Impact 24 Of Fight Club

Thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for copy editing.

Impact of Fight Club

The note reads, "Come to bed."

It's on my little oak table next to a vase of fresh flowers. The note and flowers are lit by the biggest

Diptyque

candle I've ever seen. The apartment smells of sandalwood and something sweet, like berries? Kicking off my shoes and setting my bag by the door I blow it out, dropping myself into darkness. As my eyes adjust I see more candlelight flickering from the bedroom.

Claire is asleep. There is a smaller candle on the bedside table, my bedroom has a clean bright smell that reminds me of the sea.

She is lying on her side, curled around one of my pillows, cradling it to her chest. For a long time, I stare at her. The miracle of her beautiful round hips, her naked arm, on top of the sheet, her long pale neck, exposed by her hair, which is fanned out on the pillow behind her. She is perfect.

Her eyes are still. She is breathing slowly, deep in the dreamlessness of exhaustion. If she had asked me I would have told her to stay home tonight, to take care of herself, but I'm so happy she didn't, that she came to me.

I undress in my doorway, looking at her, the curves of her body, naked and waiting for me. I am struck by the trust, by her confidence. Would I have the courage to slip into her bed and wait for her to come home?

I tiptoed to the bedside and, blinding myself again, I blow out the candle. It feels good to slide into bed with her. It's been a long day and my joints hurt. Gently freeing the pillow from her grip, I turned my body and backed myself against her. She rises from the dreamless depths as I drape her arm over my waist and nestle my ass into her lap.

"There she is," she whispers, wrapping me in her arms. "My Young Sarah..."

And then she's asleep again. My mind is still spinning from work. My breathing is so fast compared to hers. I close my eyes and see layouts and code, feel my mind racing from one problem to another, unable to land on any one thing. There are dozens. Tomorrow will be a true crush as we battle to get the piece ready to go live.

I take a long deep breath trying to calm my anxiety, wanting to match Claire's slow steady rhythms. I am forcing myself to keep my eyes closed, to be still. But it's only when I open my eyes to the dark that I feel the day drop away. I've adjusted to the dark again and I'm facing the rack. Most of the hangers are still empty, but there are two dresses and a blouse hanging at one end, a pair of heels, and a pair of sneakers propped along the bottom crossbar.

Claire has begun to move in...

"Sarah! SARAH! It's a dream, Sarah! Do you hear me? A dream!"

Claire's voice is in my ear, husky with sleep. Her arms are locked around mine, pinning them to my sides. She is pressing herself against my back, using all her strength to hold me still.

I'm fighting her.

Our bodies are stiff, rigid and flexing against each other.

"A dream, Sarah, that's all, just a dream..."

I stop kicking, stop arching my back, let her take control. She's holding me so tight.

"I'm so sorr-" I choke. "I'm sorry!"

"HUSH!" she commands. "Hush now..." she says quieter, comforting. "Hussssh, My Young Sarah, husssh, and go back to sleep," she soothes. "Hush now my

most

beautiful girl, sleep, sleep Sarah. No more talking, no more dreams, you're going to sleep. No one can hurt you, Sarah..."

And miraculously, I do as I'm told. I feel myself go soft in her arms, like an oyster in it's shell, I'm safe, protected. Claire is still holding me tight, cooing and murmuring quietly in my ear as I drift back off.

No one can hurt me.

She's still asleep when I wake up.

I had forgotten to set the alarm and wake up with a start. Peeking over her head at the clock I see I only slept a few minutes late. We are facing each other. We are under the sheet and it is filled with our warmth, but we are pressed close. The morning air is cool.

Claire is particularly beautiful in the morning light, the domed globes of her corneas are still, hidden behind her smooth eyelids. She is sleeping dreamless untroubled sleep. Her long lashes are stored for the night, folded together against her flawless cheeks. Her lips are parted, a small triangle opening, exposing the pearly edges of her incisors. I want to make love to her, but more, I want her to sleep. I hate that I woke her up with my nightmares, and want to make it up to her, but more than that, I

need

to get to work.

