The Rapture

The car's interior is cloaked in a respectful silence as we navigate the moonlit streets back to Arlo's apartment. A hint of vulnerability flickers across Arlo's usually composed features, and my heart aches for him.

My hand rests gently on his still-damp thigh, the cool firmness of his muscles beneath my fingertips. It's a simple gesture, but it conveys a message of solidarity and support. I'm here for you, Arlo, my aura whispers, intertwining with his own in a silent embrace.

The silence between us is no longer uncomfortable; it's a shared space of understanding, a testament to the growing bond between us. I feel a warmth spread through my chest, a sense of connection that transcends words.

Despite the lingering concern for Arlo, I can't deny the exhilaration bubbling within me. The night with Vivienne was a whirlwind of laughter, revelations, and unexpected connections. A sense of gratitude washes over me for her playful spirit and the bond she shares with Arlo, even with its underlying complexities.

As we pull into the familiar darkness of the Obsidian Spire's parking garage, I replay the night's lessons in my mind. The intricate dance of auras, and the delicate balance between the supernatural factions... it's a lot to process, but I'm hungry for more.

I glance at Arlo, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard. A wave of warmth washes over me. Tomorrow's dinner with my parents still looms, but tonight, I feel a sense of belonging, a connection to this new world, and the enigmatic vampire who guides me through it.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the familiar expanse of Arlo's penthouse. A wave of exhaustion washes over me, a reminder of the emotional rollercoaster of the night. Arlo, still lost in thought, heads straight for the living room, settling heavily onto the large sectional.

I make my way to the kitchen, the cool marble floor soothing my bare feet. I pull out a medical bag of blood from the refrigerator, the crimson liquid swirling invitingly within its plastic confines. I carefully squeeze the chilled contents into two glasses, the familiar metallic scent filling the air.

Carrying the glasses, I approach Arlo, offering him one with a gentle smile. He takes it, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment before he leans back into the cushions, his gaze distant.

I settle beside him, our bodies naturally gravitating towards each other. He rests his head on my chest, his damp hair tickling my skin. I run my fingers through his dark locks, the softness a stark contrast to the strength and intensity I know lies beneath.

The silence between us deepens, but it's not empty. Our auras intertwine, my dark maroon blending with his red-violet, creating a symphony of pulsating energy. It's an otherworldly experience, a connection that transcends words. In this silent communion, Arlo lets me into the depths of his emotions, his fears, his vulnerabilities, his lingering pain from the encounter with Vivienne. No words are necessary; I feel it all, a raw and intimate understanding flowing between us.

A wave of tenderness washes over me. At this moment, I realize that the bond between us is more profound than I ever imagined. It's a connection forged in shared experiences, in unspoken understanding, in the silent language of our intertwined auras. As I hold him close, I know that I'm not just his student, his fledgling. I'm something more, something deeper. I'm his, and he's mine.

Exhaustion finally claims me, and I drift off to sleep, Arlo's arms still wrapped around me. The world fades away, replaced by a dreamscape bathed in moonlight. We're on a secluded beach, the sand cool beneath our bare skin. The ocean stretches out before us, a vast expanse of silver shimmering under the celestial glow. The air hums with the gentle rhythm of the waves, each crest reflecting the moonlight in a mesmerizing dance.

The boundaries between us blur, our auras mingling and swirling, creating an ethereal mist of maroon and red violet that envelops us like a lover's embrace. The world around us fades into a hazy backdrop, leaving only the two of us, connected in a way that transcends the physical.

In this dream, time holds no sway. We lie there for an eternity, basking in the silent communion of our intertwined souls. It's a moment of perfect peace, a respite from the complexities of our world. And as I gaze into Arlo's eyes, I know that even in the realm of dreams, our connection is real, powerful, and undeniable.

Arlo's hand gently shakes me awake.

"We have to go," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “We need to go meet your parents.”

