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If lying is considered as a bad thing, then why had god to make it so much easier and prettier than telling the truth? Yes, once I have even gotten to a point in my life, where I saw it as a pastime to lie. It haven’t cared anymore about what I lied; my name, my age, it hasn’t mattered, the most important thing was that I haven’t had to face myself.
I am Jack’s missing sense of reality.
In all those support groups, Marla had learned me to know as Mike Sciorra, Ed Miller, Daniel Schreiber, CJ Williams. Later on, outside of the tiny rooms stuffed with tears and vain hopes, as Jack; just Jack and still she never found out who I was or who I am now.
I think the lie I’ve told her as she moved in with me, was by far the most beautiful I’ve ever told anyone. Maybe because it was not only a lie, but a promise.
‘You are the only one I love. Stay with me and I’ll never let you go.’
And Marla had known that it was a lie. Which doesn’t mean that she hadn’t forced herself to believe it. And I had known that I was lying. Which doesn’t mean that I hadn’t forced myself to make it true.
I had listened to her talking between two nicotine-filled kisses. She had whispered something about a daughter she wanted to have in the next few years. Of course, she would love a son too, but if she had a little girl...she would dress her like a princess, Marla had sighed, while tears had streamed down my face.
She hadn’t noticed them through her daydreams, through the darkness of my bedroom, but I had felt them burning through my skin like acid. I would have given her everything, though. For the price of finally being able to forget and one numb night full of sleep, I would have given Marla the world and even her little princess, even if I never would be able to afford it.
I wish I would have cried the day she had left me. Maybe it would have made her stay. But I couldn’t and somehow, I haven’t wanted to either. I had been another five days without sleep and I had been too tired to tell another lie. She hadn’t deserved another one either.
It had been again in my bedroom, but this time Marla hadn’t started to talk about the future. She had talked about the past. About Jack, the guy from the support groups.
“Something has happened between then and now.”
It has been a statement, not a question.
“What was it?”
I had remained silent, not ready to speak, or even to react.
“Jack.”
“Marla...”
“You know what? Forget it.”
She had put out her cigarette in the ashtray and got up.
“Marla, don’t.”
“Don’t touch me.”
She had pushed my hand away as I tried to reach out to her. I guess that the worse thing for me had been that she hadn’t even sound angry. Marla had been tired, just like me.
“Marla...”
It had been everything I could say. Her name. The desire not to be alone is too big to express it in words.
“It’s just...you are not there Jack. And I don’t mean the fact that you don’t care about me. You don’t seem to be in your own body. I can understand if there if something going on in your head and you don’t want to talk about it. But you can’t expect me to stay while you are disappearing.”
Marla had moved toward the bedroom door. I hadn’t stopped her. She had asked me for a last favour before she left. I shall never call her again and whenever I see her on the street, I shall just treat her like a stranger and move on.
Little had she known that the thing that was going on in my head has a name and a face.
I saw only her twice in the last few weeks, the first time out of my car window on the way to work and the second time in a grocery store. And my phone has been left untouched for months already. It is unsettling how easy it was for me to follow her request.
I can’t say that I miss her, but I liked her company. A lso, with her, I lost my distraction. Marla left me alone with my thoughts about-
I started to go out in the evening. I drank, I smoked, I pretended to have fun. I went to strip clubs, let hot, small bodies grind up against mine. I wasted my money between a pole dancers thong and her firm ass.
I am Jack’s desperate attempt to feel something.
There was this boy. Hooker. They called him ‘Angelface’ and the reason for it was not hard recognize. I have never seen such a beautiful little creature in my entire life. He was petite, had huge greenish eyes like those of an Anime-character, his lashes were thick, his features soft but not plumb.
And his mouth looked perfect, the way it was wrapped around my dick. His pupils blew wide as I slapped his face, carved my fingers into the smooth white skin. He never complained; as much as I hurt him. Sometimes a sob would break through his moan and I would just fuck him harder.
I never really knew if I wanted him to enjoy it, or to see him bleed. Maybe I wanted to make him feel what Tyler has done to me, the restless hours of waiting in his apartment, knowing that he was with somebody else. The cruel way he had taken my dignity from me and made his pet, a miserable dog that wines because it’s owner abandoned it, though he doesn’t even remember it.
