Bad Intentions (2 page)

“Y
ou’ve got to be kidding me.” I bite down hard on my lower lip and exhale through my nose, seething. I’m careful not to allow my eyes to wander off the road ahead, as I reach across the tattered center console toward the empty passenger seat and grab my cell. My hand vibrates from the desperate buzz of the phone. The damn thing is begging me to put it out of its misery and to answer it already. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I either answer it or toss the annoying little bastard out the window. As much as I’d prefer to send it to its death, I’m not naïve enough to risk having no phone when driving alone, even when I’m on the last leg of my trip.

Young, dumb and stupid isn’t written across my forehead, and I sure as heck don’t want it on my tombstone.

I hastily slide the bar to the side with the pad of my thumb. “Hello.”

“Uh…hey. I just…” he fumbles over his words. “I wanted to hear your voice.” The hopelessness in his declaration pierces my heart like a thousand needles. I sigh out loud and grip the wheel in front of me until my knuckles turn white. “Sorry,” I mutter,
so
over explaining my reasoning for fleeing, that I can’t form an entire sentence, let alone another meaningless explanation. I don’t have a nice excuse wrapped in a red bow that will magically eliminate the hurt I caused him. I am truly sorry I broke his heart into a million unrecognizable pieces, but I’m not sorry that I left. If anything, I’m relieved. I know it makes me a bad person and paints me as an evil villain, but this is my story, and I refuse to apologize for something that my entire being longs for.

“If you’re sorry, come home.” There’s more than a tinge of pain laced in his plea as he continues, “I’m going to keep calling until you realize what you’re leaving behind.”

I want to point out that his last call had been only forty minutes ago, but I refrain and press my lips firmly together before any unnecessary words fly out of it. Clearing my throat, I manage only to squeak out his name. “Mark.”

“Adaley,” he breathlessly sobs into the phone. “I’m lost without you. The sun doesn’t shine like it used to. Music doesn’t sound the same. Nothing seems right without you here.”

I know I left abruptly. I left him, and my parents, with their jaws on the ground, but I honestly thought he’d handle it better than this. I was obviously wrong.

In our six previous conversations – I look at the clock on my dash –
today
, I’ve tried to coddle him. Maybe that’s made things worse. Using a different tactic, I spit the harsh truth. “Please, just stop,” I beg, knowing that I can’t take much more. “It’s not like I’m a cold-hearted b—.”

“I love you.” He blurts out, interrupting me midsentence.

My throat feels like it’s closing, constricting my every breath. Do I lay it all on the line, or sit here rehashing every agonizing detail for the millionth time. “I told you why I had to go. Coming home isn’t an option. I doubt my parents would even have me.” A dull pain lingers in my chest. “I lo… I’ll always love you and what we had. But it’s over. I told you why.” I swallow another gulp of air, praying all the while that I can pull myself together.

I’m eighteen. Legally an adult. Leaving is my decision.
Unfinished thoughts play on repeat in my mind.

We were best friends and lovers.
Ha.
“Lovers” is pushing it, to be brutally honest. Yet, he and I had shared something special. I just hate to admit that it wasn’t enough for me.

“Was I ever enough, or did you know all along that we wouldn’t end up together?” His voice hardens. “What if you never got hurt—would you have chosen me then? Am I just your safety net?” His voice increases in volume, and I can tell that he’s getting more enraged by the second.

He’s a ticking time bomb, and I’m holding the detonator.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s not… I never… I thought we’d be together forever— just like we planned—but after the accident…I changed. Things I always wanted…my future…it was all obliterated. I was a wreck…you know this. I realized chunks of my life were missing. Parts of me felt completely empty.” My words sound raw as they leave my lips because in the pit of my stomach, I know that anything I say or don’t say is only going to break him more. Sticking with the cold hard truth is all I have left.

“You deflected my question.”

I can picture him standing in the middle of his bedroom looking out the window. It’s directly across from mine, with only a patch of bright green grass dividing our houses. Knowing Mark, he’s pacing back and forth racking his brain and trying to figure out the moment things went south. He’s so analytical. But, love isn’t a math problem— it’s real—and sometimes there is more than one answer.

