The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 54

Margot’s POV

I didn’t know how long I stayed there crumpled on the cell floor, curled up like something pitiful and small, breathing in sharp, ragged gulps that hurt my throat.

The silence was the worst part.

Not a single footstep. Not a hiss of breath. No creak of movement behind me to confirm if he was still here.

Just my own sobs echoing in the space, too loud in my ears, too pathetic in my chest.

I was a mess. Heaving. Wet–faced.

Swallowed by silence.

And yet, even with the panic drumming in my veins, no blow ever came. No shouting. No cruel laughter. Not even a slammed fist against the wall to jolt me out of the storm inside my own head.

I waited.

And waited.

Still nothing.

Minutes dragged by – maybe more than minutes. I couldn’t tell. Time had blurred into something abstract and useless, just like I felt.

Eventually, the sobs eased enough that I could feel the burn of the carpeted floor against my cheek.

I sniffled hard and forced myself to shift, blinking blearily through lashes still wet with tears.

The room behind me was still.

Too still.

I sat up slowly, like someone recovering from an explosion, my joints stiff and shaky beneath me.

I expected his voice to come, or his hands, pushing me back on to the floor. But the silence held, eerie and strange,

And then the realisation of what was going on finally hit me like a slap.

He wasn’t fucking here.

I turned fully, blinking into the emptiness of the cell.

Coban hadn’t followed me in.

He’d tossed me in and left me here – slamming the door in his place.

For some reason, that made my chest tighten even more.

He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t punished me. Hadn’t even looked me in the eye.

He had abandoned me. Slammed the door behind me and disappeared like I was too insignificant to deal with. Like I didn’t matter at all.

Clutching at my chest, I let out a breathless laugh that tasted like salt. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might bruise the inside of my ribs.

What was worse – being screamed at or being discarded like I wasn’t even worth the effort anymore?

God, why the hell did I feel hurt over this?! He had done me a favour, leaving me alone… right?

I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie, grimacing at myself as I sat down on the edge of the mattress, trying to get my breathing back under control.

It was harder than it should’ve been.

The air felt heavier in here without him. Still, stale, suffocating.

I needed a minute.

No maybe more than a minute.

–

Just to adjust to what had happened…

Dragging my body off from the bed, I moved toward the small bathroom, stepping inside cautiously on the off chance that he would be hiding in here…

But he wasn’t.

The only thing awaiting me in here was the sight of myself, as I flinched, staring back at the mirror…

My eyes were red–rimmed and puffy, Cheeks blotchy. Hair sticking out in tangled tufts from the neckline of my sweatshirt like I’d just climbed out of a wind tunnel.

Then, hesitantly, I began to write…

Week One Coban Santorelli

•

Personal notes;

• Doesn’t follow a strict routine. Does whatever he is in the mood for in that moment. Doesn’t care if we’re late, or miss meals, or skip the schedule entirely. Time means nothing to him, but he hates being made to wait on others.

• Power. He’s always in control – he needs to be. When he’s not, he lashes out. That said, he has a wild temper that can flare quickly but he hasn’t hurt me as of yet.

• Protective. Since we met, I’ve belonged to him and with this, he has ensured that nobody else in the compound has caused me any harm or bother.

• Likes for me to follow his rules, and if I don’t, he has a temper like a storm cloud. I don’t know how to predict him yet. I don’t know if I ever will know.

• He enjoys mind games, teasing me with things like sleeping on the floor opposed to earning my right to the bed. He knows I’ll listen.

• Has zero fear, which terrifies me. He seems to be scared of no one, not even the guards or other inmates who came at him with knives. The man is made of steel.

I paused, pen hovering above the paper.

Something about that last line made me swallow hard.

I couldn’t decide which was more frightening – his wicked temper or knowing that he fears nothing…

I stared down at the start of my list for a long time, then slowly set the pen down, satisfied with what I had wrote for now.

I closed the book, tucking it in the side drawer to keep it out of sight – knowing that he most likely wouldn’t be pleased with my words.

He would be back soon…

And I’d have to be ready…