The Rapture

The familiar embrace of sleep gives way to a dreamscape of emerald and shadow. The towering trees of an ancient forest enclose me, their branches forming a canopy that obscures the sky. I feel Arlo's aura, a comforting warmth amidst the cool, damp air. Though I can't see him, his presence is a silent promise, a reminder that we are connected, and intertwined.

In the dream, I'm running. My feet pound against the forest floor, propelled by an urgency I can't quite define. Am I running away from something, or towards it? The answer remains elusive, lost in the blur of movement and the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

Suddenly, the trees give way to a moonlit clearing. Exhaustion crashes over me, and I collapse onto a bed of soft moss. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I reach out with my senses, seeking the familiar pulse of Arlo's aura. "Where are you?" I whisper, my voice swallowed by the vastness of the forest. "We came here together."

I jolt awake, my heart pounding in my chest, my body slick with sweat. The dream's lingering unease clings to me, a cold whisper against the warmth of the morning light. Arlo's body is still entwined with mine, his aura a comforting cocoon around my own.

Gently, I extricate myself from his embrace, careful not to disturb his slumber. The sight of him, peaceful and vulnerable in sleep, fills me with a tenderness that momentarily banishes the shadows of the dream.

I dress quietly, my movements efficient and purposeful. The night awaits, and with it, the promise of new experiences, and new challenges. But for now, I allow myself a moment of stillness, watching Arlo sleep, the steady rhythm of his breath a soothing counterpoint to the lingering echoes of the dream.

Dialing my parents' number, a wave of warmth and longing washes over me. Their voices, filled with a mix of concern and pride, instantly soothe my restless heart. They're worried, yes, but they also recognize that I'm stepping into my own, navigating the complexities of life and love on my terms.

I can't help but share my feelings for Arlo, even though our relationship is still in its infancy. The intensity of it all is both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Mom," I say, my voice a touch hesitant, "Arlo, and I... I feel so much for him."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, then a soft sigh. "Oh, honey," she says, her voice tinged with understanding. "It sounds like you're falling in love."

I nod, even though she can't see me. "I think I am," I admit. "But it's all so new, so intense. I don't even really know him."

"Love doesn't always follow a timeline, Evie," my mom replies gently. "Sometimes it just... happens."

Curiosity piqued, I steer the conversation in a different direction. "Mom, how did you and Dad meet?" I ask, hoping for a distraction from my own swirling emotions.

To my surprise, she hesitates. "It's a story I've never told you before," she admits, a hint of remorse in her voice. "I should have told you sooner."

My heart quickens. What could she possibly be hiding?

She takes a deep breath and begins. "I was pregnant with you, Evie. Unsure of who your actual birth father was."

Shock courses through me. My father... isn't my dad? The world seems to tilt on its axis.

"I was young, still in college," Mom continues, her voice thick with emotion. "Experimenting with my body, drugs, my soul. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I couldn't get rid of you. A feeling of importance weighed on me. That you were someone to protect, not abort. I thought about it many times, to my shame, but every time that feeling overwhelmed me. I had to keep you safe."

Tears well up in my eyes. I've always felt a deep connection to my mom, but this revelation adds a new layer of understanding and a profound sense of gratitude.

"That's when I found Jesus," she says, her voice filled with conviction. "I had to go somewhere. I was dying inside, my soul being torn. I prayed for Jesus to enter my heart and help me, as I wasn't able to do it on my own. I prayed for the man I wanted and everything I needed. I gave everything to God."

I'm speechless. I knew my mom was a Christian, but we rarely went to church, and we never really talked about religion. Just that there was a God, and he was good.

"The next day," she continues, "I turned into your father at the cafe early in the morning as I was heading to class, and spilled coffee all over him."

A small laugh escapes my lips, despite the emotional turmoil churning within me.

