The Calm and the Storm [#NaNoWriMo15]

1. Probation

The room was small; not nearly big enough for even a baby sleep in. The walls were done in a horrid, mustard-yellow colour that had cracks of peeling paint scattered over every surface. The furniture, as little a quantity the room possessed, consisted of old, rotten wood and bugs that seemed to have more ownership of the cabinets than the real-estate company did. Beneath the bad wood and the terrible paintjob was a rustic old carpet that hadn't been vacuumed in years, by the looks of it. Neither had the lime-green curtains that looked like they belonged in a shower. He creased his eyebrows and pursed his lips, glancing sideways.

"This is the only one you've got?" he asked, and the woman beside him nodded her head, the brown bob that was her hair bobbing up and down with it. She didn't seem too proud of the room either.

"Only one with the price you're offering," she confirmed. "It may be small and dirty, and old and smelly, but it really is a wonderful space once it's cleaned up a bit."

"I think this'll need more than a 'bit' of cleaning," he reasoned, then sighed. "But, given the circumstances, I think I'm going to have to take it. Any ideas where I can get new curtains?"

The woman smiled, the relief clear in her dull, brown eyes as the pressure of selling a disgusting room brushed off her shoulders as quickly as she shoved the ownership papers forward.

"I'll just get you to sign right here," she said prudently, "and then I'll leave you to settle in!"

"Sure," he murmured, taking the pen she was offering him to sign in the space provided for him. When he was done, he handed the paper and pen back to the woman, who shook her head at the pen.

"Oh, you can keep that," she told him with a sly shrug. "I've got plenty. Well, I hope you enjoy it here, Mr..." She glanced down at the paper she was holding, unsure.

"Deane," he told her with an amused smile. "Atticus Deane."

"Right! Well, if you have any problems, Mr Atticus Deane, just be sure to report it to the landlord or any other resident in your apartment; everyone here will be happy to help."

"Cheers," Atticus replied, then turned back to the room he was standing in, letting out a heavy sigh as the real-estate woman left him to his unpacking. He dumped his bags beside the dusty old bed and moved to the door slowly, glancing up as a shower of rock dust fell onto his bed of black, dishevelled hair. There were even cracks in the ceiling, from which the dust was transmuted.

The door, half off of its hinges, allowed him passage to the living room, which actually held a television. Even if it were the size of a box. There was a dusty old couch before the T.V that matched that same mustard colour of the caked walls, but instead of cracks it was drowned in empty brown beer bottles. He was beginning to see who the previous owner was.

Behind the couch was a circular table that housed two wooden chairs on either side of it, one of which was missing a leg. The carpet was the same throughout the whole house, as were the walls and the curtains. He didn't care about the couch, the T.V or even the carpet; as long as those despicable mustard walls were gone, he'd have been content with the rest of it. But the walls were making it hard for him to think; they were offending him and he couldn't wait to tear them down.

The kitchen was beside the living/dining area, and then in front of that and next to the bedroom was the bathroom, which he didn't even want to enter. If the rest of the flat looked as bad as it did, he figured he could wait for the bathroom; it'd need a bit of airing out. And there were no locks on the doors, either; the only lock was on the front door, and it only locked from the outside. So he needed his key every time he wanted to leave his house.

Then his thoughts drifted towards why he was having those thoughts about the mustard walls and the dirty bathroom and he shivered. Nathaniel was Atticus' brother, and he was also the reason Atticus had to move into a shitty old apartment in the first place. He was usually a good guy; such a joy to be around and always cheered Atticus up when he felt like no one could ever make him laugh again. But when their parents left them, Nathaniel turned bad. He handled the change much unlike his little brother; he mixed in with the wrong crowd, and one thing led to another. He got into drugs, petty thievery and sometimes even brawls. He'd gamble his and Atticus' money away and always came home drunk with a group of his mates. They all thought Atticus a nuisance; he was 5 years younger than his brother, so that was understandable. They were all as young as 20 and as old as 40, so Nathaniel mixed in quite well; he was quite a people-person. He was fifteen when their parents left, but that was eight years ago. Atticus healed; he thought that Nathaniel would, too, but he only got worse. He started to scare Atticus; there were nights he'd come home at as late as 4 in the morning and would stumble into Atticus' room. Nathaniel was scary enough when he was sober; once the shouting and blaming began, Atticus knew he had to go. He couldn't help his brother anymore; that man was gone and had been for a long time.