(xxii.)

"Well... this is awkward, isn't it?" Frank laughed, nervously. He ran his hand along the bed.

Lorelei nodded. "Well, y'know, Midge has been baby-sitting you all day. I think she needs a break, y'know?"
"Well, yeah... Or you could just give me my own room."
"Nice try."
"Well, hey, I tried."

Lorelei threw a pillow onto the floor. "So, you ever had anything like this happen to you before?"
"...No--"
"Good. It's the ones that are used to it that are the scariest."
"You sound like you've done this before."
"Maybe I have."
"...Well, then, you're used to it."

She sat down onto the pillow. "Exactly who are you, anyway? I mean, really?"
"Frank. Frank Wetherill."
"And exactly who is Frank Wetherill?"
"I sell cars for a living. Toyotas."
"Uh-huh. Regular Toyotas, or have they been altered, James Bond-style?"

Frank shifted his weight away from her. "Midge was right. You are paranoid."
"Just because you're paranoid, that doesn't mean they're not out to get you."
"You're insane. You're out of your fucking mind."
"No, no, I'm not -- I'm the sane one. You're entirely too comfortable with the fact that you were kidnapped, by a girl who is 'out of her fucking mind', who held you -- not at gun point, even, but with a katana -- 'cause we all know that happens every day!"


[chapter xxiii.]