The Rapture

Exhaustion washes over me, a wave of despair crashing against the dam of my resolve. Tears, hot and bitter, stream down my face, leaving streaks on my bloodstained skin. I stumble towards the closet, desperate for the comfort of clean clothes, something, anything, that doesn't carry the weight of the night's atrocities.

But the closet holds no solace. Inside, I find only Arlo's clothes, his scent clinging to the fabrics like a possessive embrace. A pang of resentment flares within me, another layer added to the complex tapestry of emotions swirling inside.

With a sigh of resignation, I pull out a pair of his sweatpants, their soft cotton a stark contrast to the harsh reality I've just endured. I slip them on, the waistband loose around my hips, the legs pooling around my ankles. Next, I find an oversized t-shirt, its faded graphic a reminder of a life I can barely remember.

Dressed in Arlo's clothes, I feel lost, adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. I collapse onto Arlo's bed, the black satin sheets cool against my fevered skin. The king-size mattress feels vast and empty, a stark contrast to the cramped quarters of my past. I curl into a fetal position, desperate to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos in my mind.

The door creaks open, and Vivienne and Arlo enter. Vivienne's eyes soften as she takes in my disheveled state. "It's early yet, my dear," she says, her voice laced with understanding. "Some rest will help."

Her gaze sweeps across the expansive bed, a hint of amusement playing on her lips. "We can all sleep here tonight," she suggests, her smile widening. "Arlo, you go in the middle to comfort Evie on her first real hunt. It takes a bit of getting used to."

A wave of nausea washes over me. "Not something I ever want to get used to," I mumble, my voice muffled by the pillow. "Or do again."

The thought of repeating tonight's horrors sends shivers down my spine. The memory of blood-soaked concrete and the lifeless eyes of my victims haunt me, a chilling reminder of the darkness lurking within.

Arlo remains silent, his expression unreadable. He moves towards the bed, his presence a comforting weight in the room. As he settles beside me, the warmth of his body seeps through the satin sheets, a stark contrast to the coldness that has settled in my heart.

Vivienne joins us, her touch gentle as she brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. "Sleep, Evie," she whispers. "Tomorrow is a new night."

But as I close my eyes, the images of the night replay in my mind, a relentless slideshow of violence and despair. Sleep proves elusive, a distant dream in the face of my waking nightmare.

The night unfolds in a series of fitful dreams, a kaleidoscope of horrors that refuses to release me from its grasp. I toss and turn, my body slick with cold sweat, my mind trapped in a relentless loop of bloodshed and despair. The faces of the victims flash before my eyes, their silent screams echoing in my ears.

The earth beneath me seems to tremble, the bed shaking violently as if the world itself is rejecting me. The black satin sheets twist and writhe, transforming into a gaping maw that threatens to swallow me whole. I'm falling, plummeting into an abyss of darkness, the screams of the damned rising to meet me.

With a gasp, I bolt upright, my heart pounding in my chest. The room is shaking, and the bed is disturbed. I look over to moans and awes as I see Vivienne embracing Arlo on top of him. Her nude body was nearly perfect grinding against his shaft buried deep in her. Her moans of pleasure grow louder as I see her leak all over Arlo. He looks unamused but his body rejects him as he arches back and unleashes his everything into her swollen slit.

“Evening, sleepyhead. You ready for your training?” Vivienne giggles, her movements a graceful dance as she slips out of bed. The black satin sheet follows her, leaving Arlo fully exposed, his bare skin gleaming in the soft morning light.

A blush creeps onto my cheeks as I avert my eyes, my heart still pounding from the lingering echoes of the nightmare. The juxtaposition of Vivienne’s lightheartedness and the darkness that still clings to me feels jarring, a stark reminder of the world I’ve been thrust into.

I glance at Arlo, his expression a mask of indifference as he stretches languidly. The sight of his exposed form sends a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and fascination. He’s a predator, just like Vivienne, and yet, there’s an undeniable allure to his danger.