“You can live with me.” His voice cuts the silence like a butter knife. “We can live in a co-ed dorm.” A silent beat passes. I dodge a dead deer on the road, and he continues pleading. “Please,” his voice is now a low tremble. “I’m going nuts here, Adaley. You’ve only been gone two days, but with each passing minute, I know I lose you a little more. Don’t I?”

“You’re not losing me. You’re getting a fresh start. It may not feel like it now, but severing ties really does you a favor. Don’t you want to go to college and enjoy yourself? A girlfriend wouldn’t make that new experience enjoyable in the slightest. I just want to live life to the fullest—get the full college experience— and I want the same for you.” Hopefully this time, he’ll hear my goodbye for what it is. I don’t want him tied down as he enters his freshman year in college. I want him to move on, and maybe even find someone that will adore him in ways that I can’t.

I hear a grunt escape his lips. Lips that I’m sure are swollen from tears running down them. I can hear him trying to muffle his sniffles as I hold the phone to my ear with one hand and steer with the other.

Silence.

Cursing.

Credible pleas.

It all pierces my ears with just the same intensity, and then moves south, obliterating my heart. Blood and guilt oozes out and fills up my chest.

“I hope you regret this,” Mark says sternly. The sucky part is that I deserve to hear it. “I hope you get there and don’t make any friends,” he continues, as a string of hateful remarks follow. Tears pool in my eyes. “I hope you get your heart crushed just like you crushed mine.”

I have pushed him into this dark place where he’s resorted to being belligerent. After a few muted seconds, I realize the silence dangling between us like the miles I’ve distanced us with. I stop myself before I respond to him and tell him that he’s right. I might end up regretting it. I might run back home and beg for his forgiveness, only for the tables to be reversed when he pushes me away. I gulp, swallowing my anxiety, and turn on the windshield wipers to clear away the discomfort and the rain. “Mar—.”

Click.

The sound of him hanging up is disheartening, yet it puts an end to my unease.

The silence of driving alone is deafening, and with nothing but pavement in front of me for miles, I can’t help but recall how I landed in this predicament in the first place. Even now at eighteen, I realize I was always different. From grade school to high school, I’d been an outsider. While everyone my age was out getting wasted and attending parties, I was either in the gym, studying, or doing something that was less than thrilling. Of course I had girlfriends, but our dreams of being the next Shawn Johnson outweighed the bonds of true friendship.

My mother would have shot daggers out of her crystal blue eyes if I’d ever left the house with the skimpy piece of cloth other girls wore draped around their hips that passed as a mini-skirt. Although, I do find it funny that both she and my father allowed me to prance around a gymnasium in a skin-tight leotard in front of hundreds of spectators. But, for fear of disappointing them outside of the gym, I never pushed it. I stayed in line and acted like the perfect child, all the while breaking on the inside as I yearned to dress in anything other than the clothes they bought for me. I felt like I was about to be shipped off to the freaking nunnery.

I wanted to be admired. Drooled over.

Growing up as the preacher’s daughter put a giant damper on my social status. The boys steered clear, afraid that I would become the next Virgin Mary, and the girls gossiped about me like I carried the plague.
If they didn’t want to get to know me, screw them
. It had been my mantra.

When they tossed revolting remarks around like stones, I turned a cold shoulder and acted like it didn’t affect me. As hard as I’d tried to brush it off over the years, chalking it up as their loss, it still hurt. I had just become a master of disguising my feelings. I kept a smile on my face even though at times, I felt as if I would crack.

No one knew how badly I wanted to escape. How deep the need had festered within me until it was too late. The part of me who longed to be perfect—to make her parents proud and put everyone’s needs before her own— died. My accident had become an awakening.

The girl who’d survived wanted to rip off her good-girl label and stomp on it while strutting around in a pair of the forbidden high heels. I wanted to flip everyone the bird as my mouth curved into a devious smile. And that’s exactly what I did.

