Guilty | ✓

XI | Guilty

CHAPTER ELEVEN | GENEVIEVE 2.0

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"I SWEAR TO THE BLOODY gods up above us - do I really have to wear a black dress?!" Genevieve groaned as she stomped each of her feet stubbornly.

The problem was most certainly not the dress. In fact, the problem was Genevieve herself. You would think a twenty-two year old woman would get herself together and not cry over a piece of black fabric.

The situation was so pathetically sad, it was almost funny.

Jonas gave her an unimpressed look, "Yes - according to your big 'encyclopedia' head of yours," she said as she raised her hands making quotation marks. "This is a funeral."

Genevieve ripped the dress off her body, crumpling it into a ball she threw it across the room. The poor delicate clothing lay mercilessly on the ground.

"I don't care if it's a fucking funeral - I don't want to wear black!" Genevieve whined, her hands wrapping around her naked torso.

Both women were incredibly close, so close that they were basically naked in front of each other and they personally wouldn't care.

Jonas gasped, "How dare you! That cost ten thousand dollars!" Her hands immediately picked the dress and wrapped it around herself like a baby. "You wear black every single fucking day of the fucking year, yet, you can't wear black now?!"

"Bullshit," Genevieve mumbled. "I do not wear black the whole year!"

"Right," scoffed Jonas, "remember the Christmas party last year when I specifically told you not to wear black - guess what?! You wore black!"

Genevieve opened her mouth as she raised her finger accusingly, suddenly dropping it, with a sheepish shrug. "Okay, yeah, I see your point."

"Fucking finally," exhaled Jonas, her body sending herself down on the bed as her right hand rubbed her stomach.

The brunette gave her a concerned look, "Hurting again?"

"It's just a stomach ache," Jonas flipped her hand, her lips parting in a wide smile. "Are you going to wear the you-know?!"

"The platinum wig?" Asked Genevieve her hands, picking the mount of artificial hair, carefully she used her hands to maneuver her genuine hair into two French braids, the white hair now covering her once brown chocolate locks. She turned around playfully posing for Jonas who was over exaggerating a posh clap.

Heaps of laughter escaped their lips, both twirling around in the room.

In a matter of seconds, Genevieve's face was painted in worry when Jonas' once California tanned face changed into a sickly pale.

Slapping her hands over her mouth, Jonas ran towards the en suite. Genevieve hissed when she heard Jonas spill her stomach's contaminants into the toilet. Before Genevieve could hurry and help her, the twenty-four year old entered back in the room, her eyes spilling a waterfall of tears.

Genevieve immediately wrapped her arms around the blonde, caressing her head in a motherly manner. "Are you okay?"

Jonas sniffled, nodding slightly, her hands reaching for her back pocket pulling a flat white rectangular object making Genevieve's eyes widen into saucers her jaw completely dropped perplexed.