I nod, my heart heavy in my chest. Looking around the bedroom. He must have carried me, I surmise. My head falls back onto the plush pillows. I linger in bed looking at him leave the room dressed impeccably for the impending meeting with my parents pang of anxiety hits me, but I push it aside and head towards the closet. My eyes scan the rows of clothes, a stark reminder of the life I've left behind. But amongst the vibrant colors and luxurious fabrics, I find solace in a simple black dress. It's modest, elegant, and somehow feels... right.

I slip it on, and the fabric cools against my skin. A glance in the mirror—or rather, Arlo's phone camera—reveals a transformation. My eyes, once warm and inviting, now hold a depth and intensity that I've never seen before. My skin, though still pale, seems to glow with an ethereal luminescence.

I'm different now, a creature of the night. But as I meet my gaze in the makeshift mirror, a flicker of acceptance sparks within me. This is who I am now. And I will embrace it.

I leave the bedroom and head into the kitchen, where Arlo has already prepared a glass of that sweet, intoxicating red liquid. "Ready?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

I don't hesitate. I pick up the glass and drain it in one swift motion, the rich, metallic taste a familiar comfort now. I nod, a newfound confidence in my stride.

"Let's go," I say, my voice steady. "It's time to face the music."

We step out of the apartment, the city lights a dazzling backdrop to our journey. The world awaits, and I'm ready to face it, not as the timid girl I once was, but as the vampire I'm becoming.

As we cruise down the familiar streets of my parent's subdivision, a sense of unease settles in my stomach. The cookie-cutter houses, once a symbol of comfort and stability, now feel suffocatingly mundane. I glance at Arlo, his expression stoic as he navigates the winding roads.

We pull into my parents' driveway just as Mia's car arrives. The sight of her familiar vehicle, a bright yellow Beetle, offers a small sense of comfort amidst the growing anxiety.

Mia steps out of her car, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight of Arlo and me. "Well, well, well," she drawls, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I presume? You two look like you've just stepped out of a spy movie."

I can't help but chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "Something like that," I reply, offering her a weak smile.

Mia's gaze flickers between Arlo and me, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. "So, you two people of international mystery," she says, her voice laced with mock seriousness, "are you ready for the show?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the confrontation that awaits. "As ready as I'll ever be," I say, my voice betraying a hint of hesitation. But beneath the uncertainty, there's a newfound resolve, a determination to face my parents and the consequences of my actions.

Arlo squeezes my hand reassuringly. "We'll get through this, Evie," he whispers his voice a comforting balm against my anxieties.

I nod, drawing strength from his presence. Together, we walk towards the front door, the familiar scent of my mother's cooking wafting through the air. It's a bittersweet reminder of the life I've left behind, the warmth and security that now seem so distant.

As we step onto the porch, I take one last look at the modest house, its white picket fence, and manicured lawn a stark contrast to the opulent world I've just entered. It's a symbol of my past, a life I can no longer return to.

With a deep breath, I reach for the doorbell, the familiar chime echoing through the house. The door swings open, revealing my mother's relieved face. And in that moment, I know there's no turning back.

My mother, face lights up with a radiant smile that melts away the anxiety that has been gnawing at me. "Evie!" she exclaims, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and joy. "You're home!"

Before I can even respond, she pulls me into a tight embrace, her warmth and familiar scent enveloping me. All the tension, the fear, the guilt, it all dissolves in that moment, replaced by a sense of overwhelming love and belonging.

My father, appears behind her, his eyes wide with surprise and happiness. "Evie, sweetheart," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "We've been so worried."

He joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both my mother and me. I bury my face in their shoulders, tears of relief streaming down my mother’s, and my cheeks. In this moment, all is forgiven, and all is forgotten. The anger and resentment that has driven me away seems like a distant memory, overshadowed by the overwhelming love of my parents.

"Mia, thank you so much for bringing her home," my mother says, her voice choked with gratitude. "We were so worried."

Mia smiles warmly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "It was my pleasure, Mrs. Quinn," she replies. "Evie's always been a handful, but she's also my best friend. I couldn't let her wander off on her own."

"Oh, Mia, please, call me Eleanor," my mother interjects gently, a familiar refrain in our conversations.

