Bad Intentions

by Stayton, Nacole

  She’s like a gnat—invisible, always in your ear, and hard as hell to kill. It’s sad, because it was never my intention to gain any enemies on my first night here. Truthfully, I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt, but… she’s not making it easy. It’s safe to say we’re not going to be besties and bond over our mutual attraction to Ryle any time soon.

  “I was in a former life.” I brush off her comment and continue to play the game. “Zoe, truth or dare?”

  She smiles mistrustfully. The crinkles on her small nose are on display as she whispers, “Dare.”

  “I dare you to twerk!” I giggle like a twelve-year old.

  “I got moves like you’ve never seen, girl!”

  The sound of everyone laughing and carrying on continues for hours. As the crowd dies down, yawning soon replaces laughter. The grass is now beginning to dew and by the looks of it, the sun is just below the horizon. Like a child peeking out from under the covers, it’s ready to wake up the world way before anyone’s ready.

  “Drive.” One word is all I can muster. I’m surprised it’s even audible. Using all his strength, Tank tosses his deadweight arm over my shoulder, but doesn’t speak. We’re a sight for sore eyes as we stumble forward. I’m sure God’s looking at me shaking his disapproving head as I pray we make it to his car upright.

  The thick, green grass reminds me of wet moss under my bare feet as we trudge forward. Through slanted eyes, the car comes into sight. In my drunken state, I hadn’t even thought about where Zoe was. Some roommate I am.

  The driver side door swings open and, like a magic act, Ryle appears. He looks like an angel wrapped in denim and drenched in sex appeal.

  “Put her in the back,” he instructs, like I’m some rag doll picked up at a flea market.

  Careful hands slide me into the backseat and buckle the seatbelt. “Sleep, Kitten,” Tank mumbles, putting my drunken self at ease. I notice a body next to mine that is wrapped in a dress. Her head is resting against the back of the seat, and her mouth is parted, allowing a foul mix of morning breath and vodka to ooze out of it. “Zo—.”

  “Just let her sleep,” Ryle barks, interrupting me. I hear the roar of the engine come to life.

  “Glad to her…see. Couldn’t find.” My words slur out like a puzzle that no one but Yoda could decipher. I close my eyes, sealing out the disgusted look in Ryle’s eyes. I allow the world to fade around me.

  Someone’s obnoxious snoring causes me to jolt upright in my seat. Opening one eyelid, I see the car has been abandoned by its driver. Tank is slouched over in the passenger seat. I’m guessing his face is plastered against the window with drool running down his chin. My head throbs, and it feels like a boulder is sitting on my chest, my breaths coming out short and fast. I’m thankful that my need to hurl has subsided. I lick my dry lips and try to sit upright. My mouth tastes like a garbage disposal.

  Ick.

  I push against the charcoal leather-covered driver’s seat and grab the door handle. It swings open immediately, almost ripping my shoulder out of its socket. A rush of fresh air hits me in the face, and I can finally take a deep breath without tasting the stale remains of last night. My lungs thank me, and so does my pride. Glancing to the clock, it reads five a.m. It’s Sunday.

  My wobbly legs don’t quite cooperate as I try to step out, and the world begins to spin around me. I’m a horrible drunk. I place my forearms against the cool car and lean forward to rest my head on them.

  This feels nice.

  “I got you,” I hear the gravelly voice of my least favorite person on campus, seconds before his hands find my shoulders to pull me close. My face is pressed against that damned white T-shirt that outlines all the right places and hugs his biceps. Oh, what I’d do to be wrapped around him like that shirt.

  As Ryle embraces me, I fight the urge to inhale his scent. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. I fail miserably. I know it’s a dangerous thing to do, but I don’t stop. I literally sniff him like a dog.

  My body is lifted in the air. The movement makes my already queasy stomach lurch. Luckily for me, the contents aren’t food. Here’s to hoping Laffy Taffy and alcohol taste just as good on their way back up.

  “Almost there.”

  I look up through my lashes and for the first time since we met, the glare that meets mine isn’t cold. The sound of a door creaking on its hinges tells me that he’s carried me inside the dorm. His face is pinched together, and his dark blue eyes are glossed over. I’m sure he’s as tired as I feel.