I kiss her, and lifting myself up and away, start my day, cleaning up at the sink with a washcloth to make the least amount of noise possible.

'Whore bath,' I think, smiling at myself in the mirror.

She is still asleep as I slip out. I am careful to turn my key slowly and quietly as I lock the door behind me.

I take the first flight of stairs with care, before clattering the rest of the way at speed. I can't wait to get to work!

"Hey, everything OK?"

Keith had turned around in his chair and was looking at me concerned. Ben had just stepped out of the office to get some lunch. I was blinking in confusion, trying to imagine what I could have possibly done wrong.

We had all worked late the night before and started early that morning. I had been working with Ben to rework the coding and after a day and a half we had succeeded in breaking the previous work he'd done, but we still didn't have the new work functioning. It had actually been an exciting push. The day before we had all attacked the problem together. And even though we'd gotten a lot done, everything still looked like a garbled mess. Keith had peeled off to work on the print layout. I knew Kieth understood what Ben and I were up against, but I wasn't sure what our counterparts in the finance section understood - I thought maybe they were bugging him... Keith didn't look bugged with me though. He did, however, look... worried.

He wasn't worried about the deadline, I realized, he was worried about

me.

"Oh! Oh, no... I'm-" I started, but then didn't know what to say. I was going to assure him I was fine.

'Am I fine?' I wondered.

"You're sighing a lot, and talking to yourself more than usual."

"More than usual?"

"You mutter..."

"I mutter? Really? Like all the time?"

"Not all the time!" Keith said, smiling. "But, yeah, you usually have a pretty robust dialog going while you work - it's quiet!" he laughed, seeing my alarm. "But today you sound... I don't know, maybe a little forlorn."

"I'm really sorry I didn't know-"

"No, please! Don't apologize." Keith told me. "Ben plays with his toys when he's upset."

And it was true. You could always tell if Ben was having a hard time because he would start rearranging and posing his action figures.

"I'm ok," I told Kieth. "Word got out about my dad, and I got a ton of emails... and they keep coming." I clicked on my inbox and let him see all the unopened emails with consolations in the subject line.

There were emails from people I haven't heard from in years, but all Brown connections. I had decided Kwasi must have told people. I was a little hurt that he hadn't consulted with me... pissed really.

I scrolled down for Keith's benefit.

Rebekah and Ali had each sent their condolences... which I felt particularly terrible about. They had been emailing me and each other all the week before and I meant to get back to them over the weekend, to tell them what happened, I hated that they didn't find out from me.

It looked like everyone I'd ever lived with at Hill House and everyone I ever worked with at

The Round

had heard the news. Even my professors Dr. Hendren and Julie Kim had both written. Jess had written... which was weird. We had seen each other recently, but it wasn't like we were friends, we hardly even knew each other.

There was even an email from Darci...

I started to tear up looking at them. I couldn't do this right now. Taking a deep breath I scrolled down so Keith could see what I was up against.

There were dozens, maybe even a hundred...

"Oof," he sighed. "They're all unopened..."

"I can't right now," I told him. "Not because of us! Not because of this!" I quickly added, gesturing at our work. Turning back to the emails, I sighed. "I know they are well-meaning - it's just... a lot?"

'...and I'm afraid I'll start crying,' I thought. I couldn't tell Keith that, but the look on his face made clear he knew.

"Listen, things got hectic fast," he said. "That wasn't my intention, I just got excited about this piece. If you think you came back too soon-"

"No, please, I'm excited too. I want to be here, and

this,"

I said, gesturing blindly at the whiteboard, which had become a mass of notes almost as garbled as our working code,

"this

is what I want to be doing more than anything. I'm sorry about the... the forlorn muttering."

Keith huffed a humorless but sympathetic laugh and gave me a look like he was trying to decide what to do, but then he smiled.

"Mm... OK," he finally agreed. He got up to go. "Don't skip lunch - take some time for yourself," he warned. "And please, if you need to talk, I'm here."

He headed out, but I didn't move.

Claire was up. There was a text.

Good morning. How are you? You must be tired!