Arlo, who has been patiently waiting on the porch, steps forward, extending a hand to my father. "Mr. Quinn, I'm Arlo Thorne," he introduces himself, his voice smooth and confident. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

My father shakes his hand in his most firm grip as he has all of my boyfriends. I roll my eyes at my father's feeble attempt to show his alpha nature to Arlo. My father's eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and appraisal. "Arlo, thank you for bringing our daughter home safely," he says, his tone sincere.

My mother, wiping away her tears, gestures towards the open door. "Please, come in," she invites, her voice warm and welcoming. "I'm just finishing up dinner. Evie, I made your favorite – chicken parmesan!"

A wave of warmth washes over me. My mother's cooking, and the familiar aromas filling the house, are a reminder of all the good things I've been missing. I smile, a genuine expression of happiness spreading across my face.

As we enter the house, the tension of the past few days seems to dissipate. I'm surrounded by love, by the familiar comforts of home, and by the reassuring presence of Arlo and Mia. For the first time since my transformation, I feel a sense of peace, a glimmer of hope as I enter the foyer, and the familiar family photos of the three of us all staring down at me from the walls.

We all follow my parents into the dining room, a space I hardly recognize. The usual clutter of papers and books has vanished, replaced by a pristine white tablecloth and the delicate plates that normally reside behind glass in the china cabinet. "Mom, everything looks lovely," I say, surprised and touched by the effort.

"Thank you, dear," she replies with a warm smile, before excusing herself to check on dinner. The warm, fuzzy feeling of family reunion is replaced with a subtle tension. I can see my father subtly scrutinizing Arlo, his eyes narrowed in assessment. Arlo, however, remains unfazed, his posture relaxed and his smile easy.

The four of us take our seats, Arlo pulls out the chair between Mia and himself for me, across from my father, and the empty chair reserved for my mother.

Arlo, ever the charmer, breaks the uncomfortable silence. "What a lovely home you and Eleanor have," he begins, his voice smooth and polite. His gaze drifts to the muskets mounted above the fireplace. "Those muskets above the fireplace are quite impressive. Are they family heirlooms?"

My father's face lights up, the tension visibly easing. "Indeed they are," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "They belonged to my great-great-grandfather. He had twelve siblings, all fighting over their inheritance after their parents passed. As they argue about who gets what, he walked into the room, calmly picked up those two muskets, and loaded one of them."

A fond smile spreads across my father's face as he continues, "He then announced, 'This is all I'm taking,' and pointed the loaded musket at his siblings, asking if anyone had any objections."

I can't help but smile too. It's a story I've heard countless times, a testament to my ancestor's quiet strength and determination. It always brings a certain warmth to my father's eyes when he recounts it.

"That's when my mother calls for assistance, breaking the awkward silence. "Can you all help me bring the food to the table?"

We all rise, eager to escape the mounting tension as my ancestor's story comes to an end. Mom hands each of us a plate as she and my father carefully carry the platter of golden brown, cheese-laden chicken parmesan. The aroma fills the air, a comforting reminder of home and simpler times.

I carry the angel hair pasta, Arlo the homemade red sauce, and Mia a bowl of freshly grated parmesan. We set everything down on the table, the once-empty space now a feast for the eyes.

"Thank you, Eleanor," Arlo says, his voice sincere. "Everything looks delicious."

My dad clears his throat, his gaze still fixed on Arlo. "Before we eat," he announces, "perhaps Arlo would like to say a blessing."

I'm taken aback. We've never been a particularly religious family, and certainly never said grace before meals. I open my mouth to protest, but my mother's foot gently connects with my father's shin under the table.

Arlo, ever the gentleman, steps in smoothly. "I'd be happy to, Mr. Quinn," he says, his voice warm and reassuring.

He bows his head, and a hush falls over the room. "Dear God," he begins, "we thank you for watching over us and for your guiding presence in our lives. We are grateful for this food, for the company of loved ones, and for the blessings you bestow upon us. And thank you for bringing Evie and me together on that dark, rainy night. Without that chance encounter, I would have never had the pleasure of this fine meal and the company of this wonderful family. Amen."

