I woke up to a sudden cold. These old motels were always creepy, but it's always worse when your anxieties have spiked. I lost all grip on the world an hour into driving and Max took over. He seemed concerned but I don't think he truly realises how deep the thoughts run when they aren't controlled.
I rolled over in bed and watched a roach crawl along the wall into a crack in the ceiling. As I watch the crack it grows larger and deeper, a scraping sound erupting from the old creaking wood as if rocks where shoved in a blender in slow motion. My heart rate increases with every inch the crack widens and my breath catches in my throat. The black shadows pour through the dark crack now larger than my body. As they spill to the floor I hear her voice rise from the crack. The words are inaudible, but her voice is all too familiar. Whispers run through my ears without overpowering her voice. I feel panic rise in my chest and a sick and horrid laughter breaks out from somewhere in the room. I squeeze my eyes shut but they're ripped back open like they're attached to metal springs. The shadows grip around my throat as she floats just above my body her face mere millimeters from mine.
"I love you, darling," she whispers, her icy cold breath burning my face as the shadows tighten around my throat closing off my windpipe. I choke for air and struggle to breathe, but I am unable to moved my arms and legs.
"RYAN!"
I shoot up straight and scream at the top of my lungs, with my hands arount my neck. I let go and my fingers ache, and as I peel them off my skin it stings. I look around and the room looks fine as the sun is shining through the open curtains. Max is looking at me with tears in his eyes, and I am suddenly aware of the tears in mine.
"You...you were choking yourself..." he mutters quietly. I look down at my hands and tentatively touch at my neck to feel sensitivity. There are bruises. Max reaches over gently and examines my neck. He looks horrified, and I try to calm him down. He stops crying and we start to pack up silently. As I step into the shower I hear the door open and the familiar shaking of a cigarette carton. I can't remember the last time I saw him smoke, but I know it's only when he's stressed.
I turn on the cold water and let it wash away the fire from my skin.
