The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 15

Margot’s POV

I now sat alone towards the edge of the assembly room, legs folded up on one of the cold plastic chairs, nursing a lukewarm bottle of water like it was a lifeline.

My thumb worked over the crinkled label, peeling the edges absentmindedly as I just waited.

Cara still hadn’t come back yet, and I often questioned whether I had been gone for this long for my own debrief… it felt like it had been forever!

She had been unluckily called just minutes after I had returned from my own chat, the two of us only exchanging a brief glance not even words as we passed by each other like ships in the night.

–

–

I was now left alone with my own thoughts tormenting me.

Dangerous, spiraling, chaotic thoughts.

All swarming around the one and only Coban Santorelli.

I couldn’t stop replaying the name in my head.

Santorelli… was he perhaps Italian?

I couldn’t stop picturing that grainy security image either, with the crumpled body lying at his feet and the way the guard would slap the folder down onto the table like a silent warning sign.

My stomach churned as I recalled the guard’s words trafficking, gang affiliation, suspected mass murder, drug and he’s your responsibility now…

I took another sip of the water, grimacing at the flat taste but knowing that I had to take advantage of it whilst it was free.

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, a new anxiety struck me as I gasped, one I hadn’t even thought to ask in the middle of my flustered panic earlier.

How old is he?!

The question hit me like a slap.

Why didn’t I think to ask that? But why didn’t the guard just tell me? Did he maybe know that it would have freaked me out?!

What if he was old?

Like really old?

A fully–grown adult man with grey hair and sun–damaged skin and prison tattoos older than my entire existence?

How was I was supposed to “emotionally rehabilitate” a forty–year–old man with blood on his hands who was no doubt facing a mid–life crisis being stuck behind bars?

The idea itself sounded ridiculous and totally laughable!

Little five foot nothing me? Teaching an old dude how to be a better person?

Sure!

That could never work! There has to be some science behind this whole project, right?

The idea alone made my skin crawl. The power imbalance, the discomfort… the sheer absurdity of being tossed in a cell with an older guy.

Nah! They couldn’t do that! Pairing freshly turned eighteen year olds with much older dudes? There had to be some thought process behind this to prevent such pair ups…

I buried my face in my hands, groaning quietly into my palms at my newest concern.

It all still felt so unbelievable and untrue…

“Well, my guy’s name is Leon, and I can just imagine already that he’s got one of those jawlines that could cut through glass,” a syrupy voice drifted from across the room, bursting through the fog of my anxiety like a pin.

I lifted my head slowly, gaze locking onto a group of familiar girls, the ones wearing the mint–green the same ones from earlier, all now huddled together on some chairs by the ship window uniforms

–

One of them, a girl with thick blonde curls and manicured nails, was leaned in like she was sharing the world’s juiciest gossip.

“And guess what he’s in for too?” she practically purred. “Drugs, gang ties, and aggravated assault. The real bad boy trifecta.” She claps suddenly, as the others break out in to excited screeches as if on queue.

Laughter bubbled from their corner as I shrank back in my seat, wishing I could disappear into the floor.

I clenched the bottle in my hands, resisting the urge to launch it at their perfectly glossed faces.

But I didn’t move. I didn’t bite back. It wouldn’t help me in any way here.

“Whatever guy gets landed with her will be fucking gutted anyhow!” I heard one say in a ‘faux whisper‘, as though she was trying to be quiet but knew that I’d hear her anyway.

I stayed quiet. Took another shaky sip. Tried to breathe through it and avoid further eye contact.

“Right? I’m so glad we chose this colour too, you did say that only the desperate ones would go for pink!” A brown haired girl speaks out next, as they continue to turn towards me – desperate to catch me staring at them again, but I refused.

Let them laugh at me….

Let them act like this was all just a game…

They don’t even realise what they have signed up for yet…

—

Because when the reality of this all hits them the bars, the locked doors, the violent inmates – I had a feeling those giggles would fade real fast.

This wasn’t a game.

“Was that a bruise under her eye too? I didn’t know she had already been in there with them! Who knew you could get a head start to meet the inmates!” The blonde snorts louder this time, as I swallow the lump in my throat knowing that the bruise was clearly still noticeable.

Crap… the concealer didn’t last long… probably due to my profuse sweats!

Where the hell was Cara when I needed her?!

Please hurry up…