It has taken six weeks . . . six f*****g weeks to make me hate the color orange. Funny enough, I also f*****g hate jumpsuits and white t-shirts now. I need a f*****g haircut and a goddamn drink. I need to be buried in my f*****g woman who isn't allowed to see me today because I've been pulled into some impromptu hearing I had no f*****g clue about until this morning. I'm pissed off enough that I might end up in jail longer for slapping the s**t out of the Assistant State's Attorney.
Walking into the courtroom with an officer holding my bicep, my eyes fall on Shamrock sitting right behind where I'm about to sit. As I step behind the table next to Mark, Shamrock stands, and as soon as the cuffs are off, he grabs my arm and yanks me into a hug. I slap his back, and when he pulls back and
