“Between the ‘death bridge’ and our little chat with the Queen of the Damned, I’ve decided I should carry a gun at all times; whether it’s to defend myself or to put myself out of my own misery,” Carmen rambled on nervously. “It’s a win-win situation, really.”

“I don’t think of myself as being a celebrity, it’s too mortifying. I have a hard time watching myself on screen and it’s getting worse. I can’t tell whether my work is good or not.”

“I saw a study the other day showing that some atypical anti-psychotic was at least as good as mood stabilizers in preventing suicide. It’s a very good thing to decrease suicide but we should care at least a little if I’m not killing myself because I feel better or if I just can’t remember where I put the damn gun.”

“If it’s that jerk, he’s going to see my gun. ‘My body is a weapon.’ Dumb sh*t. I bet my gun can take out his body really damn quick.”

“If you are deemed insane, then all actions that would oherwise prove you are not do, in actuality, fall into the framework of an insane person’s actions. Your sound protests constitute denial. Your valid fears are deemed paranoia. Your survival instincts are labeled defense mechanisms. It’s a no-win situation. It’s a death penalty really.”

“Wolves? I should have known. Of course you have wolves. Doesn’t everybody?” She snapped her fingers. “The gun, Lucian. Hand it over. I’ve decided I have to shoot you after all. It’s the only way to preserve my sanity.”