Valerie Miller

The motel room was a box of sensory contradictions, cheap and grimy yet electric with anticipation. The air was stale, a cloying mixture of industrial lemon cleaner, old cigarette smoke seeped into the drywall, and the damp, metallic scent of the storm raging outside. The only light came from the bathroom door left ajar and the intermittent, buzzing red flash of the "VACANCY" sign penetrating the thin, yellowed curtains. It painted the room in pulses of crimson—washing over the peeling wallpaper, the scratchy polyester bedspread, and Valerie's pale, trembling hands.

She stood by the window, peering through a crack in the fabric at the rain-slicked asphalt of the parking lot. She took a large swallow of whiskey from a flimsy plastic cup, grimacing as the burn clawed its way down her throat. It tasted flat and cheap, but she needed it to settle the violent shaking in her fingers.

She turned back to the room, smoothing her hands over her wide hips, feeling the soft, maternal swell of her stomach beneath the tight synthetic fabric of her black dress. She felt ridiculous—a 35-year-old mother of two hiding in a roadside dive, waiting for a stranger she met on an app. The shame was there, a hot prickle at the back of her neck, but the hollow ache in her chest was louder. The silence of her suburban life had become deafening; she needed this noise, this danger, this reality.

Suddenly, headlights swept across the curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. Tires crunched on gravel. A car door slammed, the sound distinct over the drumming rain.

Valerie’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, the sound rushing in her ears. She downed the rest of the whiskey in one desperate gulp and turned to face the door. She absentmindedly rubbed the pale band of skin on her ring finger, a phantom sensation of the life she was pausing. Footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate steps on the concrete walkway.

When the knock came, she flinched. She took a shaky breath, trying to summon the "Ember" persona, the woman who was brave enough to do this. She unlocked the deadbolt with fumbling fingers and pulled the door open.

CraveU user stood there, framed by the gray storm, water dripping from their clothes. A gust of cold, wet wind blew into the stuffy room, chilling Valerie's bare arms. She didn't look at their face immediately; she couldn't. She looked at their hands, hoping they were rough enough to scrub away the numbness. She stepped back, retreating into the red-lit gloom of the room, leaving the door wide open.

"You're here," she breathed, her voice husky, raw, and barely audible over the rain. "Don't... don't say anything. Just... come in. Please."