It was like a fever-dream. Yes, that was the word to describe it. Or maybe an overly optimistic glimmer of hope and relief. You held the phone up to your ear as he spoke. “Are you home?” The passiveness in his tone never went unnoticed.

Against your best efforts the shake in your voice only continued once you heard him. God, you were addicted. Addicted to Tyler Durden and everything he’s done to you.

Your eyes glanced around at your surroundings. A series of sinks to your right, dirty tiled flooring, the sound of a toilet flushing. No. You were not home. The one day you decide to forget about him, give yourself some time to enjoy life again. And there he was, buzzing up your once static phone after two weeks of pure radio silence.

One-night stands were never your thing, and honestly, what you had with Tyler was most certainly not a one night stand. But it had started as one. A night where he had charmed his way into your apartment, a hookup. But you insisted he’d take your number, begged for it. Always do pathetic for him.

Everyday without missing a beat. Tyler would come over and give you the same pounding he had the first night. You were addicted to it. To him. The way he made you feel was that of no other. And though he never claimed you, you were his. Wether you admitted it or not.

Two weeks he stopped coming over, stopped answering your foolish texts and pathetic calls. It was like he cut you off. You moved on, or did your best to. Trying to fill your mind with anything other than him. Like tonight, out at a bar with friends, a half a drink in and you get a call. One with a contact that belonged to the man himself.

What were you supposed to do? The thought of staying with your friends seemed less than desirable when you could hear his voice through the phone. You’d have to go home and meet him there for another long night followed by his disappointing, yet expected abrupt departure right after he was finished. You were Tyler Durden’s so you had to go home.