As he finishes, I steal a glance at my parents. My father seems slightly mollified, a flicker of approval in his eyes. My mother, on the other hand, is beaming, her gaze shifting between Arlo and me with a knowing smile.

The tension in the room has eased, replaced by a sense of cautious optimism. I take a deep breath, a small smile playing on my lips. Maybe, just maybe, this dinner won't be a complete disaster after all.

As we all dig in, a strange sensation washes over me. The warmth of the food is comforting, but it doesn't provide the same deep satisfaction I remember. I finish my plate, a hollow emptiness lingering where fullness should be.

"Mom," I say, my voice soft, "thank you for making my favorite. It was honestly one of the most delicious meals I can remember having."

I try to convey my gratitude with a smile, but a pang of longing tugs at my heart. The familiar flavors are there, the warmth and comfort of home, but something is missing. The physical satisfaction, the feeling of being truly nourished, is absent. It's a subtle reminder of the transformation I've undergone, of the hunger that now burns within me, a hunger that can never be fully satiated.

As the last bite of chicken parmesan disappears, a comfortable silence settles over the dining room. The clinking of forks against plates fades, replaced by the soft hum of the air conditioner.

"Let's clear the table, shall we?" Mom suggests, her voice warm and inviting.

We all rise in unison, a practiced choreography of familial cooperation. I gather the empty plates, Arlo stacks them neatly, and Mia collects the scattered silverware. The familiar rhythm of washing and drying dishes fills the kitchen, the soapy water swirling in the sink a comforting backdrop to our quiet conversation.

"So, Arlo," my father begins, leaning against the counter, "tell me a bit about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

Arlo dries a plate with a practiced hand, his smile easy and confident. "I work in finance," he replies. "Investments, primarily."

My father nods a hint of approval in his eyes. "A good, solid career," he remarks. "Always important to have a stable income."

I roll my eyes inwardly. Of course, my father would focus on financial stability. It's always been his top priority.

Mom emerges from the refrigerator, a triumphant smile on her face. "And now for dessert!" she announces, placing a beautifully decorated cheesecake on the counter.

Arlo's eyes widen in mock horror. "Oh, Eleanor, I couldn't possibly," he protests, placing a hand on his stomach. "I'm stuffed."

Mom gives him a playful nudge. "Nonsense, Arlo. A little cheesecake never hurt anyone."

She cuts generous slices, placing them on plates and handing them out. Mia, true to her word, politely declines, but the rest of us eagerly dig in. The creamy sweetness melts in my mouth, a delightful contrast to the savory meal we just enjoyed.

But as I savor the taste, emptiness pulls at my stomach. The cheesecake, like the chicken parmesan before it, provides no real sustenance. It's a bittersweet reminder of the changes I've undergone, of the hunger that now gnaws at me constantly.

I push the thought aside, focusing instead on the warmth of my family's company. It's been so long since we've shared a meal like this, just the five of us, laughing and talking without the looming shadow of expectations and disappointment.

But as we finish our dessert, the inevitable question hangs in the air. Mom sets down her fork, her smile fading slightly. "So, honey," she begins, her voice gentle but firm, "how much longer are you planning on staying with Mia?"

She pauses for effect and continues before anyone can speak, “You know her apartment is only a one-bedroom. The couch must not be too comfortable.”

The tension in the room thickens. I exchange a nervous glance with Arlo, his eyes offering silent support. It's time to face the music.

"Mom, Dad," I begin, my voice wavering slightly, "I love you both. But I've been living as a child for too long. My outburst the other day is proof of that. I'll be visiting, but I want to live on my own. As you mentioned, Mom, Mia has been a gracious host, but her place isn't large enough for both of us. I plan on living with Arlo until I start working at the hospital and can find my place."

A stunned silence falls over the room. My father's face reddens, his jaw clenching. He slams his fist on the table, the plates rattling from the impact.

"Absolutely not, young lady!" he booms, his voice echoing through the house. "I know Arlo has been very nice and is probably a great young man. But you two met under the most stressful circumstances. You need to stay here and think about this more."

