Bound By Sin

The Feeling Of Guilt.

Genevieve sat at the edge of her bed, her legs pulled up to her chest, the dim light of her bedside lamp casting long shadows across her room. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken truths. The walls, once a sanctuary for her thoughts, now seemed to close in, trapping her with the ugly, suffocating reality she was trying so desperately to avoid. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, her hands trembling as her thoughts spiraled.

Nicholas.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of his face, the one that had haunted her for days. His sharp features, the way his eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable whenever the murders were brought up, and how he always seemed to know too much about the details of the crimes. She had noticed the signs, but she had buried them deep, telling herself over and over again that she was wrong. That it couldn't be him.

But it was him. Deep down, she knew. She had always known.

A sharp pang of guilt shot through her chest as she hugged herself tighter. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's not him. It can't be." She needed to believe it, even as the truth clawed at her insides, begging to be acknowledged. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, a dull ache of fear and denial mingling together.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. It was another message from Isabella, asking if she was okay, asking if she was still coming to meet the others to talk about what had happened during the latest round of questioning.

Genevieve let the phone slip from her hand, the screen dimming and fading into darkness. She didn't have the energy to answer. She couldn't face them right now. Not when she was drowning in guilt for defending Nicholas, for standing up for him when they had all started pointing fingers.

"You know it's him, don't you?" The question echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of the conversation she had overheard between Isabella and Theodore just days ago. They hadn't said it to her face, but she had felt their eyes on her, filled with pity. They knew how close she and Nicholas were—how much she had wanted to believe in him. But she couldn't blame them for their suspicion.

Her breathing grew ragged as tears stung the corners of her eyes. "Why are you doing this, Nicholas?" she whispered, her voice trembling. She wanted to scream, to demand answers from him, but the only sound that filled the room was her uneven breathing and the distant hum of the street outside.

Her chest tightened as memories flooded her mind—memories of late nights with Nicholas, laughing together, confiding in each other about their dreams, their fears. He had been her friend, her closest confidant. She had trusted him. But now, those memories felt tainted, like they were part of some sick game he had been playing all along.

"No," she choked out, pressing her palms to her eyes as if she could block out the truth. "It's not him. I won't believe it." But her words felt hollow, as though she were reciting lines from a script that no longer made sense.

Her mind drifted back to the moment when she had first begun to suspect him—when he had shown up to her house, his hands stained with something dark, his excuses flippant. She had brushed it off, told herself it was nothing, but the doubt had taken root then. And now, as the bodies piled up, that doubt had grown into something unbearable.

"I should've stopped you," she muttered, her voice thick with regret. "I should've said something... done something." But she hadn't. She had stayed silent, lying to herself, to everyone else. And now it was too late.

The door to her room creaked open slightly, and she looked up to see Anastasia standing there, concern etched on her face. "Gen.... are you okay?"

Genevieve wiped at her tear-streaked face and quickly shook her head. "I... I don't know." Her voice broke, the weight of her guilt threatening to crush her.

Anastasia stepped inside, her eyes softening with understanding. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but... we're worried about you."

Genevieve let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Worried about me? You should be worried about Nicholas."

Anastasia's expression hardened. "Genevieve, we are worried about him. But you... you've been defending him this whole time, and we don't understand why."

Genevieve opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, her throat tight. She couldn't admit it. Couldn't admit that she had thought it all along and had been too cowardly to face the truth. Instead, she looked away, her fingers digging into her arms.

"I don't know why I'm still defending him," she finally whispered. "Maybe because... if I admit that it's him, then I have to admit that I let this happen. That I... that I was blind."

Anastasia knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her knee. "It's not your fault, Genevieve. None of this is your fault."

"But it is," Genevieve snapped, her voice rising as the dam of her emotions broke. "I knew something was off with him, Ana. I saw the signs, but I ignored them because I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that he could be capable of... this." Her voice faltered, tears streaming down her cheeks now. "He's my friend, and I defended him. I lied to all of you, and to myself."

Anastasia squeezed her knee gently. "You couldn't have known... none of us could have."

Genevieve shook her head violently. "No, I did know. I knew in my heart, but I kept telling myself it couldn't be true. I kept thinking... maybe I was wrong. But now... now I can't escape it. It's him, Ana. It's Nicholas."

Anastasia's eyes were filled with sorrow as she watched her friend break down. "It's okay to feel hurt, Gen. You're not alone in this. We're all struggling with it... but we're going to figure it out. Together."

Genevieve let out a shaky breath, her chest aching from the weight of everything. "I just... I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make this right."

Anastasia stood up, pulling Genevieve into a tight embrace. "You don't have to make it right, Gen. We'll get through this, one step at a time."

Genevieve clung to her sister, her body trembling with the force of her emotions. But even as Anastasia's comforting words filled the silence, the truth gnawed at her. Nicholas was out there, and she had let him slip through her fingers. Now, all she could do was wait, helpless, as the darkness continued to close in around them.