Authors Note: Why, hello again. Why, yes, I do realize that I have seven other stories that I am yet to finish and a lot of frustrated readers on my hands, and I know I'm slightly crazy for starting a new story, but I am a little insane, so sue me. I do sincerely apologise for my lack of updates on other stories, but like I've said before, once I get a new idea in my head, I just can't write anything else until I put it down. BUT, I am good at multi-tasking, so I will continue to update chapters for most of my stories, though, some of them have been put temporarily on hold, due to writers block for those stories (Better than Paris, Girl, Interrupted and Times Up) But, hopefully I'll be able to finish some of my newer pieces and get back to working on those stories soon. Again, sorry for starting another story, but I figure that we've got another two months to wait for season three of OITNB, so, at least there will be new stuff for everyone to read until June. Not to mention a whole twelve more months until season four, after that, and all these stories will hopefully help tide everyone over for the long wait ahead of us.

This story is based on the book and movie, Fight Club, so the idea does not belong to me, just like most of the characters also do not belong to me, they belong to Jenji Kohan, the creator of OITNB. This story will be quite similar to the book and movie, just like my story, Girl, Interrupted, which is also based off a book/movie, but there will be changes to the story, etc, etc. If you haven't read or seen Fight Club, I suggest that you do, because it is a brilliant movie, one of my favourites, and it will kind of, hopefully, blow your mind.

I have rated this story M for extreme violence, so if you're not okay with that, I suggest that you don't read this. It's also rated M for bad, bad language and great, great sex scenes.

I hope that you enjoy the first chapter and the many to come after. I will hopefully have this and some of my other stories updated by the end of next week.

Thank you!

Fight Club

Chapter One

You're bored.

What's worse is that you're bored and you can't sleep.

A year ago, life was perfect; you had a loving boyfriend, a great job and the perfect apartment, but it wasn't enough. As the months passed, you found your boyfriend becoming a little bit too predictable and your job grew repetitive and when you came home at the end of the day, your little apartment looked too much like a page out of a magazine. As these thoughts buried themselves deeper into your head, you began to sleep less and less, until you weren't sleeping at all. Sometimes you'd think you were asleep, but it would turn out that it was just dark and you had spent hours just staring at the black ceiling of your bedroom.

You're worried that you're beginning to go a little bit crazy.

The days have started blurring together and it's the same shit every fucking day. You wake up in the morning, make a cup of coffee with your overly expensive coffee machine before catching the subway to work. You spend your day editing the works of up and coming writers, crossing out a line here and there and you swear, all the stories are the same. You leave work at exactly five pm and catch the five fifteen subway home, where your boyfriend, Larry, will be waiting for you in his sweater and slacks with those awful brown loafers. He'll ask you about your day and you'll give the same reply as you did the day before and he'll order Chinese food and then you'll go to bed to have boring missionary sex.

And then you stare at the black ceiling and imagine another life for yourself, until the sun begins to rise and you start all over again.

At least, that's how life went, until you met Alex Vause.

/

Being an editor for a large publishing company, you get to travel quite a bit. You fly around the country to meet with writers and you get to go to book readings and conferences that you don't care about. You stay in surprisingly shitty hotels, despite the fact that you work for a multimillion dollar company, with questionably stained sheets and bathrooms covered with fungus. One week you'll be on a flight to Detroit for a conference and the next you'll be on your way to New Mexico to meet a new sci fi writer, as if there aren't enough already. Despite your slowly declining view on life, you enjoy meeting new people and you find that you make friends in the strangest of places, like on the forty five minute aeroplane ride that you take to Boston, in a plane that is the size of a matchbox. You spend the time chatting amiably to a woman named Lorna, who screams like a banshee at every slight bit of turbulence.

It's on a flight back home to New York that you find yourself seated next to a woman a few years older than you, with jet black hair tipped with electric blue dye. She's wearing a pair of black secretary glasses that make her look unbelievably sexy and her eyes are the most interesting shade of green that you've ever seen. She stands up when you shuffle past her, into your window seat, towering over you and looking a little bit intimidating in her thick black leather jacket and her knee high combat boots, but her smile is friendly, if a little bit condescending as she eyes your black work pants and tight white blouse.

"Hi," you say softly as the stewardesses begin to point to the safety exits, one of which is right beside you.

"Hey," she responds with a surprisingly husky voice, a small smirk tilting her ruby red lips. "I hope you're stronger than you look, Laura Ingalls Wilder."

"It's Piper," you respond automatically, even as your brows furrow in confusion. "And why is that?"

She points to the safety exit at your side and you hum in agreement as you study the thick steel handle, which you can't possibly imagine being able to open, even with a body pumping with adrenalin.

"Yeah, no chance," you murmur, glancing back at the woman beside you. "Wanna switch? You'd have better luck than I would, I bet."

"No thanks," she responds as she leans back in her chair. "I don't want to have the entire plane depending on me should our engines fail when we're forty thousand feet in the air."

"Wow," you can't help but laugh. "Thanks for that extra weight on my shoulders."

"Do some reps with it," she advises you with a serious expression. "Then maybe you'll be able to open that door and save us all from a horrible, fiery death."

"You are dark," your mutter as the seat belt light comes on. You buckle yourself in before pulling your iPod from your pocket. You're about to play a song when your companion speaks again.

"What's with the get up?" She asks, pointing to your clothes. "You a lawyer or something?"

"No, definitely not a lawyer," you respond absentmindedly, thinking your parents would have probably approved of that profession, unlike they did with your actual job. "I work for a publishing company."

