Guilty | ✓

XXI | Guilty

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | LIAR LIAR

______

THE SOUND OF BUSTLING car horns echoed around the brunette as she sat calmly on the edge of her balcony, her legs dangling in the free fall. In between her fingers stood a small Marlboro cigarette, lines of smoke leaving the burned edge.

Genevieve's back sulked, letting rays of smoke not only come out of her chapped puckered lips but also from her nostrils.

Disgusting, really, yet she didn't care. She was a usual of overthinking things, small situations or big ones, she liked to carve out a meaning behind it all. Frankly, the only answers she could come up with were;

Things happen in life for a reason.

It's true though, you don't have to be very spiritual to come to that conclusion—sadly, it's the only excuse we have for our mistakes. We all cover it up and deny it, but deep down we all know that it was our fault. The fault we created when our stars lined up, when our so-called 'destiny' was written.

Our only choice seems to be to change who we are to be who others think we want to be; when really, all we want is to be truly accepted—with no failures or damages, without broken pieces of bad experiences and for us to be good as new.

Genevieve brought the cigar to her lips once again, her darkened eyes staring longingly in the distance, a small gust of wind brushed past her, hitting her destroyed face.

It had been two weeks since the gala, and since then she'd been sitting on her balcony, she can't remember the last day she showered—she can't even remember the last day she's slept, once her head touched the pillow, her insomnia seemed to take over her body; leaving her restless, hurt and depressed.

The glamorous white gown that she'd worn to the gala was still attached to her body, yet now it was torn and muddled, piles of cinders from the left over cigarettes stuck themselves on the expensive material. Genevieve's face was painted in ruined makeup, mascara was dropped down her cheeks from endless nights of crying and constant face-rubbing.

Countless amounts of pills and empty beer bottles surrounded her, empty pill bottles sat calmly on her lap, the brunette was certainly surprised she wasn't flat passed out from her overdosing.

The frantic opening of the glass door seemed to snap her back from her dazed view, yet, she didn't dare move, instantly knowing from the shadow that casted on her that Elias was there.

Slowly, he took a seat next to her, hissing when he spotted the hard-drugs and alcohol bottles surrounding her—various empty Marlboro packs sitting on a discrete pile to her left, next to him.

"Genevieve?" Elias whispered, watching his girlfriend stay senseless, hearing as she just responded with silence. "Are you alright?"

Genevieve puffed out smoke, her eyes never leaving the skyscrapers in front of her, "Do I look alright?" Her voice was rasped and broken, resembling a male's due to her recent lack of talking and constant smoking.

"No."

"Then there's your answer," Genevieve snapped, her free hand tugging on the, now dirty, chiffon material.

Truth be told, Elias was the first person to have seen her since the unfortunate earlier event—no one, not even Francesca had gotten ahold of Genevieve. Elias quickly found out the reason for it, though. Across from her, next to the brick wall that outlined her building complex was her phone; it's screen shattered and broken into tiny little glass pieces.