Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This isn't about love as in caring. This is about property as in ownership.

You can smoke twelve pounds of marijuana before you die.
I know his because Tyler knows this.

One minute Tyler is sitting next to me, laughing at something he said.
Then he's on top of me, touching me and suddenly, for no actual reason at all, I'm reminded of my first fight with Tyler.

"At least she's trying to hit bottom," Tyler once told me, and as I lay here, underneath him, I wonder if this, Tyler's hands on my belt, Tyler's tongue in my mouth, if Tyler's hand in my pants is bringing me one step closer to hitting bottom.

Fucking Tyler is almost exactly like fighting with Tyler.
He dominates, I willingly submit.
Because this is a big triangle. I want Tyler, Tyler wants Marla, Marla wants me.

With Tyler thrusting into me,

I don't think any of us will get what we want.