The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 156

**TITLE: Keeper 156**

Margot’s POV

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut behind me, a wave of mortification washed over me, engulfing me in its suffocating embrace.

My cheeks felt aflame, as if they had been set alight.

God. Of all the moments, in all the places, with all the colors I could have been…

Pink.

Bright, vivid pink.

I pressed my forehead against the cool surface of the door for a brief moment, taking deep breaths in a desperate attempt to calm my racing heart.

How many guys were out in the yard? Did any of them notice? Perhaps none… Coban had acted swiftly, but was he upset that I had embarrassed him? No, I couldn’t believe that. He seemed to understand, didn’t he?

Yet, the memory of Coban’s voice echoed in my mind, the way he had pulled my elbow, guiding me inside with urgency, like a lifeline in a storm.

The moment he told me I was bleeding, my heart plummeted into my stomach. It was a terrifying realization!

Without thinking, I turned on the shower, the rush of water crashing against the tiles, drowning out my spiraling thoughts. The sound enveloped me, grounding me, providing a steady rhythm to focus on amidst the chaos in my mind.

My hands trembled as I began to undress.

The sight that greeted me made my throat constrict painfully…

A dark red smear between my thighs, soaked into the fabric like a cruel reminder of my own body’s betrayal. My stomach churned, cramps blossoming deep and sharp, as if my body was punishing me for daring to forget that I was a woman.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the nausea.

I bundled the ruined joggers and underwear together, shoving them into a corner, then stepped under the spray of the shower. The heat enveloped my skin, stealing the breath from my lungs for a moment.

The water was soothing.

It always was.

I tilted my head back, allowing the water to cascade over me, washing away the mess, the shame, the panic that had clung to me. I scrubbed carefully with soap, taking my time, acutely aware of every ache and twinge that pulsed through me. My hair was hastily twisted into a messy bun atop my head to keep it dry, my fingers fumbling as the cramps tightened again, low and insistent.

I should have seen it coming.

In the gym, when the nausea hit me, when the fluorescent lights felt too harsh, and my head was shrouded in fog.

But time had a way of distorting itself here.

Days merged into one another. Weeks felt like mere moments. Tracking something as ordinary as a cycle seemed impossible when every other aspect of my life had been stripped of its routine.

By the time I finished washing, my body felt lighter. Cleaner. Less exposed.

I stepped out of the shower, towel-dried quickly, then opened the small cabinet beneath the sink with a silent prayer.

It was all still there. Neatly tucked away at the back were pads and tampons, untouched, waiting like a lifeline. A wave of relief surged through me so intensely that my knees almost buckled.

I grabbed a tampon immediately—my preferred choice—but added a pad for extra protection, still feeling the sting of embarrassment from leaking through… it wouldn’t happen again!

I sorted myself out, pulling on a pair of loose grey shorts and a baggy grey t-shirt.

Just then, the cramps decided to intensify, curling deep and sharp, as if my uterus was reminding me who was truly in charge.

I exhaled slowly, bracing myself against the pain.

I really didn’t want to face the outside world again.

I didn’t want to confront him. Didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he had noticed. That he had pulled me away because of it.

That he had seen.

But hiding was not an option.

With a resigned sigh, I finally unlocked the door and stepped out…

Coban was perched on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. His head lifted instantly when he heard the door creak open.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice steady.

There was no teasing, no smirk, no judgment.

Just genuine concern…

I nodded, suddenly acutely aware of how small I felt standing there in front of him.

He gestured with his hand. “Come here.”

I hesitated for just a heartbeat before obeying.

As soon as I was close enough, he pulled me down onto his knee, one arm wrapping securely around my waist, the other anchoring me there as if I truly belonged.

The sudden closeness stole the air from my lungs, but not in a bad way.

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