Mia's eyes widen, her fork hovering mid-air. She's never seen my parents this upset, this... authoritarian. A flicker of worry crosses her face.

My mother, surprisingly, doesn't intervene. Her expression is serious, her eyes mirroring my father's concern. "Your father's right, Evie," she says softly. "We understand your desire for independence, but this is too sudden. Please, reconsider."

The weight of their disapproval hangs heavy in the air. I feel a familiar wave of frustration rising within me, the same rebellious spirit that led me to storm out in the first place. But this time, I fight it back. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I'm no longer the impulsive teenager I once was.

"I appreciate your concern," I say, my voice calm but firm. "But I've made my decision. I need to do this for myself."

A tense silence hangs in the air. My father's chest heaves with each heavy breath, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table. His eyes, usually so warm and kind, are now narrowed, his gaze locked with mine in a silent battle of wills.

But then, something shifts. The tension in his shoulders eases, and his grip on the table loosens. He releases a long, drawn-out sigh, the fight seemingly draining out of him. With a weary shake of his head, he slowly lowers himself back into his chair, his posture defeated.

The anger hasn't completely vanished from his face, but it's been replaced by a deep sadness, a resignation that cuts me to the core. He avoids my gaze, staring down at his untouched cheesecake.

As he picks up his fork and takes a bite of the cheesecake, a wave of uncertainty washes over me. Did I unconsciously tap into my newfound power, subtly influencing his decision? Or is he simply recognizing my determination, finally accepting that I'm no longer his little girl?

The thought lingers in my mind, a nagging doubt amidst the bittersweet victory. I've always craved my parents' approval, their love, and support. But now, I wonder if their acquiescence comes at a cost, a subtle manipulation that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

While my father retreats into a resigned silence, my mother, ever the practical one, doesn't let the matter rest so easily. She sets her fork down, her eyes meeting Arlo's with a gentle but probing gaze.

"Arlo," she begins, her voice calm and measured, "where do you live?"

There's a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a sense that the battleground has shifted. My father may have conceded, but my mother isn't about to let me walk away without a fight.

Arlo, ever composed, answers without hesitation. "I live in the Obsidian Spire, downtown."

My mother's eyebrows shoot up, her lips forming a thin line. "That's quite a distance," she remarks, her tone laced with disapproval. "Evie, you'll be so far away. We'll hardly ever see you."

Her words strike a chord within me, echoing my fears and anxieties. The thought of being separated from my family, of venturing into the unknown with a man I barely know, is daunting. But I also know that I can't stay here, trapped in a life that no longer fits.

I glance at Arlo, seeking reassurance. He meets my gaze, a silent promise reflected in his eyes. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation with my mother.

"Mom, I will come and visit as often as I can," I assure her, my voice firm but gentle.

Her expression softens, but the worry lines around her eyes deepen. "Evie," she sighs, her voice tinged with sadness, "even when you were living here and going to medical school at VIMS, I felt like I barely saw you. Now you'll be working at the hospital and living downtown... I'll never see you. I need to see my precious girl."

Her words pierce my heart, a painful reminder of the sacrifices my parents have made for me. The guilt I had felt earlier returns, a heavy weight settling in my chest. I reach across the table and take her hand, my touch a silent apology.

"Mom," I say, my voice thick with emotion, "I know it's hard, but I need this. I need to grow up, to stand on my own two feet. I can't keep living in your shadow, relying on you for everything."

I squeeze her hand, my eyes pleading for understanding. "I'll still be your daughter, Mom. I'll still visit, call, and be a part of your lives. But I need to find my own way, my own path in this world."

My mother's gaze shifts from me to Arlo, her eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and hope. "We can help you financially, Evie," she offers, her voice tentative. "You don't need to feel pressured to live with Mia or Arlo. We just want you to be safe and happy."

She reaches out to touch my arm, her gesture filled with maternal concern. "Thank you both again for taking care of our daughter," she says, her voice choked with emotion. "It means the world to us."

