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stages_of_grief - somethings gotta give

September 2nd, 2005 (03:00 pm)

You'd think the penn was somekind of fucking social ground, maybe everyone else around here liked to exchange their bitches for smokes but not me. I didn't have a bitch and I didn't fucking want one. I wanted out, I needed to be doing something, something other than fucking sitting around a cell block half the day watching whatever fucking soap opera their playing and playing cards with Bertha or Joy.

I felt like I was crawling out of my goddamn skin and it was going to kill me. That or I was going to take the next bitches head off to said something to me. I'd been trying to work it all off in the gym, but it only seemed to fuel my fire up just a little bit more and fuck if that helped. I tried imagining I was fighting some nasty ass vamp, imagine I was doing that whole fucking sacred duty thing but a punching bag doesn't fight back.

I about decked the gaurd when she came up behind me while I was working on some of my moves in the court yard, she pulled out one of those fucking baton things and gave me a look. Fucking gaurds will do anything to have one of us fight back, then they can beat the shit out of us without worrying about the fucking consequences and hell if they all didn't want a piece of me. I'm a popular kind of girl.

Still she eyed me and told me I had a visitor. It didn't seem right that Wes would be coming to see me and it had been so long since I sent Angel that letter I was betting he didn't even get it, which was just as well, me and sappy heartfelt letters don't really go hand in hand. I was wicked confused but let her cuff me up anyway. I was even more surprised when I was uncuffed and thrown into one of those congical visit rooms. Cause who the hell is wanting a congical visit with me? Not that I'm minding, but hey whatever; it got the cuffs off me and if someone wanted a piece of my ass maybe I'd consider giving it too them.

Course when Angel walked in I about shit my pants. Obviously not so much a congical visit unless I'm looking at the infamous Angelus and I'm betting I woulda gotten word from Wes or someone if that happened, unless the shit head killed them all.

I eyed him warily waiting for him to say something, I'm betting he pulled those damn strings like the devil to get it where I wasn't cuffed and we didn't have a big mountain of plastic glass between us. Which hey grateful and all but what the fuck is he doing here?

"So you gonna say something or you going to stare at me all day? I hear they only let these rooms out for a couple of hours at a time and I'm betting you didn't come here for a roll in the sack."