Desolation // l.p.

Chapter XXI

I stare down at the picture on my phone, acknowleding the fact that this apartment looks nothing like it did on the website. A man shoves past me, nearly knocking me off of the sidewalk and onto the road filled with traffic. A car horn blares at me and I jump, already not fond of the area this place is located. There really couldn't have been a better welcoming to this place. I bite my lip before heading towards the old run down building. The cement that it is made of is dirty, and looks like it could really use power wash sometime soon. Or any wash in general.

The glass door creaks as I pull it open. The area is tiny, almost like a hallway. The welcome desk sits to my right, a large fake plant is on my left. A man who looks to be in his late forties, and is a bit overweight walks out. His bald spot on the top of his head shines against the fluorescent lights suspended from the ceiling. I get a chill when he smiles at me, a crooked smirk covering his face.

"You must be Sarah. I'm Bill, the building manager. I'll be giving you that apartment tour." He grins, holding his hand out for me to take. I hesitate, but take his hand. His tight grip hurts my hand and I wince a little, using a smile to cover it up though.

"Sounds good." I lie, actually dreading the next half hour with him. He makes me wish that I had brought somone with me, so I wouldn't be alone with him.

"Alright, if you are ready we can start?" He suggests and I nod, ready to get this over with. I haven't even toured the apartment but I already feel like this isn't the place I'm going to like the most today. Between the neighborhood outside and the greasy manager this place sends shivers down my spine. "Follow me." He smiles and begins walking towards a set of double doors with 'stairwell' painted onto it in fading letters. A sign on the elevator reads out of order, caution tape covering the entrance. The tape looks old and I get the feeling that it's been out of order for a while.

Me and. . . Bill, go through the heavy aluminum doors and into the stairwell. The doors slam shut behind me, a loud echo climbs the stairwell thanks to their clammer. "Don't worry, we don't have far to go, only a flight." Bill says behind me. I wouldn't have cared if we had to climb to the top floor, as long as I get there without him murdering me in this stairwell I'd say it was a good trip. We climb the stairs to the second floor, leaving through another door and into a hallway. I watch as Bill approaches the second door on the left that we come to, the number 3 hanging on the door is crooked, the silver metal of it slightly browned. He messes around with a few keys when he finally gets it unlocked. When he goes to open the door and it doesn't open he frowns. Pushing on the door, but it only creaks. "Might just need a little- shove." He grunts as he shoves his shoulder and body weight against the door. The sound of cracking wood comes from the door as Bill goes through it, half of the door falling to the ground along with him.

"Are you okay?" I ask, biting my lip to try and keep from laughing. He pulls himself up from the floor quicker than I thought he could even move. His face blushes as he tries to laugh at his own extent. Coughing out a few awkward sounds he claps his hand and points to the door on the ground. "I can look into getting that fixed." He says and turns on his feet. I bite back my laughter still containing it as I go through the door, scraping against the other half still connected to it's hinges. I step around the broken piece on the floor and follow Bill into the apartment.

I have to remind myself that this was one of the cheaper options that I had picked out. It's relieving actually, because if all of the apartments that I picked out looked like this place, I definitely would not be moving out this weekend. Since I already know that I don't want this place, I contemplate telling Bill never mind. That I do not need to take this tour because I'm not interested. If this actually looked like the pictures posted online then I definitely would be interested, but this looks nothing like it. The clean carpet in the picture, doesn't compare to the old worn out brown carpet I am standing on. In it's defense though, I think it is supposed to be brown. The walls are no longer white, a creamy and aged color showing the wear on the place. The blue sofa has a few dark stains on it. I'm glad my feet are frozen to the spot I'm standing on as Bill rumbles on about the history and some stuff he thinks is important to tell me. I fear that if they weren't planted to this spot, I would run out of here screaming.