling on his cruel, beautiful, handsome face. He moves towards me casually, as if I wasn't dripping blood onto the rotting wood of the floor.

Being looked at by Tyler is like being burned by the sun. It was scorching except for the single, spliced frame of Tyler looking like a cool glass of water.

I smile. There was not much that was good about it.

There must be blood on my teeth. Gums blackened from repeated damage. I feel better than all those times I cried at those group sessions. I feel like dropping like a bag of rich, liposuction clinic fat. Fighting always gets me there.

Tyler. My voice cuts off, but I keep grinning.

I must look like a maniac. Tyler didn't look away. His gaze lazily drifts from my chest up to my eyes. My skins burn from under my clothes.

"Aren't you pretty." Tyler pats my cheek lightly like I was a good animal.

I burn red hot with shame. I lean into the touch and he keeps the hand there. 

At some point, my eyes closes yet I still feel Tyler is looking at me.

His large hand rubs at the rivulet of blood at the corner of my mouth, smearing it across my already sticky lips. I let out a small sound and he laughs. It sounded like glass breaking.

"Where've you been, sweetheart?" Tyler snakes an arm around me. Warm hands trail across my collarbone and sweeps down my back. It rests near my waist, fitting right above the bony curve.

First rule, I say flatly.

His hand feels like a punch. Hot, branding. Fireplace heated poker. I don't think I'd mind if it bruised wherever he touched.

Tyler huffs out a laugh and starts leading me somewhere. "C’mon, doll. Let's get you cleaned up.” 

His punch-warm hand burns me. It’s like holding a fire.

He sets me down on the rim of the terrible bathtub he liked so much and runs his clean hand through my hair. “Be right back."

I feel kind of floaty. Not from the pain. From just Tyler. 

It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. He always gets softer when I'm down.

Not soft like he'd warm some milk and tuck me into bed with a kiss on the forehead. But he'd dress my wounds and chuckle at my gritted teeth. He'd call me endearments and paint the blood on me like it was lipstick.

I'm not a big fan of getting the shit beaten out of me, but I don’t complain about what Tyler does afterwards.

"I'm gonna clean you.” And I let him do it. There's not much I'd not let him do.

He keeps a steady hand on my cheek as he washes away the blood from my face. I close my eyes. His thumb strokes the skin of my cheekbone.

Tyler washes away the dirt and grime with a ratty cloth that felt soft. I grasp at the sleeve of his disgusting patterned shirt.

When he was done, he didn't withdraw the hand. He tilts my head towards the tub with a hand firmly gripping the ends of my hair. "Spit."

The blood in my mouth dribbles towards the drain. I'm limp in his hold.

"Good boy," He taps my throat. "I'm taking your shirt off."

I imagine the blood was flaking deep red from the collar. Gotta clean this before work tomorrow.

"There you are,” he murmurs. “Let's get you to bed, pretty boy.”

That’s new.

He didn’t just leave me with a pat on the head so I would drag myself back to my room to toss and turn for hours.

I open my eyes again, looking up at him half-lidded and tiredly curious. He didn't say anything. He draws an arm around my naked torso and leads me to his room.

All those nights trying to tire myself by talking with him had never led me to sleeping in his room. I always left before I collapsed.

Tyler sat me on the bed without another word. I look up to his eyes.

I can never tell what he's thinking. That's the mystery of Tyler. That's why men and women swarm around him, fighting over his all encompassing attention.

When he looks at you completely, you feel like you're at a confessional. Sitting with a screen between you and Tyler, except he can see you perfectly while you confess your sins to a light blue void. He sees your soul while you can only see the bare outlines of Tyler Durden.

It used to scare me, but I don't mind it anymore. I'd gladly spill every dirty secret I had.

I wrap my arm around his waist and lean my head against the soft fabric of his shirt. Tyler puts his unbearably warm hand on my hair. I feel him card his fingers through the short strands. I didn’t sigh sappily and melt. I didn’t.

Tyler drops his hand on my arm and leans down. I look at his blue eyes and then at the red of his lips. Without warning, without any fanfare, Tylee leans closer and slots our lips together.

He's more gentle than I've ever seen him be. It wasn't how I imagined our first kiss.

I'd always thought it would be during a fight and our kiss would be an extension of the violence. He kissed me like he wanted to keep me forever. I could only let out a shaky breath.

He draws back and I tried to recover, slowly opening my eyes before he says. "You're the prettiest thing I've ever had."

I almost didn't hear it. He sounds like he was confessing a secret to me. I hold that rare shred of truth inside my tender knuckles.

We kiss again. And again. And again. He trails slowly downwards. He bites a red mark on the curve of my throat.

He pulls back and ruffles my hair affectionately. “You look like you're going to fall asleep right here, darlin’."

I cover my red face in the crook of his neck while he laughs lightly. Please shut up.

"Lay down," he says, shifting himself from my arms but not away from me. "On the other side."

I settle onto the flat pillow, staring at the cracks in the ceiling blearily. He lays down next to me and turns off the lights on the nightstand.

We lay in complete silence as I slowly drift off. I feel him shift next to me. “Turn over."

I sleepily roll over to face the wall. I feel his hot breath on my neck. He just barely brushes his lips onto the back of my neck, a whisper of a kiss. My next breath is shaky then normal again.

"Go to sleep.” I feel him say it more than I heard it.

I close my eyes and press closer to him. Then I was out like a light.

The last thing I remember was Tyler whispering. “Good night, psycho boy."