Splatter [DIVERGENT]

fourteen; ostrich

* not edited v well *

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Tris
3: 27PM
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"Fucker doodle doo!"

I roll my eyes as my brother opens the door, wearing a grey shirt with The Police's logo. Caleb, my extremely egotistical but quite helpful sibling is the epitome of a disappointment.

He has the brains, considering that Caleb graduated high school with a 3.96 GPA. But after a few wrong decisions in life, my beloved brother ended up living in my parent's basement, empty pizza boxes scattered around the room. 

"Heya, sis!" He beams while tossing his arms around me, and God, do I feel the need to apply seventeen coats of hand sanitizer to my body.

"Caleb," I mutter distantly, pulling back and running my shaky hands to smooth down my hair, "when was the last time you showered?"

He shrugs, contemplating with mock seriousness. "Dunno, maybe five days. Caleb Prior residence, at your service."

Shaking my head, I slowly enter the room conscious of the amount of desire reeking in my body to dismantle all the furniture and re-arrange the wallpaper. The basement has been altered to an absolute disgrace.

One large ripped sofa lays in the center, and as we get closer to wherever it is Caleb is taking me, I notice stacks of Queen album's resting on it. Grease has modified all the admirable factors of the basement into rather disturbing furniture.

"So," Caleb asks while casually sitting down on the sofa, which is surrounded by beer bottles and empty ceramic bowls. "Long time no see."

I nod, trying to contain the gurgling instinct in my body that is forcing me to barf everywhere. This is fucking revolting.

"Ah, I got a week off work, so I thought that I'd,—" I notice the unfolded clothes resting on a pool table, and mentally sigh, "—drop by."

Smiling like an idiot, Caleb leans into the sofa, cradling his empty beer bottle in his sweaty hands.

He looks so much like me, and I know that he has the potential to be a success in this world.

But, Caleb doesn't have the strength to turn his life around. He's young, only in his twenties like me, but believes that this is his lot in life.

"So, uh, how're you doing?" I ask, feeling the germs of this room grinding against my skin. "I mean, actually. You got a job yet?"

"Yeah, I work as a youth group at the church."

"Cale, you're not even Catholic."

"But I get payed bills, honey." More like one dollar bills.

Rolling my eyes, I inhale sharply while reminding myself of the true purpose that I decided to torture myself by driving here.

"I actually need some help, Caleb," I declare with puckered lips, unable to wipe the symphonic expression of disgust off of my face. "I could use your advice."

Just then, Caleb stands up abruptly and bends over, plucking a fresh pizza box out from underneath the sofa. Revolting. 

"Caleb, do you want a real job?"

With raised eyebrows, my brother lokks at me as if I'm a circus clown. My coat seems to shrink with every movement for the stench of bacteria is slowly killing me.

"I have a job!"

"A job that doesn't involve singing Jesus songs to spoiled teenagers, who are being taught by a man who has no idea who Adam
and Eve are."