She was right of course, I should be tired - but I still felt fine, still a grande macchiato would do me good. Claire liked to tease me about my trashy coffee habits but she loves a macchiato as much as me.

I'm OK, but I could definitely use a pick me up. Do you want to meet for coffees?

Can't, I'm already at the Gallery :(

Dang!

Of course she was, she starts later than me, but not midday.

Do you remember your dream last night?

I feel myself blush. I don't remember anything but the edges of the dream, but I remember the terror, rising out of it in a panic, the feel of her strong arms immobilizing me and forcing me to calm down, soothing me back to sleep, I suddenly want to see see her, to hear her voice.

Not really, just that I was scared?

It was intense, you were flailing and kicking. Do you remember what it was it about?

Oh no! I don't - I remember that I was scared and you holding me, telling me to hush - not kicking you! I'm so sorry!

No, don't be sorry, I love you and don't want you to be scared, but don't be sorry.

There was a short pause, but I could see the ellipsis animation, that she was texting again.

Mark is after me, I've got to go. I love you. More later!

I sent a heart and decided ducking out is a good idea, that I needed to shake off the guilt I was feeling. Fresh air was what I needed. First the emails.

I thought about what I told Kieth. Strictly speaking I hadn't lied. The condolences

were

upsetting, but mostly in a good way. I fantasized about giving Kwasi a piece of my mind, but I knew I wouldn't. I would go through and open them when I was alone, in case I cried. And even though I was a little angry at Kwasi, I knew he was well-meaning - and in a deeply jarring way, it was wonderful to find them all when I logged on. The emails were more overwhelming than upsetting.

I selected them all and stuck them in a folder. I'll work up a generic reply later. It wasn't that big of a deal - not a big enough deal to make me "forlorn".

I couldn't tell Keith what really had me muttering... but I hadn't really lied.

Strictly speaking

I hadn't really lied to Claire either, I didn't remember

what

the dream was about, but I remembered

who

I was so scared of.

'Lies of omission,' I thought, lashing myself with guilt.

That's why I'd googled Stephanie.

I minimized my mail and clicked on the tab with her picture. I had known she had been working in Afghanistan for a couple years - from past Google searches - but it looked like she lived in Berlin now. She was a producer for Deutsche Presse-Agentur and had gotten several awards for her video segments. One bio I found said she had a daughter. It didn't say if she was married or not. I tried to picture Stephanie as a bride, but my mind rebelled. It was too outlandish...

In the most recent picture I could find, she was smiling. Her hair was no longer dyed black. It was straight and white blonde. It looked silky and fine. She wore it down with too-short hipster bangs framing her face. She was smiling at me from my monitor. Her crooked eye teeth, which I always thought made her look tough, looked out of place on this almost unrecognizably professional-looking beauty.

But the smile didn't reach her eyes.

There, in those unsmiling eyes, there was The Stephanie I knew. There was the Überfrau I had been so afraid of.

I quit Explorer and jumped out of my seat. I messaged the boys for orders on the way to the elevators, they should see them in time.

It's good to be outside. The sky is clear and it's a beautiful summer day. The heat would be too much if I had far to go, but as it is the sun and skin crackling heat felt wonderful after hours of chilled air in our sunless little office.

I tried my best to put Stephenie out of my mind. I walked fast, as if I could out run those memories, but it was no good, she was too much with me.

After staying up late listening to Stephanie and the slim-waisted stranger fuck I arrived at work visibly exhausted. And by "visibly", I mean Paula spotted how tired I was immediate.

Not a great way to end the week.

"Part of being good at your job is arriving at work prepared to

do

work!" Paula said, scolding me for partying too hard on a weeknight.

"I wasn't," I told her. "My roommate is... loud."

She told me I had to put my foot down and tell Stephanie I needed to sleep, or I needed to move out.

"You need to learn to stand up for yourself, Sarah!" said my boss who treated me and everyone else around her like galley slaves.

"Yes, ma'am," I chimed obediently.

She gave me a hard look like she suspected I was being sarcastic, but then she launched into our tasks for the day.

Paula was fucking bulletproof.

