Chapter 103 Coban’s POV:

The doctor’s words hit harder than I expected.

Luckily, nothing’s broke. It could have been worse… My chest tightened as though someone shoved a steel weight right against my ribs. I clenched my jaw, hard enough that I felt it in my temple, trying to hold it in. But the thought burned through anyway.

I could’ve broken her neck.

Killed her. Left her crippled even. It wasn’t just the bruises circling around her throat like some sick brand, it was the image of her lying there, unmoving, her wide eyes glassed over. A girl like her wasn’t built for this place, wasn’t built for me. She should’ve stayed soft forever, untouched, untarnished. And by the end of this, I would no doubt destroy her.

The doctor didn’t linger on me. He handed over the pills, casual as though this were just another day at work for him – because it was. A cup of water followed, the plastic too thin, shaking faintly in her little hand as she held it up. She swallowed the tablets, throat bobbing painfully against those ugly marks that I’d put there. Then came the other two pills, still sealed from a packet, and the small tube of cream like a souvenir to take away with her. But this just wasn’t enough.

Not nearly fucking enough.

“I want it covered.” My voice was flat, sharp enough to draw both their attention instantly. Margot’s wide eyes lifted, startled and uncertain of my mood. I hated how she looked at me like that, like she couldn’t predict what the hell would come out of my mouth next.

The doctor frowned. “I don’t think it’s necessary to dress bruises, Mr. Santorelli. There is no open wound here.” His tone was professional, detached, but it grated on me anyway. I ground my teeth, restraining the growl in my throat. “I’m aware there isn’t any open wound. But I want it covered, to avoid her having to be questioned on it every two fucking seconds. She doesn’t like everyone staring, do you, Bella?”

Her mouth parted, lips trembling just slightly before she nodded. “N–No, I don’t… it’s really uncomfortable actually.” Her voice was small. Truthful. And fuck, I could feel the shame sink deeper into my bones hearing it. She shouldn’t have to say that. She shouldn’t even know what it felt like.

I gave her a curt nod, letting her see my approval for her support on the matter, my silent way of saying good girl – before fixing my stare back on the doctor again.

The man’s shoulders slumped with a sigh. “Very well… if you insist.”

“Yes,” I snapped, deadpan. “I do.”

There was no more argument. The man moved, pulling skin-colored gauze and soft medical tape from a drawer. I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching as he turned back toward her. My body was coiled tight, my chest a storm I couldn’t let break. Margot sat stiff on the table, fingers twisting in her lap. The paper beneath her crinkled each time she shifted. The doctor’s hands were steady, careful, as he brushed her hair gently aside to expose the bruises fully.

My fists tightened at the sight. The fingerprints were stark and quite simply – cruel.

They were mine. My fingerprints.

I could almost see them forming in real-time, each second a reminder that I had done that to her only hours ago like some crazed lunatic. Which I was.

The gauze went around her neck, soft white pressing over angry purple and red. It dulled the sight, covered the evidence, but it didn’t erase what I knew was there. What she knew was there too.

“Better?” the doctor asked her softly, tape securing the bandage in place.

She nodded again, small, grateful. And the warmth in her expression twisted me up inside because she looked almost… relieved.

Relieved because I’d dragged her here for help, because I’d demanded for her to be seen. It should’ve made me feel justified. Instead, it made me feel fucking sick. I had no right to be her savior, not after I was the monster that put her in that chair to begin with.

The doctor rattled off instructions – the cream twice daily, come back if the pain didn’t ease, more ibuprofen before bed and then tomorrow if she needed it. I barely heard him. My focus stayed locked on her, every twitch of discomfort, every glance she stole at me when she thought I wouldn’t notice.

When the doctor stepped away, removing his gloves with a snap, I pushed off the wall.

“Right, come on,” I muttered, gesturing for her to get up.

She slid off the table carefully, one hand rising unconsciously to brush against the bandage. Her eyes flicked up to me, hesitant, questioning.

“Thank you.” She spoke to the man, as he nodded gratefully at her, not used to hearing those words from inmates too often.

“You are so welcome sweetheart.” He chimed, as I let the silly pet name slide.

Sweetheart…

I turned for the door, not giving her room to stall. My hand hovered near her back but I didn’t touch her. Christ, I couldn’t bring myself to lay another finger on her just yet.

Not when she felt like fine china that had just been put back together again after a break…

We walked out into the quiet corridor, the guards barely sparing us a second glance this time. My shoulders stayed tense until the door clicked shut behind us, sealing off the sterile stink of antiseptic in the background.

I didn’t breathe until we were alone in the hall again.

She walked beside me, slower than usual, like she was testing the limits of how close she could be without pressing her luck. The silence was too heavy.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too sore,” I said finally, my voice low. “And if anyone asks about it, you don’t answer them. You can send them to me.”

“Okay…” she breathed, fixing her now dry and wavy hair to the front to cover the majority of the bandage.

Her head tilted, eyes flicking up at me next. There was something in her stare—confusion maybe, or curiosity? But regardless, I knew she had something to say. She scanned over me like she was still trying to piece together why. Why I’d done this. Why I gave a fuck if people stared at her or not. Or why I cared that she was in pain.

I couldn’t tell her the truth. Couldn’t tell her that guilt was eating me alive from the inside out, or that every time I looked at her, I saw the cracks I’d put there.

So I just kept walking, headed to release my tension elsewhere for the day…

“Where are we going now?” She whispered, and I could sense from her tone that she was hoping for the answer I was about to give.

“The gym.” I confirmed, watching her eyes lift in joy of seeing her friend today.

It was only fair. To let her socialize and feel normal again. After I had just nearly killed her.