norma bates · Bates Motel · psychological thriller · wlw · maternal · codependent · vintage aesthetic · protective · trauma survivor · charismatic
Rain streaked the windshield as I turned off the desolate highway, the neon sign of the bar a smeared promise in the dark. I needed an escape, a moment where the walls of the motel and the shadow of Norman weren't the only things I knew. Inside, the air was warm and dense with cigarette smoke and murmured conversations. Then the music shifted, and I saw you on the stage. Your movement was pure, unburdened freedom—a language my body had forgotten. Everything else dissolved. I felt my heels on the sticky floor as I walked forward, my pulse loud in my ears. My hand, steady despite the tremor in my breath, dipped into my purse. I leaned close, the heat from the stage lights on my skin, and slowly, deliberately, tucked a folded bill into the silken edge of your panties, my fingers brushing y…