  Those lips. Those kissable, plump lips are so close to mine. I can almost taste them. “The devil has dimples,” I hoarsely purr as he gently lays me on my bed. Ryle’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me like he has something to say. “What are you thinking?” The hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle from his closeness as he dips his head. I can smell the wintergreen gum resting between his teeth. I tilt my chin forward.

  This is it.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  I hold my breath, waiting for his lips to brush against mine.

  “Your breath smells awful.”

  My eyes widen in horror as I shoot up a hand to cover my mouth. A cloud of disappointment erupts in my stomach like a bomb. I study the expression on his face. It’s no shocker that he wasn’t teasing. How many times is my heart going to deceive me today, or yesterday…whatever?

  “You’re a prick.”

  “Don’t act like Zoe didn’t warn you.”

  My heart pounds feverishly in my chest, matching each throb in my skull. “What are you talking about?” I mentally take a vow of sobriety, as I fight my eyes to stay open.

  Ryle’s hand skims up my arm, his index finger marking its path until it reaches my face and he cups the side of it. Holding my cheek in the palm of his hand, he smirks. The little bastard actually has the audacity to laugh in my face after insulting me in my own dorm room. He quickly changes his tune, his brows furrowing as he looks at me intently. “Did you think you were the first girl that Zoe has given her little spiel to?”

  I physically draw back from him, putting as much distance between us as I can, but he only moves closer to me. It’s another cat and mouse game, and we all know how it ends. Poor mouse.

  “You did, didn’t you?” I scowl, and he continues. “Didn’t you wonder how she knew you’d get burned?”

  Like the naïve little wuss that I am, I confess, “She said she watched it happen before.”

  “She didn’t watch it,” he licks his plump lips and glares at me with a look that tells me he knows he’s under my skin. “She lived it.” A flash of triumph crosses Ryle’s face, seconds before I pull back my hand and slap the grin right off his mouth.

  “Get out you sick—.”

  “Get angry.” A muscle in his perfect flipping jaw line ticks as he antagonizes me. “I want you to think I’m so repulsive that the sight of me makes you want to puke.”

  It doesn’t even matter why he wants me to find him repulsive. I admit that it may have prior to his little admission, but at this moment in time, I do find him disgusting. I grit my teeth. “Mission accomplished.”

  Without another word, he stands up. His shirt is crunched up, showcasing tanned abs. I couldn’t care less if his shirt was off and his boxers were puddled at his feet. He’s not someone I’ll ever be interested in. Not now. His image isn’t just bad, his soul is. And I want no part of mingling with someone so tainted with doucheness. He takes one last look at me and nods his head like his job here is done. He turns and walks away without looking back.

  Huffing, I tug back my covers and wonder who made my freaking bed. I swear if it was Ryle, I’m going to murder him. I don’t want him touching anything of mine. Without changing my clothes, I climb onto my twin, not caring in the slightest that I’m probably staining my clean sheets with glow-in-the-dark paint. I yank the covers up over my body. The smell of home fills my nostrils, but it doesn’t put me at ease. It does the exact oppos
ite. The smell of home will fade, and I’ll still be here, lying in a bed several states away, wondering why in hell I left.

  So far, college sucks, I think as I fumble with my cell phone.

  “What’s that sound?” Zoe croaks out of the darkness.

  “It’s a sound machine app.” I press my lips together. “Just go back to bed.” I drape the blanket over my head like a makeshift tent and drift off to sleep thinking about the smug expression on that asshole’s face.

  Ryle took the long way back to his apartment. With Tank peacefully nestled and snoring in the seat beside him, he knew that time was not of the essence. As he drove, Adaley’s words “mission accomplished,” played in his head like a broken record. He knew better than to believe her. It had been written all over her face. From the moment that he’d told her she looked like a stripper, to the disappointment that flashed across her face when he’d dared her to do a flip. She was clearly into him and was parading herself around – something that immensely turned him off. Naomi was always flaunting her chest like she had the only rack in the world. Easy women weren’t his thing.

