The Dark Passenger: Layer 1
"Fight Club AU with female narrator" - For Spencer
Warnings: Verbal abuse, mentions of blood, drinking, smoking
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The room was dark, too dark to see through, and damp with the smell of rain. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned with your arms bent behind your head. Your chest felt tight as you stretched, almost as if a bird was going to tear out of your ribcage. You blinked through the darkness wondering what time it could be and why you awoke suddenly. Unable to see the alarm clock on the floor beside the stained, sheet-less mattress you were laid upon, you turned over and felt the mattress beside you blindly. Your hand glided across the pile of blankets until you felt the warm touch of flesh beneath your fingers. You gently wiggled closer, careful not to awake the sleeping body beside you. You draped your arm across the pile of blankets until your hand came to rest on the warm skin of Tyler Durden's naked torso. You began to gently rub your hand across his stomach, forming small circles around his bellybutton as you looked at the window on the far side of his bedroom. The faint trickle of moonlight cascaded in through the cracks in the broken blinds. It provided just enough light to cast shadows across the peeling wallpaper on the opposite side of the room and the broken windowsill below.
You could feel the gentle rise and fall of Tyler's stomach with each shallow breath he took, his breathing almost inaudible. It was moments like this that made Tyler appear harmless; moments that made him human.
You could feel his stomach muscles twitch beneath your touch as you trailed your fingers up to his chest. You lightly dragged your fingernails across his collar bones, down his chest, over his stomach, and down to the whispy hairs of his happy trail beneath the blankets. Your fingers lingered, gently drawing small shapes and circles across his hips. Suddenly, Tyler began to stir. He turned to face the ceiling and he stretched his arms out at his sides. For a brief moment Tyler stopped breathing and you could feel his abdominal muscles tense tightly beneath his skin. Then, his body relaxed, his head rolled to the side and you could hear a small gasp escape his lips as he began breathing again. You laid still for a moment, listening to his gentle breathing overtop the silence in the house. A part of you wanted to continue tracing your fingers across Tyler's body, but the rational part of you, in the back of your mind, something told you to wait. Something in your gut told you to listen for the steady breathing that assured you he was still asleep. The moonlight outside meant nothing.
Tyler had no normal sleep/wake cycles. Some days he was awake at one o'clock in the morning, the scent of brown sugar wafting through the vents as he was deep in the basement pressing soap. Other days he was just waking at three o'clock in the afternoon, staggering to the bathroom wearing nothing other than a t-shirt and a hard-on. More often than not, Tyler was awake all night long. Most of your nights together were spent with Tyler smoking in bed. He would drone on as you tried not to doze off, rambling about the upper-class and minimum-wage jobs as he drank cheap liquor and ashed his cigarettes on the floor. Some nights he would drag you downstairs to the kitchen and put you to work collecting tallow and mixing essential oils while he disappeared into the basement. However, the worst nights came once a week, every Thursday night Tyler would disappear altogether. He would stay out until the early hours of the morning and stumble upstairs to the bathroom in the dark, leaving a trail of bloody clothes in his path. He would arrive home beaten with busted lips, black eyes, swollen knuckles, and bruised ribs. He would dress his wounds, soak in the bath and smoke a cigarette while you cried quietly into your pillow. Tyler never allowed you to ask questions, and if you did Tyler made you very sorry.
So here you were, sleeping on a dirty mattress on the floor of a house that definitely violated health and building codes, tracing your fingers across Tyler Durden's stomach. It was Friday, which meant a morning of blood and tears as you caught the first glimpses of his fresh injuries in fluorescent lighting. However, you tried not to think about what the morning would bring. You were enjoying lying silently beside Tyler as he slept.
You weren't sure when you had fallen asleep but you were waking again, now in the blinding morning light that trickled through the blinds. The sun was hot on your face as you stretched the sleep from your arms. You could feel the pressure building behind your forehead as you tensed all of your muscles at once, tiny white stars specking across the back of your eyelids as you held your breath. When the pressure became overwhelming and the white speckles faded, you suddenly relaxed and allowed your arms to fall limply at your sides. You opened your eyes and turned onto your side, feeling blindly in the pile of blankets for the warm body beside you, but there was nobody there. The spot Tyler had previously occupied was now empty and cold. You sat up just enough to see over the crumpled mess of blankets to the other side of the bed; he was gone.
Most mornings you would wake alone, only on the rare occasion that Tyler slept until the early evening did you get a chance to wake up before him. On those mornings you were extra careful climbing out of bed and quietly descending the stairs so he could sleep soundly. However today was not one of those days. The bed was empty and you were haphazardly throwing the blankets aside to free yourself from the claustrophobia. The smell of burnt coffee and toast wafted into your nostrils as your feet touched the broken hardwood beside the bed, and in that moment you knew exactly where Tyler was.
