Every time I look down at my hands, I see him.

Tyler Durden. Tyler. He's had control of me ever since I lost control of myself. His mouth is forever imprinted on my hands, dull shiny red, puckered and distorted, like a warped reflection of him in a carnival mirror.

I'm standing at the edge of the roof, hands splayed, holding my weight against the concrete barrier between me and a free-fall down six stories. Marla, Marla, my tumor, is in the apartment three stories below me, sleeping soundly, drooling onto our designer Egyptian cotton sheets.

I'm shaking. Nervous. Unsure as to why, exactly, the night is calm and smells like petrol and methane. Far off in the damp wet sky a star shines. I want to shoot it down; what right does it have to be so high above us?

Stop shaking. Stop it, Jack. Stop. Go to your cave.

I close my eyes. The wind disappears.

It's freezing, I'm shivering now, breathing mist. Retreating deeper, deeper…

Tyler. Tyler Durden.

He looks up at me, in slow motion. Smoke curls from his mouth in graceful spirals. He's exhaling seashells and dream castles.

I kneel. Lean down close to him. Tyler, Tyler…

"Slide."

The smoke caresses my face. He takes another drag, blows it out through his nose. Tyler, that eternally burning dragon. Tyler, speaking tomes with a twist of his lips. He opens his mouth to speak again. I'm not listening. There's static in my ears.

"Slide, Jack."

"I don't understand."

"Stand up. Slide. Slide and I'll come back to you."

I don't want him back. I don't want him to ruin things again. I don't want to be his puppet. I don't want to say no.

I open my eyes. Realize my feet are halfway off the roof, that I'm hanging in the balance between solid concrete and the ground below.

"Tyler…"

I jump.

The ground's coming up to meet me. My heart shutters, nearly stops. Roller coaster. My arms are flung wide as if to embrace the pain I'm about to feel. I've never taken a fall like this. I wonder if it will hurt as much as the impact and grace of a car crash. The drag of gravity makes my stomach soar into my mouth. I feel like laughing.

I hit hard.

I awake to the feeling of my heart starting to slow, blood running like so many burning chemicals through the test tubes I call arteries, choked with trademarked fat from fast food and too many nights spend in sitcom land. I'm a snowflake that fell too hard too fast. Shivering cold and delicate and broken. The sidewalk is hard pressed glitter beneath my shattered shoulder blades. Someone rolled me onto my back, how'd that happen?

He appears above me. A shining god to witness my broken bones and chagrin.

"Hey, champ." He smiles at me. I don't want to see him, but I take a dazed moment to appreciate the warmth of his breath on my cold, bleeding face.

I try to weakly push him away. I know I'm pushing at empty air, but it allows me to glimpse the scar he gave me. To remember the warmth of cracked skin and hot spit against my tendons and tender blue veins.

No, no, I don't want him to be there. I don't want to feel the warmth under my head and know that he's pulled it into his lap. I don't want to know that it's him ruffling my hair in a boyishly affectionate gesture. I want to call out for help. The streets are empty, there's nothing but the glimmer of city lights in the distance.

Marla, I'm praying, Marla, please notice I'm gone. Marla, please look for me. Don't let me become him again. I can hear his laughter above me. It's charming, comforting. It makes me want to listen. I so desperately want to reach up and drag him down and force him to press his lips against my shattered bones and open wounds…

I wake up.

She's next to me, snoring slightly. It's the most beautiful sound in the world. I'm sweating like a teenage boy who realized he's drunk and his car is crashing, prom date inside, tulle and flowers soon torn and smeared with blood.

Oh, Marla, Marla, how could I have ever hated you, Marla? You keep me anchored to the earth.

I can't fall asleep.

I've got to get off, get off this merry-go-round…