Bound By Sin

Snitch.

Isabella burst through the front door the moment Genevieve unlocked it, her wide, terrified eyes scanning the house as if she expected Nicholas to still be there. She was breathless, her hair wild from the wind, and the raw tension radiating off her made the air in the room feel thicker, heavier. She grabbed Genevieve's arm, her grip tight.

"Are you okay?" Isabella asked, her voice frantic. "Did anything else happen? Where is he?"

Genevieve stepped back, pulling her into the living room and quickly locking the door behind them. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her hands trembling as she tried to calm herself enough to speak. The weight of what had just happened was still pressing down on her, suffocating her with unease.

"He's gone," Genevieve said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She sank down onto the couch, her legs weak, unable to hold her up any longer. "He left a while ago... but Issy, it was bad."

Isabella sat down beside her, eyes wide with concern. "Tell me everything, Gen. Start from the beginning."

Genevieve took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She didn't even know where to begin—how could she explain the fear she had seen in Nicholas' eyes, or the way her own fear had taken root the moment she saw the blood?

"He came in through the window," she started, her voice trembling. "I heard something outside, and then he was just... there. He was shaking, Issy. Like, really shaking, and I asked him if something was wrong, but he just... he looked at me, and I could see how scared he was. He couldn't even speak at first."

Isabella's face paled, her lips parting slightly. "What was he scared of? Did he say?"

Genevieve nodded, her throat tightening as she continued. "He... he started crying, like really crying, and he told me he couldn't do this anymore. That he's been having nightmares. But not just any nightmares—he said he's been dreaming that he's killing himself."

Isabella's breath hitched. "Oh my God..."

"I didn't know what to do," Genevieve said, her voice breaking. "He was so scared, Issy, like he was falling apart right in front of me. He said the detectives are convinced he's the one responsible for the murders, and it's driving him crazy. He kept saying he couldn't take it anymore, that he didn't know what was real or what wasn't. I tried to calm him down, but he was a mess."

Isabella was silent, her eyes fixed on Genevieve, absorbing every word with growing horror.

"But that's not all," Genevieve continued, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, the words catching in her throat. "There was blood, Issy. On his hands."

Isabella's eyes widened, and her hand instinctively flew to her mouth. "Blood? When you say blood what exactly do you mean?"

Genevieve shook her head, her fingers twisting in her lap. "I don't know where it came from, but when I looked down, I saw it. It wasn't a lot, but enough to notice. His hands were shaking so badly, I almost didn't see it at first, but then..." She trailed off, feeling a cold shiver run down her spine at the memory. "I think he realized that I saw it because right after that, he went to the bathroom. And when he came back, his hands were clean. There was no more blood."

Isabella stared at her, horror written all over her face. She stood up, pacing across the room, her mind clearly racing. "What the hell, Gen? Where would the blood even come from? Did he hurt himself? Or... someone else?"

"I don't know," Genevieve whispered, the fear she had been holding back now fully breaking through. "He didn't say anything about it. And I was too scared to ask. I didn't want to make him more upset, you know?"

Isabella stopped pacing, turning to face her. "Did he say anything else? Did he act like... like he might have done something?"

Genevieve shook her head. "No. After he cleaned up, he was just quieter, like he was drained or something. He thanked me for letting him stay for a bit, and then... he just left. Like nothing had happened."

Isabella's face went pale, her hand trembling as she pressed it to her forehead. "This doesn't make any sense. Nicholas wouldn't... he wouldn't be capable of something like this. I've known him since we were kids. He's not a killer."

"I know," Genevieve said, her voice shaking. "But the blood, Issy. I can't stop thinking about it. And the way he was so scared... like he didn't trust himself anymore. What if he doesn't remember something? What if he did something and doesn't even know?"

The question hung heavy in the air, the implications terrifying. Isabella wrapped her arms around herself, her breathing shallow. "We need to tell someone. Maybe—maybe the detectives need to know this."

Genevieve's stomach twisted at the thought. "But what if we're wrong? What if this is all just in his head, and he's really losing it because of the stress? I don't want them to think he's guilty if he's not."

Isabella sat back down beside her, her voice low and strained. "But what if he is guilty, Gen? What if he really has something to do with the murders? We could be in danger, or someone else could be."

Genevieve's pulse quickened, her mind spinning with a thousand possibilities, each one darker than the last. The Nicholas she had seen tonight had been a stranger—a scared, broken version of the boy she knew. The blood, the nightmares, the way he had seemed so lost... it was all too much.

"I don't know what to do," Genevieve whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't know if we should help him or turn him in."

Isabella's face hardened, her fear blending with determination. "We need to be smart about this. If he's innocent, we'll help him get through this. But if there's even a chance he's not... we have to protect ourselves. We can't ignore the signs."

Genevieve nodded slowly, her mind whirling with fear and uncertainty. "Do you think he'll come back?"

Isabella didn't answer right away. She stood up, glancing at the window and then back at Genevieve. "I don't know. But we need to be ready if he does."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the air heavy with unspoken fears. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but the truth was clear—they didn't know who Nicholas was anymore, and the blood on his hands had changed everything.