Once she was sure she was not being watched by any of the other inmates, Sam clutched Caro's article to her chest, rubbed the news print on her grim prison issue smock.
It was the Caroline she knew and loved. She savoured every unsourced claim, allowed the opinion dressed up as fact to drop from the page and roll gently down her waiting tongue. Ooooooh, she thought to herself, this will make a brilliant deposit in the Wank Bank.
Sam considered frigging one off right there and then, illuminated only by the watery morning twilight of Deer Park.
But she knew she couldn't. If the other girls caught her, she'd lose face. And that could be deadly here in the Roberta Moran Centre For Female Corrections.
She'd known they'd try it on with her on her first few days inside, and had prepared herself accordingly.
It had come swift, on her second night. They'd been watching Rove in the recreation room when a tough little thing with a sharpie haircut and a tattoo of a magpie on her cheek confronted her.
"You're that dumb moll journalist what made up all that bullshit about the dingos getting rooted that meant my cousin Alan got eaten by that fat prick from Hawthron aren't ya?"
Sam knew what she had to do. She'd been pissing on the floor of her cell and scraping her prison issue toothbrush into the puddle to create a sharp edge since she'd arrived. Now she used it.
"So what if I am?" Sam snarled back, before raining blows upon the unfortunate woman.
By the time they heard the screws moving, the sharpie lay broken and bloodied at Sam's feet.
Sam sat down and looked around the room. Nobody had seen anything, she knew that for sure. And she hadn't had any trouble since.
Now, just a few days short of her release date, Sam felt an inner confidence.
Yes, she'd see Caroline.
But there were also a few other people she needed to visit. Some other issues to sort out.
Starting with that slag Rebecca.
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