“Training?” I echo, my voice raspy from sleep and the lingering effects of my nightmare. The word hangs heavy in the air, a promise of further immersion into the world of vampires, a world I’m still struggling to comprehend.

Vivienne nods, her smile unwavering. “Yes, my dear. It’s time to hone your skills. After all, a vampiress needs to be able to protect herself.”

Her words are a stark reminder of the brutal reality I now inhabit. The night’s events have shattered any illusions I might have had about this new life. There’s no room for innocence or weakness in this world. Survival depends on strength, on the ability to kill without hesitation.

“Arlo is supposed to be my trainer,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy, and sluggish, as if my tongue is coated in the remnants of my nightmare. My gaze drifts towards Arlo, his form still sprawled across the bed, a picture of nonchalant indifference. The world around me seems hazy, and distant, as if I’m observing it through a thick veil of fog.

Vivienne’s laughter cuts through my haze, a sharp, playful sound that jars me back to the present. “Oh, he will help us, of course,” she purrs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But you know he can’t resist my charms.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. A pang of jealousy stabs at my heart, a sharp contrast to the numbness that has enveloped me since the night’s events. The thought of Vivienne and Arlo together, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion, ignites a flicker of anger within me.

But the anger quickly fades, replaced by a sense of resignation. I am the newcomer, the outsider, still grappling with the monstrous reality of my existence. Vivienne, on the other hand, is a seasoned predator, confident in her power and her allure. Arlo, it seems, is caught in her web, a willing participant in her games.

I push myself off the bed, my legs unsteady beneath me. The world tilts and sways, threatening to pull me back into the darkness of my nightmare. But I force myself to stand tall, to meet Vivienne’s gaze with a semblance of composure.

“I’m ready,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel. “Let’s begin.”

A shiver runs down my spine at Vivienne’s words, a chilling reminder of my newfound reality. “A perfect doll,” she muses, her voice a seductive purr. The image of being trapped, lifeless, and objectified, sends a wave of unease through me.

I push aside the disturbing thought and head towards the pile of shopping bags Vivienne and I had indulged in the night before. I pull out a leather mini skirt and a fishnet top, the edgy ensemble a stark contrast to the innocence I’ve lost. The clothes cling to my body, accentuating my curves in a way that feels both empowering and unsettling.

I meet Vivienne’s gaze a flicker of defiance in my eyes. I may be a fledgling vampire, still grappling with the darkness within, but I refuse to be anyone’s plaything. I will learn, I will adapt, and I will survive. But I will do it on my terms.

Suddenly, it hits me like a lightning bolt. The realization sends a chill down my spine. Arlo’s aura... it’s shrouded in Vivienne’s scarlet hue. He’s under her control, a puppet dancing to her strings. And then I see my aura, tainted with a veil of scarlet intertwined with my dark maroon.

“Oh, how stupid am I?” I mutter under my breath, the words laced with a bitterness I’ve never known before. I’ve been under her spell this whole time. But when? How?

A surge of defiance rises within me. I won’t be her toy, her plaything. I struggle against the invisible bonds, pushing back against Vivienne’s aura with all my might.

Vivienne notices my resistance, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, honey,” she drawls, her voice dripping with condescension, “you’ll need to do better than that.”

Her words sting, a slap to my newfound resolve. But they also fuel my determination. I push harder, the strain evident on my face. I won’t let her win. I won’t be her doll.

“You can’t control me, Vivienne,” I manage to say, my voice shaking but resolute. “I won’t let you.”

Her smirk widens. “We’ll see about that, my dear,” she replies, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “We’ll see.”

Vivienne’s tone shifts, her voice softening into a honeyed purr. “Come, my little one,” she coos, extending a hand towards me. “Let me help you put your skirt on.”

Her words are gentle, almost motherly, but the underlying threat is clear. She’s reminding me of my vulnerability, my dependence on her. I hesitate, torn between my defiance and the instinctive desire to submit.

