Disclaimer: I do not own Fight Club. Those dubious honors go to Chuck Palahniuk. That wonderful genious man.

I guess I just always believed that in the end, Tyler would choose me. That maybe I was more important to him than all that Project Mayhem shit. I guess it was wishful thinking on my part.

As we stood on top of that building, his gun in my mouth, all I could think was 'why?'. He asked if I had any last words, I wanted to say, "I love you.", but that sounded disgustingly corny even to me. Not to mention the fact that I was talking to myself. "I love you" would have probably sounded stupid, what with me knowing that Tyler didn't exist. All this time I had been only talking to myself, I as at this moment pointing a gun at myself, all those times I was making love to myself. Hmm was that considered narcissism, or masturbation? I must have looked like a complete psycho to anyone else. That's why Marla left. That's why even the space monkeys give me weird looks.

"Ten minutes." Tyler reminds me. What's really sad about all this is that, even after all that's happened, I still want him. I just want to go back home, to a non-space-monkey-infested house and fall into bed with Tyler. Pretend Project Mayhem never happened. He may be just a hallucination, but that hallucination is all that I've got. He feels real to me; we fuck, I'm, sore; we fight, I'm hurt. You know those cynical people that say that they only believe in something if they can see it and touch it. Well to me Tyler was visible and definitely touchable.

Some sick part of me just wants to go along with Tyler's plan. Fuck all these buildings, you don't give a shit about other people's credit. You do give a shit about Tyler. Why sacrifice the one thing that you love in order to help these thankless assholes? They'll cart you off to the loony bin for telling them that your "imaginary friend" planted all these bombs. Let the bombs go off, let the city burn to the ground. Burn it all. Just let me keep Tyler. I was considering just telling Tyler that I would do anything that he asked. I would be the "All singing, all dancing, crap of the world" as long as I could be his all singing, all dancing crap as well.

I looked into his eyes for the first time since I had woken in this chair. They were laced with frustration, anger, and that little spark that made them Tyler's. I had the urge to ask if he loved me. This was insane, he would probably shoot me on principle. The first time that we ever had sex, I asked what it meant to him. He said that it was two people, having fun, escaping sexual conformity, and taking out frustrations. Of course it was a lot more than that for me. I had been infatuated with him since we met, and in love with him soon after I moved in.

Whenever we had sex, he would constantly say that it meant nothing. I asked him once why he cut Marla off if it meant nothing. He just told me to go to sleep. We weren't exclusive or anything. I had noticed that whenever Marla came around after we had begun whatever you wanted to call "us", that Tyler just said, "Get rid of her." instead of, "Send her up." not that I didn't send her away gleefully each time, but it made me wonder what Tyler really thought about us.

It would have been a lot less confusing if all we did was a quick fuck every once in awhile, but it was more than that. Tyler would randomly pull me into his arms when I was least expecting it, kiss the back of my neck, and then it was back to normal, like nothing ever happened. It was gestures like that that had be livid at the moment. What the fuck did all that mean Tyler?!

"Five minutes, sure you don't want to say anything to commemorate the occasion? Famous last words you know." Tyler's voice pervaded my thoughts. I glared up at him and then said,

"You know what Tyler, there is something that I want to say." he gave me that amused look that a father gives his son when the son tells him that he just dug a hole to China in the backyard, raised eyebrow and the works. It make me even more furious. All the love sonnets disappeared from my mind, mostly to be replaced with, "Go fuck yourselfs" Although with me, I suppose that would be a little redundant. I could already hear Tyler's sarcasm laced reply. I didn't want to hear it. I am Jack's newly developed spine.

"I'm glad that I'll be dead in a few minutes." he gave me a strange look. I continued, "At least I won't have to live with the fact that you used me much longer. I know that you were just playing with me to gain use of my meat-suit. You never gave a shit about what happened to me, so long as my body didn't expire. You may be able to live with that, well then again maybe not. You're killing yourself with this too, although I'm sure that wasn't the reason. Tyler Durden, martyr for the Project Mayhem cause right? Well Fuck You! I am glad that I'll be dead, you can't hurt me anymore if I'm dead. No more fucking with my heart, no more pain, no more jealousy, no more Tyler Fucking Durden." I seethed with anger, but mostly pain. I was telling the truth. If Tyler didn't love me, then as pathetic as it sounds, I'd rather be dead. None of that putrescent longing, none of the pain, none of any of it. Just heavenly nothingness.

After I finished my rant, I drew a deep breath and turned to look out the window. Anywhere but at Tyler. I didn't hear him approach the chair, I rationalize this with the fact that he doesn't exist and that he wouldn't have footsteps at all. He swung the chair around and was suddenly in my face. Tyler had the habit of doing that. Fuck your personal space.

"What the fuck does that mean Jack?" he asked, face so close to mine that I could have leant in a few inches to kiss him.

"You tell me, you know me better than I do." I said in the most sarcasm laced voice that I could muster. He gave me a once over, like you would do to an opponent before a fight. Size them up. He then crashed his lips on mine. I tried so desperately not to lean into him, tried to remember then gun in his hand, tried to remember that we would both be gone in less time than it takes to take a shower. Things like that run through your head when death is near. When was the last time I took a shower? I shoved Tyler away.

"Thanks, but I don't need your pity kisses in my pre-death moment." I really just wanted him to leave so that maybe I could die in peace, whatever the hell that meant. Then again, there was that nagging again that, if I was going to go out, I may as well go out with a smile on my face. Tyler was giving me a completely different look than he had ever given me before. I had never seen that look on his face.

"It's not pity. Jack, you're a moron. This is all so fucked up." he said in frustration, running his hand through his short hair. "I love you, you fuckin' idiot." he continued. "I was not going to tell you this, but we aren't going to die. I made it seem like this building was going to go down in flames, but I mixed the nitro with the paraffin for the bomb in this building. You and I both know that it never works with the paraffin. That's why I did it. We aren't going to die. The other buildings are going to explode, but we don't care do we?" he made the question into a statement. I was still in shock from the first half of that statement. He loved me? How the hell was that possible? As if reading my mind, heh, maybe he was, he said, "I love you, don't expect me to ever say it again, from now on, it's a given. I hate all that sappy bullshit, you know that. I like you Jack, fuck, if you don't exist, then neither do I. How many other people can say they have a relationship like that? I'm not going to kill us. You are going to have to trust me and work with me a little. We'll get through this, it can go back to the way it was. You and me. The space monkeys can go live somewhere else if they bother you. See, that's me being accommodating, it doesn't happen often, so don't get cozy with it!" he finished with a smirk toward me before once again pressing our mouths together.

This time I said 'fuck resistance' and grabbed his shirt and pulled him in so close that he was sitting on my lap. I didn't give a flying fuck that he was an alternate personality, and that I should seek professional help for this sort of thing. Tyler had always owned me, and that's how I liked it. He could tell me that we were going to assassinate the president at the moment and I would have asked what type of gun we needed. Fucked up? Yes. Would I want anything else? Hell no.

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