The Rapture

After we drive a bit longer Arlo speaks again, “There is a downside to having been created.”

I glare at him his blue eyes and rippling muscles, “What is that you going to make me your slave woman.” I scoff.

“Well, no, but yes it is possible.” Arlo mentions with a hushed tone, “Vampires call it a Sire's Command. But all creatures have this ability. It is where the created must obey the creator. The creator can bestowe free will by not enacting and forcing their will on the created but the option is always there to do so.”

“So you are going to make me your slave?” the atmosphere in the car becomes heavy with my anger.

“No I would never do that to you Evie, but you need to understand.” He quickly counters and sounds sincere.

The remainder of the drive passes in tense silence. I'm lost in my thoughts, staring out the window at the blurring scenery, my mind a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and a growing sense of dread. Arlo, sensing my turmoil, keeps his eyes on the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly.

As we approach the Obsidian Spire, a towering black skyscraper that dominates the downtown skyline, the car descends into an underground parking garage. The sleek vehicle glides to a stop in a reserved spot, its engine falling silent.

Arlo and I exit the car, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. We make our way towards the lobby, Arlo exchanging a curt nod with the doormen as we pass.

Stepping through the threshold, I notice something peculiar. The cool blast of air conditioning, which should be a refreshing contrast to the summer heat, feels strangely absent on my skin. The breeze as we walk past the doormen, but the chilled air itself seems to pass through me, leaving no sensation behind.

It dawns on me then. The coldness that now courses through my veins, the icy touch of my vampiric nature, has rendered me immune to the chill of the air conditioning. It's a small thing, but it serves as a stark reminder of the profound transformation I've undergone.

I follow Arlo toward the front security desk, my mind still reeling from the implications of my new existence. The world around me seems both familiar and alien, a landscape of sensations I am only beginning to comprehend.

"This is Evie," Arlo informs the security guard, his voice carrying an air of authority. "She'll be staying with me. Please ensure she has full access to my floor."

The guard, a burly man with a stern expression, nods curtly and proceeds to create a key for me. The cool metal feels strange against my fingertips, a tactile reminder of my former life. The last time I held a key like this was as a child, coming home to an empty house while my parents worked late.

As I take the key, a sudden realization washes over me. "I can't stay with you," I blurt out, turning to face Arlo. "I have to go home. My parents must be worried sick."

The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the life I've left behind. The memories of my last interaction with my parents flood back, the anger, the resentment, the bitter words exchanged in the heat of the moment. Guilt gnaws at my conscience as I realize I haven't even called to let them know I'm safe.

Overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions, my composure crumbles. Tears well up in my eyes, and my knees buckle beneath me. Arlo catches me just as I'm about to collapse, his strong arms enveloping me in a comforting embrace.

Sobs wrack my body as I cling to him, the weight of guilt and worry crushing my spirit. I had been so consumed by my anger and confusion that I had neglected to consider the impact my disappearance would have on my parents. The thought of their anguish, their frantic search for their missing daughter, is almost too much to bear.

Arlo gently guides me towards a standard grey elevator, his silent presence offering a modicum of solace. He knows that words are futile at this moment. All he can do is offer comfort and support as I grapple with the emotional turmoil that threatens to consume me.

Inside the elevator, Arlo inserts his key and then enters a code on the keypad. The back wall of the elevator slides open, revealing a hidden hallway lined with additional elevators, each marked with a number. He leads me to the one labeled '13', its door a solid expanse of black steel adorned with swirling patterns that seem to shift and writhe in the dim light.

My senses are heightened by my vampiric nature, and I notice the subtle details of the design. The black-on-black patterns are barely visible to the human eye, a testament to the secrecy surrounding Arlo's penthouse.

Arlo inserts the key into a slot beside the door, and with a soft hiss, it slides open, revealing a spacious, dimly lit apartment. Ignoring the opulent furnishings and modern decor, I immediately begin searching for my phone, desperate to reach out to my parents and assure them of my safety.

I rush into the bedroom, my eyes scanning the luxurious space for my graduation gown. It's the last outfit I wore, the one stained with my blood. I fumble with the silken fabric, my fingers searching desperately for pockets.

"Damn it!" I hiss, tossing the dress aside in frustration. No pockets. No phone. I had left it at my parents' house, a careless oversight in the heat of my escape.

A wave of self-loathing washes over me. How could I have been so foolish? So reckless? I had run off without a second thought, leaving my parents to worry and wonder. Now, I'm trapped in this opulent prison, cut off from the world I knew, unable to even offer a simple reassurance to the people who love me most.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter to myself, sinking into the plush bed, my head buried in my hands.

