Or are you just interested in knowing if they dream the same way you do, fear what you fear, eat what you eat and masturbate to the same things you do? Are you looking for someone new? Or are you just looking for yourself?
Will Graham’s jaw set at FBI Uniform. “No, I’m not, ah, official FBI.” To unstable. He was feeling unstable right now, itching as the dark cravings of his imagination clawed at his skull. Lack of sleep, he told himself without actually being convinced.
His hand went to the bottle of Aspirin in his pocket, dropping a number of pills into his hand—he had stopped counting exactly. Hand and head tilted back so that the pills slid down his throat, and after a short few seconds the noise and clawing started to dissipate. “Special Agent Will Graham,” he clarified just for the sake of not being called ‘FBI’ or some other meager means of identification. Despite no longer subject to hallucinations and his headache residing into a dull throb, Will was still tense, as if all his nerves were pulled tight and rigid under his skin.
Tyler watched as a bunch of pills were shoved down the man’s throat and swallowed. Pharmacy products were welcomed into the human body and did as much good as the barrel of a loaded gun. Of course 99% of the American population would rather kill themselves with a hand full of pills than some old dirty piece of metal. Sometimes, when you shot things they didn’t stay dead. They came back. Twice as ugly. Tyler did.
He scoffed lightly. “Special agent.” Tyler Durden repeated in a monotonous tone, as if disagreeing without using any words. “You got down syndrome or something?” The larger man sniffed while looking to the side, nonchalantly placing both hands on his hips. That hadn’t been exactly a question. Just thinking out loud. “What’re you doing here then, Special Agent Will?” The way he spoke that word made it sound dirty. Like it was a bad name. He was mocking that man. I am Jack’s detached conscience.
+ overactiveimaginings
“…Nice cardigan. Is that part of the FBI uniform?”
Honestly, she was trying to listen to him. She was trying to listen to his words and not imagine the rust on his hands and the Tetanus in his blood-stream. It was divine justice, then, that when he finally shutup the only words she could remember were ‘masturbation’ and ‘is that why you do it?’ which of course prompted the confused and a little bit annoyed reaction of a stiff upper lip and an arched eyebrow to boot. “Are you implying that I take drugs to fulfill a sexual desire of fucking myself?” Delphia paused to let that one sink in before stating childishly: “You’re really fucking weird.”
Rocking back on her heels, she ran her tongue along her bottom lip, expression rarely venturing beyond mild annoyance. “I should go before people start to think I’m as weird as you. I’ve got street cred to uphold, you know.”
Tyler watched as the woman’s eyes focused on his hands. She wasn’t listening. This one had society and its standards so far up her ass she couldn’t even listen to what he was saying. It was like she was cursed. The twentieth-first century had carried some sort of virus with it. Everyone was so desperate to do the right thing they never stopped to think that numbers should not format one’s thoughts of opinions.
He scoffed slightly, turning his head away from her as Delphia spoke. She hadn’t understood anything. Some people didn’t. They were so concerned about abstract concepts they couldn’t hear reality. Tyler flashed a smile and glanced back at her with an arched brow, his face softening slightly. “This isn’t weird.” He stated rather calmly. “Picturing sexual scenarios with a man you fear might have several infectious diseases though…”
Delphia made a face as he grabbed onto to the (probably) disease ridden piece of iron. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, as if he were about to shake his head and offer advice on how to quit smoking and get yourself clean in under eighty days- or some bullshit like that. “Uh huh,” the words, mumbled and hardly formed, were produced as more of a grunt that anything else. She rolled her eyes, foot beginning to tap in staccato, “lovely little system you’ve got going for you there. Really. Sheer brilliance. Whoever thought of that should get an award.”
Her nostrils flared at his question and discomfort settled into the space between her shoulder blades. “I don’t know,” she replied, “why do you risk increasing the probability of tetanus by holding onto that infected piece of metal?”
She had guessed about the advice part. Tyler cared very much for people. He loved each and every one of them…In his own special way. But Tyler Durden would never tell anyone to cease self-destruction. Self-destruction was the way to release. To liberation…Hitting bottom was the biggest objective anyone could ever have. But this girl wasn’t trying to hit bottom. She was terrified of it, Tyler could see it. But she could get very close with his help…I am Jack’s bad influence.
“Same reason why people do bungee jumping. Except facing doom with a safety rope is a form of masturbation…Now relying on your chances alone…” Tyler slowly smirked. “…Is that why you do it? Because you wanted to know what the real deal is like?”
Delphia immediately took a step away from the man, right hand inching to her pocket, fingers wrapping around the large roll of cash she had brought with her. “Is that a pick up line?” her voice, though nearly flat, still managed to sound particularly mocking. “Look. I’m busy little bee. I’ve got shelves to stack and drugs to take.” She scanned the, quite poorly lit room, grimacing slightly at all the health and safety concerns. “I’m here for a John Gleedal?” she gave him a once over as she spoke, head tilting to the side in unashamed approval, “is he here or can I let the door hit me on the way out?”
Tyler didn’t move any further and instead found support on a rusty piece of iron that broke through the ceiling. He didn’t answer her first question. Merely observed her. Clean skin, immaculate clothes, expensive earrings…He nearly shook with dread. “You don’t look so little to me.” Blue eyes purposely glanced at her chest before focusing back on her face. “We don’t have names here. Even if I knew your John he probably wouldn’t be the same person you met.” He paused. “Why do you take drugs?”
“I walked through the door.” she replied dryly, running a hand through her tangled tresses with the stiff movements normally associated with rapidly accumulating annoyance. “I’m not even going to bother with pointing out that if this place is as unlivable as you claim it to be then you shouldn’t be here either.”
Tyler Durden walked closer to her, eyeing her from head to toe, not caring about etiquette or first impressions. He rarely did. “Maybe I don’t care much for health and safety.” Tyler stopped right in front of the stranger, balancing himself on the line that divided her personal space from his. “Maybe you don’t do either.”