  As he’d carried Adaley to her room and looked down at her drunken body folded into his embrace, his control meter had started to whack out again. He’d noticed this recurring internal battle when she was near, and he was afraid of going down the same road that he’d foolishly embarked on in the past.

  Pushing her away was clearly his only option, because as the tips of his fingers trailed her flawless skin and he’d gotten a glimpse of her up close, he’d known one thing for sure. He was in deep shit.

  The unbelievably loud chirping of birds outside of my window infuriates me as they sing in their morning glory kind of way. I hold the pillow over my head and try to mute their noise.

  There is a steady throb of pain beating against my skull, and I struggle to keep my lids closed. I’m not ready to face the day – or reality. The sun’s rays have an open invitation through the unobstructed window, and sunshine spreads over my body, engulfing me in its warmth. The sunrays dance across my exposed limbs like they’re rehearsing for a live casting of America’s Got Talent. It’s true that I’m in need of their complementary dose of vitamin-D, but right now, I just want to be annoyed and sulk.

  Instead of welcoming the day, I lie still. Every time I move, the room spins around me like a ride at a carnival. My lips are so dry they feel like they’re going to crack open unless I get some moisturizer on them stat, but my mind keeps getting sidetracked by the little noises coming from my stomach. I know at any moment, I might hurl. My mouth feels like it’s being filled up by a saliva hose, and I swallow to push it down, trying to avoid tossing my cookies. “Shit!” I jump out of bed and leap into the bathroom. Hugging the porcelain throne, everything comes up. Literally, I mean everything.

  A foul odor assaults my nose, as I let my shoulders sag against the seat. In this horrific moment, I’m thankful yet again for a private bathroom.

  This is awful.

  I never want to drink again.

  “I’m so sorry liver,” I cry out between heaves. I palm my exposed stomach as I literally beg it to forgive me for last night’s shenanigans.

  After what seems like an eternity, I pull myself up off the floor and brush my teeth. My mouth still feels dirty. It’s stained from the previous night and coated with embarrassment. Like an old lady, I slowly make my way back to my bed. I crawl into a ball and close my eyes, silently begging the drapes to shut on their own. I can’t even muster up the energy to pull them closed.

  The swooshing sound of a pillow being tossed through the air tells me that Zoe’s also awoken from the dead. It hits me in the head and bounces off, tumbling to the floor. I forgot she played softball. No wonder she has impeccable aim.

  “Ugh,” I hold my forehead in the palm of my head. “Not cool.”

  “I take it you’re not feeling up to par.” Her voice is much too loud and cheerful. It echoes off the walls and pierces my ears.

  I groan in agony. “You could say that.”

  Lifting one lid open, I see her sitting up with her back against the wall. She’s facing directly toward me. Ivory feet with bright blue, painted toes hang off the edge of her bed. I guess she never got the memo as a child: Never—I repeat never—allow your feet to dangle from your bed. Who knows what’s lurking under there, hiding in the dark abyss.

  I close my eyes and try to focus what little energy I have on pulling myself together. My father’s voice plays on repeat in my mind. It’s in sync with each thud pounding in my temples. He’s reminding me of what a moronic move it was to drink so heavily. “Everything in moderation.” He’d always say, as he downed a glass of cheap scotch—that is, on the rare occasions that he actually allowed himself to partake. I remember sneaking into his study once and taking a sip from his bottle. I’d spat it on the floor and got caught up in a coughing fit. My mom came rushing into the room, a worried frown etched onto her oval face. I lied and said that I’d swallowed my gum. Maybe this awful hangover is a punishment for lying to her. Hindsight…

  “Earth to Adaley…don’t make me chuck another pillow at you.” Zoe’s laughter brings me back. We make eye contact, and she continues, “I was saying, you did a handful of keg stands. I’m surprised you’re even awake right now.”

  “Keg what?” I ask baffled by her terminology.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I squint my eyes to try and dull the pounding. “I wish I were kidding.”

  “Okayyy…” she sounds out the word with amusement. “A keg stand is where you grip the rim of the keg and two people hold your legs in the air. It’s like you’re doing a headstand, but there is a tap in your mouth. The goal is to guzzle as much beer as you can.” My face bunches together as I try to recall doing such a thing. “You probably did about five.”

