Tyler's Return: A 'Fight Club' Adaptation

Tyler took it upon himself to explore the house, running his leathery fingers along the dining set we’d just bought; the clean granite countertops in the kitchen; the freshly-stocked fridge. I followed behind him, keeping a safe distance away, praying that Marla had stuck me back in the hospital.

When he seemed satisfied he sprawled out on the couch, resting his hands behind his head. His face was painted with a gritty smile.

“Nice place you got now,” he told me.

I bit down hard on my lip to see if that would wake me. It didn't.

“Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t a compliment and you know it. What the hell happened here? What happened to Fight Club? To hitting rock bottom? We were almost free!”

The metallic taste of blood washed over my tongue. “No, you were almost free. I was just a body you could run around in like a parasite so you could pull your cute stunts.”

There are two types of parasites: the ones that choose to become parasites, and the ones that can’t be anything else. Amoebas, worms, leeches-- they can live without a host for a long time, but hardcore blood-suckers like lice, fleas, and mites have no choice but to latch on. I know this because Tyler knows this. We both know which one he is.

“Well you’re so soft it was easy, just like it was easy for me to come back last night.”

My stomach dropped. Last night? He was here last night too? And he wasn’t even telling the truth. I got the feeling that Tyler Durden had been back for much longer; or worse, that he never left.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

Tyler just threw back his head and chuckled, though it sounded more like wheezing-- like one of those charcoal-lunged chain-smokers. His cold eyes set on mine, challenging me to a fight I’d already lost. Then he was gone.