You sauntered over to the dresser in the corner, admiring the missing knobs and several broken drawers as you walked. You peeled your shirt off tossing it in the corner as you opened the top drawer, empty aside from a pair of socks. The second drawer was missing with different shades of fabrics poking out as if Tyler had been using it as a shelf. You slid your hand into the gap and pulled out a muscle tank with various colored squares. You tossed it on top of the dresser and reached in for another. The second shirt you pulled out was a goldenrod long sleeve button-up that hadn't been ironed in months. You rolled your eyes, deciding it would be more comfortable than the tank and hesitantly slid your arms inside. You quickly smelled the collar before you began fiddling with the small white buttons, the warm spice of Tyler's sweat and cologne surrounded your senses. It smelled fresh enough to wear and worn enough to wash, probably the cleanest item in the house. You chose to keep your shorts on, deciding it was easier than digging through the piles of laundry for something that only smelled clean enough to wear.
The smell of coffee, albeit burnt, was calling your name from the kitchen downstairs. As you walked toward the bedroom door, you could hear the faint sounds of running water and the sound of a pan being moved on the stove. You swung open the door that was missing an outside knob and made your way around the banister toward the top of the stairs. You could see a thin layer of smoke clouding the lights that descended the stairs as the smell of a burning cigarette was caught in your throat.
You quickly tied your hair back in a messy bun as you began walking down the rickety steps. Each stair had a squeak of its own, and you were careful to avoid the holes and broken boards as you walked. Empty bottles of beer littered the steps as you climbed down, candles melted into solid puddles of wax with fallen wicks, empty cigarette packs were stomped flat. The walls dripped with condensation, forming small leaking bubbles on the wall that caused the cheap floral wallpaper to sag in places. This shit hole should be condemned, you mused to yourself just as you had each morning.
You pulled the cuffs of Tyler's shirt over your hands as your stomach began to rumble with hunger. You wondered what you could throw together from the empty pantry.
As you rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs you were immediately stopped in your tracks as you walked directly into Tyler, who had been standing silently in the doorway. You staggered backward and held up your have apologetically. He was wearing a light grey robe with green, blue, and pink coffee mugs on it. His chest was exposed as the robe was tied loosely around his waist. His skin shined with a fine layer of sweat and his hair stuck out in all directions as he looked down at you through a black eye. His left eyebrow was stitched together and caked with dried blood. His swollen swollen cheek became more aparent as his mouth filled with smoke from his burning Newport. There was a small cut on his cheekbone that was surrounded by pink, irritated skin. His eyes were cold and angry as he stood hovering over you for what felt like an eternity. You avoided his gaze as you looked over the cracks in his complexion.
"What?" He asked suddenly. He blew the smoke from his lungs over his shoulder and used a partially melted spatula to flip the eggs on the stove. Unsure of what to say, you stood quietly watching his steady movements, his chest muscles flexing as he pushed the pan around. Dissatisfied with your silence, he set the spatula on the countertop and turned back to you. He stepped forward, positioning himself in the center of the doorway, and leaned himself against the door casing. He rested his elbow against the wood and used his hand to prop his head up. He bit the tip of his tongue between his kanine teeth and stared into your eyes as he took another drag of his cigarette. He then turned his head to the ceiling and cracked a smile as he blew smoke in a series of strained chuckles. As he brought his head back down his eyes appeared darker, almost black, and a Cheshire grin was plastered across his face. "Are you afraid of me?" He asked in disbelief, still smiling.
Immediately you looked up to meet his eyes, the question catching you off guard."No," You said softly. You fought to hold eye contact as his stare intensified, his pupils dilated so quickly nearly his entire iris had disappeared. "You're burning the eggs," You said flatly, hoping he would simply step aside and allow you to get your coffee.
"So?" His voice was hoarse as he spoke through a cloud of smoke in his lungs, thin whisps lingered around his lips as he held the drag for a moment before expelling it in your direction. "You're in my kitchen." His tone was serious.
You lowered your eyes, Tyler's bruised lips appearing more swollen as you watched him place the cigarette between them, the same lips that kissed you every day. Your hands began to wander as you stood silently, chest to chest with Tyler. You could feel the tension rising as your stomach tingled with anticipation, of what you were unsure. You took the belt of his robe between your fingers and began rolling it back and forth as you counted the stitches in his jaw. "That looks bad," You remarked. You continued to toy with the soft fabric as your other hand began gently tracing lines up and down the center of Tyler's abdomen. "I came down for some coffee," You confessed, your mind suddenly entranced with the feeling of his skin beneath your fingers. "You weren't there when I woke up," You said almost inaudibly.
