Of course we were on the fifth floor, and the stench of BO and spicy food wafted down the hallways and even in the stairwell.
The apartment itself was just as bad. The living room was tiny. It had a loveseat, a TV stand with no TV, and a threadbare area rug under a scarred wooden coffee table.
The kitchen was galley style with only one square of counter space, three cupboards, a fridge that looked older than me, and a small stove with coiled elements and a scratched surface.
A small four-person table had been shoved into the corner of what could have been a dining nook, but there were only three chairs, and they looked rickety as fuck.
We hadn’t even looked at the bedrooms or the bathroom yet. I doubted they’d be better.
Ash dropped his bag and slammed the door shut.
“I hate them.”
I shared the sentiment but didn’t say anything.
He strode over to the first closed door and pushed it open.
It was a bedroom with a double bed, a dresser, a night table, and a footlocker. Tattered venetian blinds covered the small window, and it was missing a closet.
“Called it.”
“No. You can’t call it until we’ve seen both rooms.”
“Fuck that.” Ash closed the door and stood in front of it. “I’m calling it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Your insults are getting old.”
I rolled my eyes and stomped over to the next door and pushed it open.
This room was easily half the size of the first one. Only a single bed, a dresser, and a footlocker fit in the small space.
“Enjoy your closet.” Ash smirked at me as I slammed the door closed.
“I hate you.”
“Mutual.” He pushed past me and shoved the last door open.
I’d never seen such a dingy bathroom. Tiny counter, shallow sink that was yellowed with age, flooring that was peeling in the corners, and an olive-green tub with a clear shower curtain liner.
Had anyone cleaned it in the last twenty years? It was disgusting.
“This place sucks.”
He slammed the door closed and stomped away.
“I’m not taking the tiny room,” I shouted at his retreating form.
I was pissed.
This entire situation was bullshit, but the apartment just made it so much worse. Did our parents not give a fuck about us at all?
I hadn’t expected a doorman and marble countertops, but equal-sized rooms and a working elevator would have been nice.
“What are you going to do about it?” Ash slung his oversized duffle bag over his shoulder.
I hurried over to the door to the big room and planted myself in front of it with my hands on my hips.