Exhaustion finally catches up with me. The adrenaline that had fueled my anger and defiance ebbs away, leaving me drained and vulnerable. I sink to my knees beside the bed, my head bowed in despair, the blood-stained dress a crumpled heap beside me. Tears flow freely now, each sob a painful reminder of my isolation and regret.

A gentle touch on my shoulder startles me. I look up to see Arlo standing beside me, his expression a mixture of concern and empathy. He offers no words, just a silent presence, a comforting hand on my back as I continue to weep.

Time seems to slow as I pour out my sorrow and guilt. Arlo remains patient, his touch a constant anchor amidst the storm of my emotions. Gradually, my sobs subside, replaced by ragged breaths and the occasional sniffle.

My eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, meet his. "I messed up," I whisper, my voice hoarse from crying. "I didn't even think about them."

Arlo nods understandingly. "It's okay," he says softly. "We'll figure this out."

I look at him, searching his face for answers he can't give. "I don't even have my phone," I mumble, a fresh wave of despair washing over me. "I left it in my purse at the graduation."

Arlo's brow furrows in thought. "Do you have a friend you could call?" he asks. "Someone who could let your parents know you are ok?"

My mind races through my contacts, but all I can think of are colleagues from the hospital. None of them are close enough to be entrusted with this secret, this new reality I'm struggling to accept.

Then, it hits me. "Mia," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "My best friend from high school. We've always been close."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Arlo's lips. "That's good," he says. "Can you call her?"

I nod, my spirits lifting slightly. "Yes, I can. She lives on her own now. I can ask her to call my parents and let them know I'm staying with her for a while. Tell them I'm safe."

The thought of Mia, a constant source of support and friendship throughout the years, brings a wave of relief. Our bond has endured the trials of university life, even surviving the tumultuous year we spent as roommates. I know I can trust Mia.

A brief glimmer of hope illuminates my face, a stark contrast to the despair that had consumed me moments earlier. It's a small victory, a tiny beacon of light in the darkness that has enveloped me.

Arlo, sensing my newfound optimism, offers a reassuring smile. "It's a start," he says. "One step at a time, Evie. We'll get through this together."

My newfound hope is short-lived. Arlo's words, "We'll get through this together," strike a discordant chord within me.

"Together?" I repeat, my voice sharp. "I'm not staying here with you. I have to get home. Mia can tell my parents I'm safe, and then I'll be back as soon as I can."

Arlo's expression turns grave. "Evie," he begins, his voice gentle yet firm, "you can't leave here until you've learned to control your thirst for blood. That's part of my responsibility as your mentor – to prepare you for this new life."

My anger flares up again. "Are you going to force me to stay?" I demand, my eyes blazing. "With that Sire's Command bullshit?"

Arlo shakes his head. "No, Evie," he replies softly. "I would never do that to you."

"I left my parents' house, and that's what started this whole mess," I retort, my voice thick with frustration. "Do you think you can stop me from leaving?"

Arlo sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I won't stop you, Evie," he says, his voice tinged with sadness. "But leaving now would be a foolish decision. You ran from your parents' without a plan, and now you're running again. You're more likely to kill someone out of hunger before you ever reach them."

His words strike a chord within me. The thought of harming someone, of losing control of my newfound instincts, terrifies me.

Arlo's voice grows harsher. "As soon as you catch the scent of blood, your body will go into a frenzy. If you make it back to your parents, you'll likely end up killing them. That close to a human, alone and untrained, you won't be able to control yourself. Is that what you want, Evie? Do you want your parents to die because of your recklessness?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations and a chilling truth. My anger dissipates, replaced by a cold dread that seeps into my bones. I had been so focused on escaping my problems that I hadn't considered the consequences of my actions. The thought of harming my parents, the people I love most, fills me with a horror I have never known.

Arlo, recognizing the anguish in my eyes, softens his tone. He crosses the room and gently places his phone in my hand. "Look, this is going to take some time to adjust to," he says, his voice filled with understanding. "It's almost dawn. Call your friend, and then we can both get some rest. We'll figure out the next steps tomorrow."

I nod numbly, clutching the phone as if it were a lifeline. I dial Mia's number, my fingers trembling slightly. As I wait for her to answer, I steal a glance at the window. The first hints of dawn are beginning to paint the sky, a stark reminder of the new limitations of my existence.

But for now, my focus is on the familiar voice that answers on the other end of the line. "Mia?" I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.