“If you've ever rubbed shoulders with insanity, he is a sweaty, foul-breathed cab driver who locks the door and takes you wherever he wants. The more you squirm to get out, the happier he seems to get. Insanity loves- no, needs-company.”

“well, death says, as he walks by, I'm going to get you anyhow no matter what you've been: writer, cab-driver, pimp, butcher, sky-diver, I'm going to get you”

“How had I ever thought he was cute? He so needed to be locked up in an insane asylum somewhere. Too bad Batman wasn't here to come and drag his ass off to Arkham.”

“You’re insane,” I told him, and stood up to dress.He hugged me from behind, pressing hard against me, rubbing his smooth chest along my back. He spoke into my ear, “Insane for you, my love.”

“Sweetheart," he chided, making my heart skid. "You'll never need me more than I need you." I didn't argue out loud, though my mind made it clear that he was insane if he thought that was true.”

“I want to get you out of here.""Don't you mean you want me to get you out of here?"He took my hand—yeah, my hand again. I was liking this. A lot. "No, I mean I want to get you out. This shouldn't be your life. You deserve a lot more. Like a locker.""And a driver's license?""Let's not get carried away.”