Tyler pulled away suddenly and returned to the stove to tend to his eggs, leaving your arms floating and empty. "I had stuff to do," He said coldly.
You turned your head toward the coffee pot to hide the hurt in your eyes as you pretended his comment hadn't phased you. You ignored his arrogance by refocusing on finding a clean cup to pour the burnt sludge into, but you could feel Tyler's eyes on you, watching your every move as you tip-toed around the filthy kitchen. The countertop was littered with dirty dishes, empty beer bottles, half-baked batches of soap, empty wrappers and cigarette butts. The small square table that was typically in the middle of the kitchen was now shoved aside, sitting against the sink with glass jars and dirty rags covering it's surface. You rinsed a chipped mug in the cold brown water from the faucet and searched the table for the whitest rag in the pile.
The stove began to sizzle lloudly from behind you. Half startled, half curious, you turned around to see Tyler dropping slices of bacon into the pan haphazardly. Seeing that he had caught your attention, he motioned toward the pan. "I made enough if you're hungry." He then tossed the remainder of his cigarette into the sink and smiled at you as he slowly slid his hand down the front of his robe. Your eyes watched the scabs on his knuckles move as he stopped and motioned between his legs. "Unless you want something else," He said with a devious smirk, blowing you a kiss from his busted lips.
You didn't want to, and you weren't in the mood, but you smiled before you could turn around quick enough. He had definitely seen that. Tyler could be so awful in a lot of ways, but somehow he could always make you smile, even in the worst of times. Even on his worst days, the days you would question everything; all of the decisions you had made that had somehow lead your life down a path that had managed to cross Tyler, even in doubt he always made you feel special. All of the times he would push you away or hurt you and the times he would say things he didn't mean paled in comparison to the times he would hold you, or the times when he would preach like a philosopher and resolve all of life's unanswered questions I'm a single evening. Tyler was manipulative and yet so captivating, both wildly charming and somewhat off-putting, and yet everybody wanted to know Tyler Durden, and they either respected him or feared him.
"Bacon is fine," You finally answered as you lazily dried your mug with a yellow stained rag. "Is there any milk?" You asked hopefully.
You could hear Tyler scoff from behind you. "Do I run a fuckin' bed and breakfast?" He sneered. "Open the fridge and look," He said as he smacked your leg playfully with the spatula.
You bit your tongue to hold in your laughter. "No," You snarked, "That would require an actual bed," You giggled to yourself as you made your way to the fridge. You were careful to step on your tip-toes around the trash and broken bottles as you walked. However, upon opening the fridge you found it to be nearly empty, only cheese and a few condiments sat isolated on their respective shelves.
The sharp sound of flint scraping metal sounded across the kitchen as Tyler lit yet another cigarette. "Put it in the suggestion box," He said through puffs of smoke as he pointed to the overflowing trashcan in the corner.
Again, you bit your tongue. Arguing with Tyler was not worth the trouble, you would never win; he made sure of that. So, instead of throwing the mug across the room like your brain had told you to do in a fit of rage, you cradled it in both hands like a child carrying eggs as you walked to the steaming coffee pot. From the corner of your eye you caught Tyler glaring at you with a raging fire in his eyes. If looks could kill, you thought, I would have dropped dead to a kitchen floor that hadn't been mopped in decades.
As you finished filling your mug with the hot coffee, accidentally spilling drops onto the counter, Tyler approached you almost casually. As he continued to watch the stove from the center of the kitchen, he stretched his arm toward you, holding the Newport filter loosely between his fingers. "Finish that," He instructed.
You paused, bewildered, and stared at the smoke rising from burning cherry, beautifuly curling around itself as it rose to the ceiling. "I don't smoke," You reminded him.
His arm fell to his side, dead weight, and he shook his head like a disappointed child. You watched the glow of the cherry move smoothly through the air as Tyler raised his arm and absentmindedly scratched the back of his head. You could see the muscles in his jaw tensing and relaxing as he clenched his teeth together. Still looking down, he spit at the floor. The wet slap of his saliva hitting the broken tile could be heard over the sizzling bacon on the stove, leaving you feeling both disgusted and nervous. He stretched his arm toward you again, this time with intent, and every millisecond felt like an hour as you watched his arm come closer and closer until he couldn't reach any further. With his eyes still on the stove he repeated, "Finish it," through grit teeth.
