I look down at myself while the judge takes a second to collect his thoughts. I like my purple jail scrubs. I picked the color just for today. It compliments my shamrock green eyes and the pink undertones in my otherwise peachy-bisque pallor. My citrus hair is luscious, layered, and on-point, while my long lashes and nails are black, because in my opinion, that’s always the best color combo for lashes and nails. It adds just the right amount of drama and badass to really get you through anything. Color is very important. Get the wrong combo, and it can totally ruin your day.
A throat clears somewhere in the room, and I pull my thoughts away from my outfit and colors.
“What do you have to say for yourself in regards to your crimes?” Judge O’Vine asks me, like some disappointed father who expected more from me.
If he only knew who my mother was and what she and my father were all about, he’d know I’m too far gone to be affected by that attempt.
The lawyer looks at me from the corner of his eye as I open my mouth to answer. “In my defense, Your Honor, the ice cream truck was left unsupervised, and it was hot. I was just helping out by driving it to the park. I would’ve been happy to pay for the ice cream I gave away, but no one gave me a chance,” I explain. “Next thing I knew, the police were tearing into the parking lot, and it’s only natural to want to get away from that. If anything, it’s their fault that I evaded. They spurred my fight or flight response.”
“Is that so?” the judge drawls.
“Yes. And I object to the Reckless Driving charge. The ice cream truck couldn’t even go over forty. The cops are the ones who ran me into the side of the bridge. So if anyone should be charged with damaging things, it should be them.”
My lawyer sighs and rubs his fingers over his brow as his hairline begins to get a bit dewy with sweat.
“It’s true,” I insist. “After that, jumping off the side of the bridge was the only way to get out of the wrecked truck. I didn’t know there was a sign posted saying not to jump off the bridge. And if I hadn’t stripped out of my wet clothes, I probably would have caught pneumonia.”
Honestly, all of this should be self-explanatory.
“Sidenote, telling a woman that her naked body is indecent is rude,” I add, holding up a finger at the prosecutor. “And I kissed the cop, I didn’t assault him. He’s the one who slipped me the tongue. If he hadn’t distracted me with that move, I would’ve remembered the glitter bomb and warned him,” I explain, sure to insert a shit ton of irritation in my tone and exasperation in my features. From everything I researched, a sure fire way to piss off a judge is to defend bad behavior and blame other people for your actions.
Of course, I had bigger plans put in motion for how to get imprisoned, but when my matriarch announced that my mating had been moved up by several months, desperate times called for desperate measures. The ice cream truck really was just sitting there like a fucking gift from the ether. It was just asking to be put to good use, and I’m an opportunist.
The bullish judge stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say more. Hmm, how to end this...
“Oh yeah, and you’re a shit-for-balls, ass hat wearing prude, who probably can’t kiss for shit!” I say.
My lawyer winces.
“Fuck all the fucks, and cover them in cunt gravy. Cash me outside, cuz I ain’t even sorry. Go blow your horn, you overgrown useless minotaur. How do you like them apples?” I spout off evenly, like I’m reading from the dictionary instead of trying to piss off the judge and extend my sentence as much as I can by being as foul and offensive as possible.
Judge O’Vine just shakes his head instead of becoming the level of irate I was hoping for.
Well, that’s disappointing.
“Sinclair Denali, it’s clear to me that you have some serious emotional and mental issues that need attention. I hereby sentence you to one year in Nightmare Penitentiary, followed by two years of probation where you will get the mental health support you are in desperate need of.”
I stare at the minotaur motherfucker, completely shocked.