It's clawing up her back, the panic, little dagers pushed into the skin, wreaking havoc with her nerves, making everything tingle when it's not supposed to, and numb when it should be feeling.

Get out of my life, get out of my life, get out of my life, GET OUT OF MY LIFE!

Don't do this to me!!

*grins* I drove the motorcyle.
In traffic.
And I didn't even crash.

You're out of my house, now get out of my fucking life!

Fine. Fuck you, too.

I wanna be a bar-girl when I grow up, and wear leather pants, and light the bar on fire.

This book puzzles me. Too much talk of rape, and screwing cattle.