Composure

Prologue

I stared at the signed papers on my kitchen table. The bottom of the papers were scribbled in almost dried black ink pen.

He did it, he fucking did it.

I've been sitting at the table for about ten minutes now debating on what I should do next. It's funny, because when I walked through our crappy apartment door, I expected everything to be gone due to us getting kicked out soon. Living in the city just costs too much physically and emotionally. It drains you if you're not prepared for the things that will get thrown at you. You either try to survive, or it'll eat you alive, my friend. I learned that from a young age. My fingers slightly touched the papers that now seemed as if it were gold now. I heard the front door nob wiggle and saw the lock turn. My aunt had her own key, we all did. She walked in with her left arm trying to keep hold of some groceries that we could sometimes afford. The brown paper bag plopped on the counter with a thud following aunt Debbie's sigh of relief. I watched her, but she didn't really watch me until now. She turned around, expecting the unexpected. She noticed the papers but thought it was junk mail, the usual.

"Damn, Nina. It's not another principle letter, right?" She asked trying not to look at the paper. I would usually get offended by her reminding me of my daily behavior, but I couldn't help but smile. She walked towards me, thinking it was. She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and slouched. My hand touches the paper, sliding towards her for her to see. Debbie too then just overcame that fear in that one second. Not only was our apartment paid off, and signed by our landlord, the person that claimed it was shown in the second signature on that damn paper.

I scooted next to Debbie and pointed to the signature, the black scribble that read, Jonathan Alter.

6 months earlier..