The news of my obscene behavior spread through our small town quicker than a forest fire. I slayed the girl who I was and prepared to meet the woman I wanted to become.

Life- 1

Adaley-1

The sound of thunder rolling in the distance pulls me out of my trance just in time for me to notice bright red numbers lit up by neon lights. A pit stop is just what I need. I veer to the right and head toward a filling station just off the next exit. The building is dimly lit outside. I guess the owner spent his entire bulb budget on the sign luring customers in. Maybe I’ve watched too many reruns of Criminal Minds, but this looks just like the type of place that lunatics lurk around. I’m thankful my dad gave me a little can of pepper spray before I embarked on my journey.

Putting the car in park, I hold onto my car key like a makeshift shank as I hurriedly walk inside to get some snacks and try to wait out the storm. Luckily for me, the patrons look blessedly normal. No one is wearing a ripped T-shirt with blood splattered on it. I take a deep breath and relax a little.

Rows and rows are adorned with yummy goodness. Taking my time, I browse the aisle with my mouth slightly hung open. I pray I don’t drop any drool on the discolored floor beneath my feet.

A few minutes later, I head toward the front of the store with a mound of junk in my arms. “Is this all for ya, darlin’?” The sound of the cashier’s accent is thick. It’s a clear indicator of just how far south I’ve traveled.

“Yes ma’am,” I say as I glance at the nametag clipped onto her maroon shirt. It reads Charlene.

“Do ya need a bag?” I nod, and she starts bagging up my items. “It looks like the rain ain’t easin’ up. You might want to stick around here for a little while, Miss.”

I glance out the window and find dark clouds hovering in the sky like giant space shuttles. Aliens won’t ascend from these, but rain sure will. And soon. “I don’t have much farther to go, I’ll be fine.” My smile let’s her know that I appreciate her concern.

“You goin’ to the big college in Biloxi aren’t ya?”

“How can you tell?” I ask, curious as to how she pegged me as a town newbie from the start.

It’s Charlene who glances out the window now. “From the looks of it, you’re alone, and I know I ain’t never seen your face around here before. That’s gotta mean you’re new to the area. You can probably imagine the types of people I deal with on a daily basis.”

Charlene tiredly smiles at me and then wishes me luck on the rest of my trip. It’s reassuring, since everyone else is hoping I fail. I beam. Hey, I’ll take positivity anywhere I can get it.

Shaking off my nerves, I climb back into my used Honda and unwrap my banana-flavored Laffy Taffy. It’s my guilty pleasure and a much needed treat to fuel the rest of my haul. I sit perched in my seat like a child, with my forearms wrapped around my shins, until the rain eases up and I can get back on the road.

No less than ten minutes after I pull onto the pavement, I turn off my windshield wipers as the voice of the computerized woman on my GPS says, “Arriving at your destination, on right.” Nothing has ever sounded so sweet.

My body aches from sitting upright, and I’ve eaten the last of my stockpile. I’m glad there’s no one to witness the mountain of empty wrappers strewn across my passenger seat. I’m sure I’d either look like a binge eater or a diabetic with a free pass.

Bright lights, rows of giant buildings, and an array of students come into view, causing me to grin wider than a Cheshire cat. I press the gas pedal and urge my car to move forward. The words “Braxton University” are etched into a large stone resting to the side of a vinyl welcome sign. I circle it several times as I aimlessly drive around the campus trying to get a lay of the land and find the student dorms.

I find my complex and pull into an empty spot. As I swing my car door open, it squeaks on its hinges.
Rusty ole gal.
Still, she got me here. The night air is hot, but nothing like the humidity I’d expected to be greeted by.

I’m thankful that no one is in the car next to me. I’m sure I look as awful as I feel, and I’m in dire need of a hot shower. Reaching into the back seat, I grab a purple duffle and my bulky suitcase on wheels and then head toward an orange, painted double door. The air is filled with chatter as people mill around the space. A skateboarder flies by my side at record speed, and I can hear the faint sound of someone playing a harmonica nearby.