Read Online Bad Intentions by Nacole Stayton - Free Book Online

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.”
    She isn’t fazed by my standoffish attitude. I welcome the silence as she nods and moves around me to go shower.
    Brushing my hair, I gather it up and tie it into a knot at the top of my head. I’m not one of those girls who are addicted to make up and products. Yes, I like to look nice, but I don’t need a plastered face with seven types of concealer to feel good about myself. I moisturize and dig in my purse for my glasses. It’s so that type of day.
    Tossing on a pair of athletic shorts, I slide on a sports bra, and rummage through bags I’ve yet to unpack, grabbing a tank top. I’m not trying to be conceited, but I’m cute. I have a good build to my body. It’s not manly and muscular, it’s toned and defined. My hair is long and streaked with a natural blonde glow. And while sometimes I look like I just crawled out of bed, I can also pull off a more feminine, put together look as well. The quote, if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best reminds me that it’s okay to dress completely relaxed today. After all, it is Sunday.
    Then it dawns on me. My first Sunday here, and I’ve already missed church. Both services, I think as I look at the time on my phone.
    I’m a failure, and God’s going to condemn me to a life full of lonely nights.
    I remember my dad pulling me in his embrace before I left and whispering, “If there’s one thing you do, please go to church on Sunday. Don’t forget to count your blessings and remember who you are in here.” He placed