Part 19 (1/2)

And don't.

Stop.

Please.

Oh.

G.o.d.

Help.

Me.

Help.

No.

Me.

G.o.d.

Me.

Stop.

Them.

And the s.p.a.ce monkey slips the knife in and only cuts off the rubber band.

Six minutes, total, and we were done.

”Remember this,” Tyler said. ”The people you're trying to step on, we're everyone you depend on. We're the people who do your laundry and cook your food and serve your dinner. We make your bed. We guard you while you're asleep. We drive the ambulances. We direct your call. We are cooks and taxi drivers and we know everything about you. We process your insurance claims and credit card charges. We control every part of your life.

”We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we'll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won't. And we're just learning this fact,” Tyler said. ”So don't f.u.c.k with us.”

The s.p.a.ce monkey had to press the ether down, hard on the commissioner sobbing and put him all the way out.

Another team dressed him and took him and his dog home. After that, the secret was up to him to keep. And, no, we didn't expect any more fight club crackdown.

His esteemed honor went home scared but intact.

”Every time we do these little homework a.s.signments,” Tyler says, ”these fight club men with nothing to lose are a little more invested in Project Mayhem.”

Tyler kneeling next to my bed says, ”Close your eyes and give me your hand.”

I close my eyes, and Tyler takes my hand. I feel Tyler's lips against the scar of his kiss.

”I said that if you talked about me behind my back, you'd never see me again,” Tyler said. ”We're not two separate men. Long story short, when you're awake, you have the control, and you can call yourself anything you want, but the second you fall asleep, I take over, and you become Tyler Durden.”

But we fought, I say. The night we invented fight club.

”You weren't really fighting me,” Tyler says. ”You said so yourself. You were fighting everything you hate in your life.”

But I can see you.

”You're asleep.”

But you're renting a house. You held a job. Two jobs.

Tyler says, ”Order your canceled checks from the bank. I rented the house in your name. I think you'll find the handwriting on the rent checks matches the notes you've been typing for me.”

Tyler's been spending my money. It's no wonder I'm always overdrawn.

”And the jobs, well, why do you think you're so tired. Geez, it's not insomnia. As soon as you fall asleep, I take over and go to work or fight club or whatever. You're lucky I didn't get a job as a snake handler.”

I say, but what about Marla?

”Marla loves you.”

Marla loves you.

”Marla doesn't know the difference between you and me. You gave her a fake name the night you met. You never gave your real name at a support group, you inauthentic s.h.i.+t. Since I saved her life, Marla thinks your name is Tyler Durden.”

So, now that I know about Tyler, will he just disappear?

”No,” Tyler says, still holding my hand, ”I wouldn't be here in the first place if you didn't want me. I'll still live my life while you're asleep, but if you f.u.c.k with me, if you chain yourself to the bed at night or take big doses of sleeping pills, then we'll be enemies. And I'll get you for it.”

Oh, this is bulls.h.i.+t. This is a dream. Tyler is a projection. He's a disa.s.sociative personality disorder. A psychogenic fugue state. Tyler Durden is my hallucination.

”f.u.c.k that s.h.i.+t,” Tyler says. ”Maybe you're my my schizophrenic hallucination.” schizophrenic hallucination.”

I was here first.

Tyler says, ”Yeah, yeah, yeah, well let's just see who's here last.”

This isn't real. This is a dream, and I'll wake up.

”Then wake up.”

And then the telephone's ringing, and Tyler's gone.

Sun is coming through the curtains.

It's my 7 A.M. wake-up call, and when I pick up the receiver, the line is dead.