"Yeah?" She probes, her smile becoming a bit more genuine, a bit more interested. "Ever publish anyone that I would know of?"

"Maybe," you respond with a forced smile, scrolling through the songs on your iPod. "Probably not recently though, since our CEO is currently going through a new phase and will only accept self-help books, and you don't look like the type of person to read that shit."

"God, no," she answers with an amused snort. "I only know one thing about self-help and it's all about my right hand."

The dark haired woman raises her hand for your inspection, wriggling her long, slim fingers as she raises her eyebrow suggestively and you can't help but laugh. She smirks at you, leaning back in her seat as the plane begins to take off, with her left foot holding a black briefcase in place beneath the seat in front of her. You're both quiet for most of the flight; you with your headphones in and her quietly drinking a few glasses of scotch until the stewardess cuts her off. You smile as she grumbles in complaint, until she catches your eye and gives you a mock glare.

"Shut up, fancy pants," she says, wriggling in her seat to get more comfortable. "I've had a long fucking day and all I want to do is wind down with a few drinks, but this pencil skirt bitch isn't allowing it."

"It's a one hour flight and you've already had three, so, I'm not really surprised." You can't help but chuckle at her over exaggerated pout. "And fancy pants? Seriously?"

"I do admit that my language skills begin to evaporate after a few drinks," she responds with a shrug before eyeing my get up critically. "But, I mean, yeah, look at you. You look like you just stepped out of a magazine. Those clothes can't be comfortable."

"I'll have you know that they are," you reply, whilst thinking, liar, liar. "Who are you, anyway? I never even got your name."

"My name's Alex," she says almost absentmindedly, as the pilot's voice comes through the speakers, preparing the passengers for landing.

"Alex." You repeat her name, thinking that it suits her. "And what do you do, Alex? Besides from make fun of strangers at forty thousand feet?"

"I'm an importer," she says, glancing down the aisle at the stewardesses who are now sitting down, waiting for the plane to land. "I import almost anything, from art to animals. Not conventional, but it pays well, though it can be stressful at times."

"Oh?" Is all you manage to say, unable to think of anything else.

"Yeah," she responds with a casual shrug. "For instance, I'm doing this job right now for an international drug cartel and I have about ten kilograms of heroin in this briefcase and another thirty in my suitcase. It's stressful, but kind of a thrill, you know?"

She turns her head to look at you then, smirking at your open mouthed expression as you stare at her, completely at a loss for words. She winks as the plane's wheels hit the tarmac, putting her finger against her lips as she lowers her voice.

"Sh, don't tell."

/

You get off the plane, grab your baggage and take a cab back to your apartment. It's almost ten o'clock and you're completely exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go home, get into your pyjama's and sleep until you start work again on Monday. You pay the taxi driver and climb the seven flights of stairs to the apartment that you share with your boyfriend, fumbling with your keys as you attempt to unlock the front door. After a few minutes of struggling, you finally manage to open the door and step into your picture perfect apartment, immediately looking around for your boyfriend who is usually slouching on the couch or rooting in the refrigerator at this time of night, but he's nowhere to be seen.

You shrug your shoulders, figuring that he's out with Pete, as you drag your suitcase towards the bedroom, and that's when you hear it. Soft female moans are emanating from the room where you sleep and you can't help but roll your eyes with disgust, since this isn't the first time that you've returned home to find your boyfriend watching porn on his laptop. You've been gone for three days, so you assume that Larry is just getting some release, or trying out that new fad called edging and you don't really want to interrupt, but god, you're tired.

So, imagine your surprise when you open the bedroom door and instead find your boyfriend having boring missionary sex with your best friend, Polly.

It's Polly who notices you first, which isn't surprising, since she looks almost bored, while Larry is way too into it and you're still frozen in the doorway. She screams in horror, which Larry takes for pleasure, increasing the speed of his thrusts and it's almost enough to make you throw up right on the spot.

"What. The. Fuck." Is all you can say, finally managing to catch Larry's attention after Polly pushes his slightly chunky, sweaty body off of her. His brown eyes widen almost comically at your appearance and he quickly rushes to cover himself and Polly with the sheet; the white Egyptian cotton sheet that you brought together, less than a week ago.

"Shit, Piper, Wh- What are you doing here?" Larry stumbles over his words, barely paying attention to Polly who has her head covered with the sheet. "I thought you weren't meant to get back until the morning?"

"I wasn't," you reply in an emotionless voice. "But I came home early because I was tired and I wanted to sleep in my bed, with my new sheets, with you."

You're beginning to get angry, you can feel that infamous Chapman temper welling up inside of you, and god, you're so fucking tired. It's been days since you've slept and all you want to do is lay down, but that's not even a possibility now, at least not here. So, instead, you ignore Larry's spluttering and Polly's muffled apologies from beneath the sheet and you grab the handle to your suitcase and turn around. You can hear Larry beginning to follow you, but you reach the door quickly and slam it closed behind you before slumping your tired body against it.

Your reach in your pocket for your phone to call a cab, wondering where the fuck you're going to go since it's not like you can just crash at Polly's place now. But instead of feeling the coolness of your phone in your pocket, your fingers brush against what feels like a piece of paper. You pull it out and find a small business card in your hand, with the name Alex Vause printed on it, with the word importer written below.

You raise your eyebrows, wondering how the dark haired woman managed to slip the card into your pocket without you noticing. You turn it over to find a phone number written on the back, with the words, 'call me, anytime' written below it.

And so instead of dialling the number for a cab, you call Alex Vause and that singular phone call changes your life.