My cum mixed with the blood from his bottom lip. I watched through half-closed eyes how it dripped down his chin and wiped it gently away with my thumb. The gentle vibrato of his whimpers went directly through my softened dick and made me almost hard again.
I am Jack’s call for relief.
Finally, I pulled out and ruffled his blonde locks.
“Good boy”, I praised.
He leaned into my touch, looked at me with big eyes from his kneeling position on the floor and rested then his head on my thigh. Every angel needs a god, right? Or at least someone that pretends to be one. Lucky him that pretending is the thing I know doing best.
It is almost late enough to call it a morning as I open my eyes. I remember having passed out the moment my head touched the pillow. I remember the hookers bruised face. Something throbs inside of my skull. Maybe it is the faint proclaimer of a hangover, maybe it is my heartbeat.
I don’t know what woke me up. Definitely not a nightmare. Sleep has sucked me in like a dark ocean and isolated me from dreams of any kind. Have I heard something? I roll over to my back and hold my breath.
The life beyond my window is loud. A cars honk, drivers curse, a bunch of drunk men yell something that is probably supposed to sound like the Canadian anthem. My apartment on the other hand is strangely quiet. Strangely? I am alone. From where do I expect sound to come from?
And suddenly I know what woke me up. The alarming feeling of not being alone though you actually should be. I reach for the first drawer of the nightstand on my right side. My finger itch for the feeling of the handle of the .38 Smith&Wesson Special.
“It’s not there anymore.”
I don’t jump as I hear his voice. I don’t move at all. He steps into the light of that city that invades the room through the window. I don’t know if I had expected a change, if I had expected his hair to be longer, his appearance to be scruffy, anything that shows me that it matters to him not having seen me in three months.
But of course not. Hair and beard are trimmed to perfection, he hasn’t lost a single gram of muscles and his lips were curled by the smirk as always.
“What are doing here?”, I ask and sit up.
Maybe it would have been better to ask instead how he got into my apartment. But I don’t want to know. The question doesn’t sound as rejecting as I would like it to be. Tyler knows that I’ve been waiting for him. He knows that he has been haunting me. But I know that I don’t haunt him.
“Fixing the broken things, I guess.”
The mattress sinks in as he sits down beside me.
“Broken?”
“Broken.”
“I’m not broken.”
“Not broken, huh? The things you’re doing to that little angel downtown’re not speaking of a clear mind.” Tyler shakes his head, almost in disappointment.
“How do you know about him?”
“Oh”, he chuckles, “I know about him, I know about Marla...I know about everything you have done while I was gone. But the boy, hm...has such a pretty little hole, right? So thigh...I’ve asked him about you, you know? Of course he said nothing concrete, but the look on his face when I said your name...you got him well scared of you.”
I am Jack’s blind dependency.
It doesn’t look threatening as I lift my hand to slap his face. Tyler catches it in the movement and wraps his finger around my wrist in a way that would make it easy for him to crush it like a baby bird. It is the hand with the chemical burn.
Tyler pulls it close to his face and licks a fat stripe over it. I cringe and he laughs again.
“Why have you had to take him away from me? I can’t touch him anymore now that you spoiled him for me”, I groan.
“I spoiled him for you? Good. Poor thing’s better off without you. You abused him.”
“Abused him? I just did to him what you have done to me...needed him to feel it...”
...to know that it is real.
Something changes in Tyler’s eyes. I hit a sensitive spot, though I don’t know what exactly I hit. He tightens his grip.
I don’t know if I’m screaming or crying. My head feels heavy and hot with pain and anger. Tyler pushes the icy shaft of my gun under my shirt; presses the barrel down on the soft skin between belly and abdomen.
The bullet would rip through an important part of my colon and my small intestine. My pancreas would be completely destroyed and from that distance, it would surely hit my spinal cord. I would bleed out within five minutes.
“I’ve never hit you, or am I wrong?”
I don’t answer.
He pulls the gun back, just to thrust it hard again me. A pathetic sound of submission leaves my lips.
“Maybe I should have, slut.”
“What you did was worse.”
“Oh really? Tell me what big bad Tyler did to you, Jacky boy.”
“You took everything from me and made believe that you had the right to it.”