Alarmed by his tone, you quickly yet carefully, set your coffee on the counter and slowly reached out to meet his hand. You looked into his eyes, your fingers trembling as you reached for the cigarette. Tyler's brow softened as your fingertips grazed his. You took the filter between your finger tips and regretfully brought it to your lips, cursing yourself for taking it in the first place. Before the filter made contact with your lips, in one smooth motion, Tyler dropped the spatula he was holding onto the counter and rushed toward you. He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into your wrist as he pulled your hand away from your lips. He looked you sternly in the eye and angrily yanked the cigarette from your fingers and without looking, tossed it into the sink unfinished.
He pointed at your face, his finger close enough to touch your nose and took a breath. He clenched his teeth again, looking away for a moment before he addressed you. "You need to stand up for yourself," He said sadly, yet firmly.
Tyler's hand was still clenching your wrist and you could already feel small bruises forming beneath his fingers. Your face felt hot, and you were sure your cheeks were reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Okay?" He asked, begging for your response; any response. You silently nodded your head and looked to the broken tile you stood upon.
Tyler smiled, a small menacing smirk that said I have all the power, as he gently pulled you closer. He quickly kissed your cheek, his hot breath dancing across your skin as he lingered. "Good," He whispered into your ear.
He released your wrist and backed away, returning to the bacon on the stove that smelled like it was just begining to burn. "Get something to eat," he instructed in a lighter tone, "I made it myself," He said as he dried the sweat from his temple with a discarded rag.
You could hear the sarcasm rising in Tyler's voice as turned your back to him and walked slowly back to the mug you set on the counter. "I'm not hungry," You said softly, almost in a whisper, and purely out of spite.
"What?" He asked in disbelief. You could feel his eyes starting to burn a hole in the back of your head as you carefully blew at the steam that was rising from your cup. You heard him scoff, and a part of you wanted to apologize but he had already began walking closer to you. His feet dragged across the floor and you could feel his frustration rising as he drew closer.
"I'll eat when I get back," You assured quickly.
However, you could already feel his hot breath down the back of your neck as he came close enough to touch your back with his chest.
You felt the damp sweat on his skin as he snaked a hand up your arm and around your neck. He gently pulled your head aside, exposing the left side of your neck to the ceiling. Every hair on your body stood on end as he placed his chin on your shoulder and nestled his face into the crook of your neck. Moisture collected on your skin as he opened his mouth and pressed his teeth into your soft flesh. He bit down, hard enough to leave a perfect imprint of his bite, but gently enough that your skin remained intact. You hissed through the pain and tried your hardest to remain still. With a chuckle simply at your own discomfort, he let go and walked away, leaving you standing alone.
You rubbed at your neck, cupping your hand over your bruising skin as you were finally able to sip your coffee. Small grounds stuck to your tongue as you swallowed, and it was only now that you could see them floating in your coffee. You spit into the sink and wiped the saliva from your lips with the back of your hand.
"Good morning would have been alright, too." You mumbled under your breath as you took another sip. The coffee was still piping hot, but you didn't care. A headache had begun to form behind your forehead and you were running out of time to enjoy your morning.
"Good morning," He mocked playfully.
You then decided to take your coffee upstairs. You took a piece of bacon from Tyler's plate as you walked past him and quickly made your way toward the stairs so you could focus yourself on getting ready for another dreary shift at the diner. You shoved the entire strip of bacon in your mouth and chewed through the heat. "Can you drive me?" You asked with a mouthful of hot grease.
Tyler had just taken a bite of his eggs when you asked. A loud clatter sounded as he dropped his fork onto the plate. He rolled his eyes and used his tongue to shove the food into his cheek. "When I'm finished," he mumbled as bits of egg fell from his lips and onto the plate.
You playfully blew him a kiss before you rounded the corner. Your stomach tingled with nerves as you caught him smiling before you disappeared behind the doorframe and began your slow climb up the stairs.
You had finished your coffee by the time you had reached the bedroom door. You were now dressed in lightly worn jeans, a borrowed White Snake t-shirt that was so faded it was illegible, and a combed ponytail. You had spent an extra twenty minutes standing on the front porch, anxious and waiting for Tyler while he took his time putting himself together. When he finally climbed into the car he was wearing jeans covered in various dark stains, a light yellow polo shirt, and a brick red leather jacket. His hair was clean and styled into a neat mess, his nails were clipped, and his eyes were hiding behind white aviator sunglasses with rose pink lenses. Once inside the car, before he had even shut his door, he turned the key. Before he would shift into drive and pull away from the curb he asked, "What's one thing you want to do before you die?"
He turned to you with one hand on the wheel, a shade of hurt in his eyes. "I'm serious," He said calmly with glossy eyes. "If you died today," He said as he pointed to your chest, "What would you be missing out on?"
You closed the visor, satisfied with your appearance, and turned your entire body to face him out of frustration. You were late. "I don't know, Tyler," You said anxiously. "Get to work on time for once?"
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