Chapter 23 – Cosy

Margot’s POV

It had been roughly an hour now. I knew because I'd counted every drag of breath, every tick of silence that stretched between us.

Coban had passed out flat on the bed without a word, arms tucked up behind his head, breathing slow and steady like he didn't have a care in the world. Like I wasn't three feet away trying not to breathe too loud in case it pissed him off in his sleep…

The black chair beneath me was hard and cold, and the longer I sat still, the more every muscle in my back screamed for mercy. But I didn’t dare move too much, not even to fully shift into a more comfortable position. The tension in the room felt too fragile, like one wrong twitch and he’d snap awake, throw something, say something, do something.

But God fucking help me, I really had to pee. Going above the full ache in my bladder, was the fear of waking the monster. I kept my hands folded in my lap, legs squeezed tight together, eyes focused on counting the different tattoos that I could see on one of Coban’s arms, using anything to help distract myself.

I thought that maybe if I sat here long enough, the urge would fade. But it didn’t. Not yet.

As more time passed, with the feeling now growing completely unbearable, I jumped nearly ten feet in the air when a sudden, thunderous knock slammed against the metal door.

Our door.

Coban stirred with a deep, guttural groan, his arm flinging over his face as he blinked up at the ceiling, dazed.

“What the fuck is it now?” he barked, rolling upright with the kind of groggy aggression that made my palms sweat.

He staggered toward the door, still barefoot, still in nothing but those black boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination. His muscles flexed with every movement, and I hated myself for noticing…

The guard’s voice filtered through from the other side of the steel. “We’ve got the girl’s stuff.”

There was a loud buzz – followed by a heavy click as the lock disengaged and the door creaked open.

This is my chance…

I shot up from the chair, too fast, almost dizzy with the sudden movement. “I’m just going to use the bathroom quickly,” I blurted, voice high and thin, like a balloon about to pop.

It got his attention. His eyes dragged toward me, dark and unreadable.

“I’m not putting your shit away for you,” he muttered, brushing past me as if I were a ghost.

I didn’t want him to.

The guards entered the room, each holding a box so large it looked like they were carrying pieces of a coffin. They set them down with a grunt, cardboard thudding against carpet.

I slipped into the bathroom like a shadow, but not before I heard one of the guards mutter under their breath, “Surprised to see you’ve kept the girl in one piece.”

Coban chuckled back in response. Cold. Flat.

“It’s only day one,” he retorted bluntly.

I froze, stomach lurching.

Only day one.

I closed the door and locked it with trembling fingers, the click echoing through the small space like a hymn. For the first time since I’d arrived, I felt a sliver of safety. Pathetic, considering how thin the door was, but still – it was something. It had a lock.

I rushed to the toilet, barely getting there in time, and finally exhaled a shaky breath. Relief swept through me, followed by the slow return of clarity. It was the first moment I’d had alone since stepping into this hellhole: just me, four walls, and my pounding heart.

As I cleaned up and flushed, I allowed myself to finally take in the new surroundings.

Plain. Functional. Not luxurious, but not the horror show I’d expected either. It was more than fine.

There was a surprisingly large walk-in shower tucked in the corner, a mounted gel soap dispenser stuck to the wall above the taps. The scent of whatever was inside it was vaguely citrus-clean, at least. A toilet that was brand new. A small, narrow sink with two white cabinets underneath and a mirrored one above.

I reached for the top cabinet and swung it open, half-expecting to find nothing, but was met instead with a few surprises. A black toothbrush – Coban’s, I assumed – rested beside a half-used tube of toothpaste. Next to it was a brand new, still-wrapped pink toothbrush. I frowned at it.

Pink.

I could already hear Coban’s voice complaining about its colour, despite this time, I hadn’t even picked it.

I moved on, quickly cataloging what else was inside. A bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, a spray can of girls‘ deodorant, a matching male one, a pack of sanitary pads, and four neatly folded towels. White.

Clean.

It was strange. A little too… prepared.

As if they knew exactly what we’d need. Like this whole thing had been done a thousand times before already.

But it hasn’t.

We were the first ones.

I closed the cabinet slowly, turning to check the lower ones. More toilet paper. A sealed pack of wipes. No razors.

Of course.

Because why would they give convicted men – and the women forced to live with them — something sharp that could be used as a weapon?

Still, I frowned. Was I just expected to grow out like a damn cactus? I bit my lip, adding that to the long mental list of things I’d have to ask someone about, at least before my hair grew completely out of control!

I glanced at the small window above the sink – cracked open, letting in a whisper of fresh air through metal bars that looked welded in for eternity.

I sighed and turned to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me like someone I barely knew.

Hair tangled. Eyes hollow. My skin still pale and tired, but the bruise on my neck was thankfully still hidden well beneath the concealer.

Realising that I’d been in here a little too long now, I turned toward the door, unlocked it, and stepped out – before running myself directly into Coban’s solid chest.

“Shit!” I gasped, stumbling to the side, arms flying up to brace myself before I landed on my ass in a heap at his feet.

He didn’t even flinch, just looked down at me with narrowed eyes. “That was a weak attempt to try knock me over?” He raised a brow down at me.

I swallowed hard, trying to speak past the panic now bubbling in my throat. “No, sorry I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were-”

He raised a hand, cutting me off. “Relax. It’s not like it hurt. I was coming to hurry you up because I need to piss!”

I scrambled up to my feet before I stepped around him quickly, offering another small ‘sorry‘ as I passed – allowing him into the bathroom.

The boxes sat untouched on the floor, and I crouched beside them, flipping one open.

Plastic packages containing my new grey uniforms. Another large package seemingly filled with a variety of fresh underwear. One package reading ‘sleepwear‘. One containing socks. The last package being a fluffy beige blanket, I’m guessing to make me feel somewhat cosier in here?

Crazy.

The second box had other things. A hairbrush. More makeup compacts similar to the one the man had let me use on the ship. Hair ties. Beige fluffy slippers matching the shade of the blanket. Plain white slides. Lastly, a notepad and pen labelled ‘prisoner notes‘.

They’d really thought of everything, huh?

Or so I hoped…