“You are lying, Jack. Over and over and over again. I couldn’t have taken anything from you, because you had nothing and you were nothing. I am everything you have and you know that. The hope that you could see my face under all these space monkeys outside, is the only reason that you get up.”
The gun wanders lower and pushes my legs open.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Why? It’s so much fun to flatter myself with your little secrets.”
A click and the gun is secured and grinds slowly against me. My dick twitches against the cold metal and An ugly smirk spreads on his face.
“You are sick, Tyler”, I moan.
I am Jack’s self-disgust.
He lands a blow on my cheek, so hard that I taste blood and my vision fades out for a few seconds. I see Tyler’s face through a grey veil appearing close to mine. He bares his teeth.
“I’m just giving you what you want. So who is the sick one of us?”
Before I can protest, he forces his lips against mine. His kiss is possessive. Tyler is in control and he wants me to know it. His tongue opens my mouth without my conscious, invades it, tastes it with hot strokes. He ruts the gun harder against me, brutally.
Tyler mutes my pleads for him to stop by letting go of my wrist and wraps his hand around my throat. I try to push him away, hit him several times against the chest, but I am weak. I feel how my blood seems to slow down inside of my veins.
With the oxygen, I lose access to my body. Everything that is left from my defence, are little twitches of my limbs. My eyes roll back and I all I can do is just lay there; a shaking and whimpering mess in the arms of a maniac.
I barely feel my orgasm. I feel nothing in fact, just something wet soaking the fabric of my boxers.
Tyler withdraws his hand and laughs as I gasp loudly and try to suck in as much air as could back into my lungs. His gaze wanders down to my legs and watches the cum drip down my leg.
Tears make my lashes sticky.
“Pathetic”, he mutters, tosses the gun away and pulls my boxers down. I don’t even try to put a fight. Maybe it was meant to be like that. Maybe I was meant to be Tyler Durden’s slave, his docile pet. I close my eyes.
The sound of an unbuckling belt make my body shiver again in anticipation. It begs me not to fall back into the vicious circle. I don’t listen. Tyler lifts my legs and smacks my ass. I groan.
“Aye! Stay with me.”
My eyes flutter open.
“That’s right.”
He emphasized the praise with a rough squeeze of my right ass cheek, before he spreads them both. I hiss as the cold air hits my exposed hole, while Tyler licks his lips at the mere sight of it. I don’t want to look him in the eyes, don’t want to see the hunger, just to create these useless hopes in my mind.
Tyler spits on his own dick and smears is all over it. A thought takes form in the back of my head, briefly but clearly. He is going in without lube. Before I could pull away, he presses the tip inside of me.
“No-no-no, Tyler-please.”
My tongue stumbles over the words, merges them. I cramp, but Tyler doesn’t care, he never did, so he pushes past the rim anyway. Burning is not the right adjective to describe the feeling as he fully sinks into me. It feels more like a knife being twisted and turned inside of my rectum. I can’t scream. The feeling burns up my spine and sets my brain cells on fire.
“Please...”, I try to say before my soul leaves my body like a rat leaves a sinking ship. Of course, Tyler ignores me. This is not about me. It’s about him. It always is. He grips my hips and forces himself back in.
He doesn’t waste time building up speed. The spend is there from the beginning. I feared that between the brutal grip on my hips and his thrusts, I would rip in a half.
“Tell me that you didn’t miss this”, Tyler grunts like the animal he is. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t like the pain, you little whore.”
I do what he asks me to and turn my head a little. His eyes tell me that he likes it. He likes making me feel as if he was the only one I have. And maybe it is true.
“Who do you belong to?”, he yells.
I sob as he hits my prostate.
“Who?!”
“You...”
“Louder.”
“YOU-you Tyler, you! Just...make it stop, please! PLEASE!”
He grins. “We can’t stop.”
And I cum again.
I don’t know how long I have been unconscious. My legs are sticky. My head hurts. His arms lay firmly around my abused body. And I don’t want to leave. Maybe it is really meant to be this way.
“Promise me that you stay this time.” I don’t care to open my eyes and see if he can hear me.The answer comes after what feels like an eternity. “I promise it.”
If lying is considered as a bad thing, then why had god to make it so much easier and prettier than telling the truth?