The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 97

Margot’s POV

“Why are you out? I didn’t say you could come out.”

His voice was low and testing, as my wet hair clung against the skin on my neck – causing me to shiver.

I froze by the doorway, towel clutched so tightly against my chest that my knuckles whitened.

The air in the cell was like an imaginary fog, coming down on me heavier than the steam that still stuck to my damp skin.

I couldn’t really read him anymore.

Not today.

Couldn’t tell if he was still lost in the fury that had shattered through him from the nightmare… or if this was a quieter, more dangerous calm… like a ticking time bomb that would erupt with one slight movement.

“I…” My voice cracked, raw and tight in my throat.

Talking hurt. Everything hurt. “I… didn’t take any clothes in with me.”

His jaw twitched.

Still no movement, no flicker in his eyes. He looked carved from stone, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“You think I actually care?” His tone eventually snapped sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Get back in there, I’m not ready to see you.”

Every instinct screamed at me to obey him. To rush back inside and slam the bathroom door shut, curl into the corner and stay hidden…

But I didn’t.

He was acting as though it had been me who had fucked up this time… and for once, I definitely knew that

I hadn’t.

Did he feel so guilty that he couldn’t even be in my presence right now? Or perhaps in some twisted way of his own he was actually blaming me for what had just happened?

It was hard to tell…

My bare feet edged forward on the carpeted floor, my freshly painted toenails becoming a distant memory of my salon day with the girls only hours ago…

Step by trembling step, I proceeded towards the drawers to get my clothes.

“Bella…” He warned, as I avoided all eye contact and continued on…

He was being ridiculous this time.

This wasn’t on me.

This was on him.

“Are you deaf?!” His tone came sharper, as I moved to rummage around in the dresser for fresh underwear and socks…

“MARGOT, I’M TALKING TO YOU!” He suddenly pushed himself up to stand, as my breathing increased and my pulse quickened from how quickly he moved…

I didn’t quite know why I had chosen to be so defiant in that moment. But I knew for certain that I was right and he was wrong…

If I didn’t stand up to him now, then he’d walk all over the top of me the entire time that I’m here… right?

“YOU FUCKING CRAZY BITCH!” He shot at me in disgust, suddenly walking in quick strides to approach me…

Oh shit…

It was only then that I immediately shrank back from him, one hand up in front of my face and the other hand still clutching at the towel around me.

I backed up until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, nearly flailing back on to it as I cried; “Okay, okay… I’m sorry… please don’t hurt me!”

My throat screeched in protest at my words, but I didn’t care. In that moment I knew I had pushed Coban too far…

Silence fell.

As I could feel his wild eyes on me.

“Look what I’ve done to you,” He finally muttered, and I knew he was close, but I didn’t dare to look at him not yet.

For the first time since I’d met him, Coban Santorelli looked unsteady. Not the immovable wall of fury and dominance he always wielded, but like a man cornered by his own demons…

“You should hate me,” he said, low, guttural, almost pleading. “You should. So why the fuck don’t you?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Not one that made sense.

Not one that wouldn’t sound stupid or naïve.

So instead I whispered the only truth I had: “Because you didn’t mean it.”

His chest rose sharply, his eyes burning into me as if he was searching for the lie in my words.

“Christ, you’re going to get yourself killed in here,” he muttered, letting me go before dragging both hands down his face before he stumbled back a step. “You think what I did was dangerous?” He let out a dark laugh that chilled me to the bone. “You haven’t even begun to see the half of it.”

The room grew quiet again, but not calm.

Never calm.

My chest burned as did my bruising throat.

My towel still clung damply to me, my hair dripping cold rivulets down my back, but I couldn’t move – held under his presence.

Then, softer, almost to himself, he said, “Fuck. What the hell am I even doing with you?”

My heart lurched, but I didn’t dare to answer.

Because I didn’t know what this thing growing between us was…

Neither of us knew…