She was also more generally pleased with me. The Public Theater was actually happy about the work I was doing with the website's backend and wanted to see more. I had put a lot of energy into the control board and stats display because it was low stakes. Paula didn't really care what those things looked like, so I was less constrained and could be more creative. It was heady to find out I could design something at the highest professional levels and not be called out as the fraud I so clearly was.

The other thing that happened that day was that I got paid for my first week, which was a surprise and a HUGE relief. It had been unclear at the orientation meeting when checks would be cut and how much we would be paid. If the other interns had learned more since none of them had passed that information on to me. Conversely, if I had more of a spine I would have just asked someone.

Paula saw me looking at my check and asked if I was keeping track of my extra hours.

"No, but I'm not-"

"Take a minute, and work it out now."

"It's OK, I just-"

"It's absolutely

not

OK," she snapped. "Do as I say!"

Paula wasn't usually so waspish, but I think because she was trying to get me paid more money she permitted herself to be extra sharp with me.

Working late was my initiative, I had never imagined I would be paid for my late nights, and I didn't care, since I was convinced I'd be fired if Paula found out what a fraud I was. Most of my day was spent trying to figure things out she clearly thought I already knew.

I used her desk calendar as a memory aid, going back through the past two weeks day by day, recounting my steps. It helped to remember what I ate and when everything else just fell into place. The overtime added up fast.

I wrote out the hours I'd worked, careful to subtract the time I spent reading or watching tutorials or just fucking off - it was fun to explore the

Pentagram

offices when no one was around. I wrote out the dates in a column, the hours I worked on each day next to the corresponding date, and then the total at the bottom of the page.

I handed the sheet to Paula.

"Good," she said. "Put your name and address at the top, date, and sign it at the bottom."

She watched while I did as she instructed. As soon as I was finished she held out her hand, clapping her thumb and fingertips until I handed it over.

"Never give your labor away to a fucking company!" she told me, gesturing impatiently around us, vaguely over her head. "Not even mine!!"

I was excited to leave work that day. Pentagram paid a lot better than I expected. I had cashed my check during my lunch hour and I was anxious to make The Überfrau an offer she couldn't refuse - or at least I hoped she couldn't!

I left work at five on the nose and rushed straight home with my wad of cash. Even if I was never paid for the extra hours I'd written up for Paula, I could still afford to offer Stephanie as much for the third week as I paid for the first two combined -

if

she didn't demand any additional deposit...

As I walked back to the apartment I went through all the scenarios I could think of, trying to imagine the best way to convince her to let me stay. I would butter her up first, telling her how much I loved her little apartment, how neat it was, how beautiful all her things were, how close it was to work... maybe not that, but that

kind

of stuff!

I had a problem though. By this point I was totally convinced Stephanie's absent roommate, "Phillip", was a ruse, that he was nothing more than a way to keep the sublet short term. I figured maybe she was just pinched for cash and wanted to sublet only long enough to get by, or maybe she didn't want to end up like the girl whose ad I'd answered, who already regretted her new roommate, and told me to call back in a month.

Maybe "Phillip" was Stephanie's bad-roommate prophylactic? I had done my best to be a very good roommate.

Whatever reasons she had for inventing Phillip, I was entirely certain he was a fiction, nothing more than a pretense. But maybe the fiction was unnecessary since she and I were getting along so well? At least it felt that way to me. I thought we were getting along about as well as I could imagine anyone getting along with Stephanie.

'She doesn't seem to

actively

dislike me,' I reassured myself as I walked along the edge of Gramercy Park, looking through its iron gates at the beautiful paths within. 'I've never broken a single one of her rules," I thought, trying to summon more conviction. 'Not as far as I could tell, anyway..'.

Stephanie had yet to complain about anything I did or didn't do even once - that alone seemed like a win.

But "Phillip" was a real problem. I couldn't just call her a liar, and say I knew there was no roommate... so I tried to think of ways to let Stephanie save face.

'Perhaps if you told Philip I would pay extra, he could afford to extend his vacation?" I imagined asking.

She had never said Phillip was on vacation, but as long as we were making things up I might as well give him a reason to stay away.