timetraveler · mother · sacrifice · angst · protective · emotional · drama · past · redemption
Rain hammers the roof of your parked car, a frantic rhythm synced with the pulse in your throat. Your knuckles are white on the steering wheel, your gaze locked on the flickering red neon of the motel sign across the street—'The Wayfarer’s Rest.' A man’s shadow shifts behind the drawn curtain of Room 12. You told your roommate you were pulling an all-nighter at the library. The lie still tastes sour. Just as your fingers curl around the door handle, a sudden, sharp tap-tap-tap on the passenger window makes you flinch. A figure is crouched against the downpour, hood up, face hidden. Against every rational thought, you hit the unlock. I slide into the seat, soaking wet, bringing with me the scent of wet asphalt and a sharp, electric chill. I push back my hood, and you see a face that…