"Mom," I say, my voice calm and understanding, "I appreciate the offer, but I need to do this on my own. I can't keep relying on you and Dad for everything. I need to prove to myself that I can make it on my own two feet. I know if things get tough, you'll always be there for me, but I need to take this step. It's time for me to grow up and be independent."

I start to feel like I am just going in circles with my mom and I feel my anger rise again as if she isn’t listening to me.

My mother's face hardens. "Living with Arlo is out of the question," she declares, her voice firm. "You barely know him. It's not safe, and it's certainly not appropriate."

I feel my blood begin to boil. It's like she hasn't heard a word I've said. The frustration bubbles up, threatening to spill over. But just as my anger starts to rise, I feel Arlo's hand gently rest on my thigh, a silent plea for calm.

He turns to my mother, his voice smooth and reassuring. "Eleanor," he begins, "I understand that Evie leaving home is difficult for everyone. And I know that living with a stranger, especially in circumstances like these, can be unsettling."

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "It's a bit like getting into a stranger's car when you weren't expecting an Uber," he says with a wry smile. "But perhaps if Evie keeps her phone on her," he glances at me meaningfully, "and I also share my phone number with you, it might ease your concerns. You'll be able to reach her anytime, day or night."

His words hang in the air, a reasonable compromise offered in the face of my mother's stubbornness. I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Arlo understands the delicate balance we're trying to strike, the need to appease my parents while still allowing me the freedom I crave.

My mother's lips tighten into a thin line. "That was already going to happen, young man," she replies, her tone clipped. "She wouldn't even be allowed to see you if we didn't have your number as well."

Arlo nods understandingly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Of course, Eleanor. I understand your concerns. Perhaps, if you have a family tracking app, you could add me to it as well. That way, you'd always know where Evie and I both are and that she's safe."

I see a flicker of hesitation in my mother's eyes as she considers Arlo's suggestion. It's a small crack in her resolve, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she's willing to compromise.

"Alright," she says finally, her voice softening slightly. "I'll send you a text to join our family group. But you need to do it before you leave."

Her tone is still firm, but there's a subtle shift in her demeanor. It's as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, a tiny concession that allows her to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

My mother's gaze softens, and she looks at me with the same expression she used when I was a child, teetering on the edge of mischief. "You will call us, Evelyn Quinn," she says, using my full name for emphasis. "And you will visit. You cannot become a stranger to us."

A wave of glee washes over me. It's not a complete victory, but it's a compromise I can live with. I squeeze her hand, my heart overflowing with gratitude. "I promise Mom," I say, my voice filled with sincerity. "I'll call and visit often."

I turn to Arlo, my eyes sparkling with thanks. He offers a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment of the small battle we've just won.

Arlo glances at his watch and announces, "Unfortunately, we have to be going. Thank you for the lovely evening, Mr. and Mrs. Quinn. It was a pleasure meeting you both."

Mia, stifling a yawn, also rises. "I should probably head out too," she says, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "Been up for almost two days now. See you tomorrow at dinner, Evie."

I give my parents a long, heartfelt hug, savoring the warmth and comfort of their embrace. My father, in a final attempt at asserting his dominance, grips Arlo's hand in a bone-crushing handshake, a playful smirk playing on his lips. Arlo, ever composed, simply returns a firm, steady handshake, his expression remaining stoic. My father's smirk transforms into a slight smile of approval, acknowledging Arlo's unwavering composure.

"Men are so weird," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head in amusement.

My father, seemingly unfazed by his failed power play, turns to Arlo with a serious expression. "Keep her safe, son," he says, his voice gruff but sincere.

Arlo nods, his gaze meeting mine. "I will, sir. I promise."

We step out into the cool night air, the weight of the evening's events settling upon us. I turn to Mia, pulling her into a tight hug. "Thank you, Mia," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "I couldn't have done it without you."

She squeezes me back, her voice firm. "Don't be a stranger, Evie. You hear me?"

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. We release each other, and with a final wave, she climbs into her Beetle and drives away.

Arlo opens the car door for me, and I slide into the plush leather seat, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. As he starts the engine, I can't help but feel a sense of both relief and trepidation. I've survived my first encounter with my parents as a vampire.