Fisher was getting more and more anxious as the minutes ticked on. James was obviously having a great time with this, and he worried that maybe the guy was just fucking with him. Or worse, that James thought he could be of use but it was all just a delusion. They were in a mental hospital, it was possible.
But just in case this deal could be legit, Fisher knew he needed to be careful. James wasn't exactly a stable guy, so saying the wrong thing might just piss him off. Straightforward seemed the way to go. "When I said anything," he said softly, "I wasn't exaggerating. Sex, theft, destruction, arson, whatever you need, I'll do it. If you want to carve your name into my back just because it amuses you, I don't care. I have to make this shit stop, I can't handle it anymore." His nails were digging into the skin of his biceps, a new kind of wildness in his eyes. It was wild desperation, the look of a man who could see the end of his well-greased rope and hadn't the grip to slow down.