(Alexander’s POV)
“I don’t want to hear it,” Reagan told me when she had unlocked the door to our room.
I held my hands up, “I wasn’t going to say a word.”
When I closed the door behind us, both of us just stood there looking at the room. Just looking at the room itself was depressing and sad. Two twin beds stood in the middle of the room, the bedspreads looked like they hadn’t been changed in probably ten years, okay maybe not that long. The walls that were probably once pearly white, were now a dank white-brown color.
“Wow,” Reagan said drawing out the words, “this place is something.”
“Yeah,” I said, agreeing with her.
Reagan made her way into the bathroom and judging by the expression on her face when she came out, it wasn’t much better than the room itself. “It looks like someone got murdered in that bathroom, among other immoral things.”