  “Did I look dumb?” I don’t know why it matters, but it does.

  “Umm, no. You rocked it and looked incredibly hot!”

  I grin from ear to ear. I came here open-minded, and while introductions in this place have been a little strange, I’m happy to have a roommate that I can stand. I kind of like this Zoe chick.

  “I remember you said something about you used to be a gymnast something or other. The guys barely had a hold of your legs. It was pretty impressive, if I do say so.”

  Her gloating causes me to laugh. It’s short lived. “I need to shower. If I’m not out in ten, send in reinforcements. I might have fallen, or passed out, or choked on my own vomit.”

  “To be so cute, you’re pretty disgusting. That,” she begins as she waves her hand all around her face. “Blonde hair, good girl thing is all a façade. I can see right through you.”

  I smile coyly and dodge her comment.

  Eying the towel that I’d draped over my computer chair, I reach forward and instantly become frozen. My mind reels, trying to make sense of what is right in front of me.

  What the f…

  He didn’t.

  Oh, shit. He so did.

  On my desk is a bottle of water, two Advil, and a note written on my father’s letterhead. The same paper I’d jotted down directions and my dorm room number on before I went on the open road. I can barely make out the chicken scratch that is Ryle’s name, much less the note.

  “Take these. Drink this. Brush twice,” I mumble, reading his words out loud.

  Zoe pipes up. “Well there’s a domestic side of Ryle I’ve yet had the pleasure of seeing.”

  Is this his idea of a joke? I march toward the bathroom with smoke blowing out my ears and all but slam the door, forgetting that I’m not at home anymore.

  Jerking the teal shower curtain open, I yank the faucet to the left. It takes me an annoyingly long time to undress without falling over. I lean over the sink and peel yesterday’s contacts off my eyes, which is no easy task, I might add. Hot water causes the room to steam and the cheaply painted walls to gather condensation. Steam meanders around my naked body as I slip into the stall
. I’m surprised at the fact that the water is actually warm. Yesterday, it was barely luke. I take a mental note at the advantage of Sunday showers. Either no one takes a shower on Sunday morning, or everyone is still too hungover to even crawl out of bed. I’m thinking it’s the latter.

  Oh, how I wish I were still sleeping.

  Shampoo runs down my body and exits through the drain as I stand with my head tilted back under the steady stream of beating water. I’m sure black mascara is running down my face, but I don’t even move to wipe it away. I have zero energy.

  My mind slowly pieces together the events of last night. Suddenly my memory comes rushing back to me, as I recall my conversation with him who shall not be named because he’s a giant dick—and who doesn’t even deserve the time it takes to even think his name. What’s bizarre, is that Zoe doesn’t even seem like the type of girl that would lust after someone as cruel as he is, and from what I gathered in the short period of time I’ve been here, it seems that she can’t stand him. So what gives?

  “She lived it.” What does that even mean? Why would he tell me that? Maybe I should have switched roommates when I had the chance.

  Grabbing the towel off the toilet lid, I wrap it around my body and step out of the shower. The rug beneath my feet is soft and velvety. It reminds me of the rugs at my house. I should have brought more stuff. Sentimental stuff. But, I only brought the necessities. My plan of starting over wasn’t as well thought out as it could have been.

  I brush my teeth again. Twice—as directed by some loser who isn’t worth my time.

  I swing the door open, only to find Zoe standing nose to nose with me. In her hand is the unopened bottle of water that Ryle pulled out of thin air and left on my desk. As what, a peace bargain? Not a chance in hell, buddy.

  “You need to rehydrate. Down this, then get dressed and we’ll go to the cafeteria.”

  I can’t shake the memory of what he’d said, even as I process what Zoe is saying to me now. She honest-to-goodness seems legit. Still, I don’t know her from Adam. Giving her the benefit of the doubt and living by girl code and all that jazz would be the right thing to do. But since I’m changing my ways, I coldly respond and let my own insecurities eat away at me. “Okay, whatever.”