"I felt so bad," Mom recounts. "We quickly ran to UV's student union gift shop, and I bought him a new shirt. He changed right there in the store." She pauses a hint of nostalgia in her voice. "He had such a slim body and sexy abs..."

"Mom!" I interrupt, my cheeks burning. "I don't need to hear about this part."

She giggles over the phone. "Sorry, just such a great memory. So, after that, I played hooky the rest of the day with your father, and we hung out all day together, just talking about everything. I even told him my situation."

My heart aches for the young woman my mother once was, facing such a difficult decision alone.

"From that day, we've been inseparable," she concludes. "Getting married only a few months later, to the chagrin of your grandparents. We always told you and them that you were a preemie, but I think they knew. Parents always have a way of just knowing," she hints.

I'm overwhelmed by this revelation, so much to process. My father isn't my dad. My mom's faith played a pivotal role in bringing my parents together. It's a lot to take in, but amidst the confusion, there's also a sense of awe. It's a story of love, faith, and the unexpected twists and turns that life can bring.

Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I listen to my mom's story. The love, the faith, the sheer serendipity of it all... it's overwhelming. A wave of gratitude washes over me, a newfound appreciation for the sacrifices my parents made, for the unwavering love they've always shown me. Their desire to protect me from the world suddenly makes so much more sense.

And then there's the realization that my father, the man who raised me, has no biological children of his own. I am his child, in every way that matters.

My voice cracks as I speak into the phone. "Dad," I say, my words thick with emotion, "I love you so much. I couldn't have asked for a better father."

On the other end of the line, I hear a sniffle, followed by a gruff, "Love you too, kiddo."

I turn my attention back to my mom. "I love you too, Mom," I say, my voice overflowing with affection. "And... I'm sorry for all the trouble I put you through."

A warm chuckle fills the line. "Oh, honey," she says, her voice filled with pride. "We knew about most of it. The sneaking out, the... experimentation with certain substances."

My face flushes with embarrassment, but she continues, her voice filled with pride. "We're so proud of the young woman you've become, Evie. You're strong, independent, and capable of amazing things."

Tears stream down my cheeks, a mixture of joy and relief. I'm so blessed to have such wonderful parents, even if the truth of my origins is a bit more complicated than I ever imagined.

"There's one more thing," Mom adds, her voice playful. "Remember that time you 'borrowed' my car to go to that concert in Veritas?”

I laugh, the memory flooding back. "How could I forget? I snuck out of the house because you said I couldn’t stay out that late and you didn't know Noah then. I am sorry Mom."

"Well," she continues, "we knew about that one too. Your dad followed you the whole way, just to make sure you were safe."

My heart swells with love. Even in my rebellious teenage years, they were always there, watching over me, protecting me.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "For everything."

As I hang up the phone, a sense of peace settles over me. The past may hold its secrets, but the present is filled with love, understanding, and the promise of a future where I can embrace my path, just as my parents did before me.

Arlo walks into the kitchen just as I hang up with my parents, a soft smile playing on his lips. He sets two glasses of blood on the kitchen counter, the deep crimson liquid a stark contrast against the pristine white marble. The metallic scent fills the air, a familiar and comforting aroma.

I look at him, my heart heavy with the newfound knowledge about my family, but also brimming with love for the parents who raised me. "I have to tell Mia," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Arlo nods, his expression understanding. It's as if he sensed my conversation through the walls, even in his sleep. His silent support is a comforting balm, a reminder that I'm not alone in this journey.

I dial Mia's number and a nervous flutter in my stomach. "Hey Mia, it's Evie," I say, trying to keep my voice casual. "Just calling to see what you're up to and how things are going."

Mia's voice bursts through the speaker, full of excitement. "Girl, just come over! I know you're on the way or about to walk out the door. Buzz when you get here."

Her words confirm my suspicions. Mia knows something's up, and she's eager to hear all about it. I can practically hear her bouncing on the other end of the line, ready to dive into the latest chapter of my whirlwind life.