But I won’t give in. Not completely. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against her allure. “I can do it myself,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady.

Vivienne’s smile doesn’t falter. “Of course you can, my dear,” she replies, her voice laced with amusement. “But a little help never hurt, did it?”

She steps closer, her movements fluid and graceful. I can feel the power emanating from her, a subtle pressure that threatens to crush my resolve. But I stand my ground, my eyes locked with hers.

The battle lines are drawn. This is more than just a struggle for control; it’s a fight for my very identity. I won’t let Vivienne mold me into her perfect doll. I will resist, I will fight, and I will find a way to break free from her grasp.

“Arlo,” Vivienne’s voice cuts through the tension, her tone light and playful. “Come help me with Evie. She’s having trouble with her skirt.”

Arlo, still bare, exposed, and languid, rises from the bed. A wave of heat washes over me as he approaches, his presence both intimidating and alluring. He stands behind me, his strong hands gently but firmly restraining me. My cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and a strange, forbidden thrill.

Vivienne’s fingers deftly undo the zipper of my skirt, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Arlo’s touch. The skirt falls to the ground, “Opps”, as she kneels between me. “Don’t you smell lovely my dear?”

She picks up the leather skirt and re-zips it with practiced ease, her smile radiating triumph. “Thank you, Arlo. Doesn’t she look better?”

Arlo remains silent, but his eyes tell a different story. Now that I’m aware of Vivienne’s control, I can see the subtle signs of his internal struggle. His aura, usually a calm, deep blue, flickers with flashes of red, a testament to his futile resistance against Vivienne’s domination. There’s a flicker of pain in his eyes, a silent plea for help that goes unanswered.

A surge of protectiveness washes over me. I may be trapped in this nightmare, but I won’t let Arlo suffer alone. I reach out, my hand brushing against his arm, a silent gesture of solidarity. His muscles tense under my touch, but his eyes meet mine, a flicker of gratitude shining through the pain.

Vivienne, with a flourish, presents us each with a crystal glass filled with the deep crimson liquid. “What should we do tonight?” she asks, her voice light and carefree. Her fingers tap rhythmically against the glass, a subtle reminder of her control.

Arlo and I remain silent, our minds locked in a fierce battle against Vivienne’s manipulation. The pressure in my head intensifies a relentless throb that threatens to shatter my resolve. I can feel Arlo’s struggle beside me, his aura pulsing with defiance.

“I know you both love to dance,” Vivienne continues, her smile widening. “Let’s go to the Veil.”

The Veil is the last place I want to be. But even as I formulate a protest, the words die on my lips. Vivienne’s control tightens its grip, twisting my thoughts, and bending my will.

Arlo, too, seems to succumb to her influence. A flicker of resignation crosses his face, his shoulders slumping slightly. The fight drains from his eyes, replaced by a vacant stare.

Vivienne claps her hands in delight. “Wonderful!” she exclaims. “It’s settled then. Get ready, my lovelies. Tonight, we dance.”

Her words echo in the silent apartment, a chilling reminder of our captivity. We are her puppets, her playthings, and tonight, we will perform for her amusement. The taste of the blood in my mouth turns bitter, a symbol of my powerlessness. But deep within me, a spark of defiance remains, a flicker of hope.

"I know you both love to dance," Vivienne continues, her smile widening. "Let's go to the Veil."

The Veil is the last place I want to be. But even as I formulate a protest, the words die on my lips. Vivienne's control tightens its grip, twisting my thoughts, and bending my will.

Arlo, too, seems to succumb to her influence. A flicker of resignation crosses his face, his shoulders slumping slightly. The fight drains from his eyes, replaced by a vacant stare.

Vivienne claps her hands in delight. "Wonderful!" she exclaims. "It's settled then. Get ready, my lovelies. Tonight, we dance."

Her words echo in the silent apartment, a chilling reminder of our captivity. We are her puppets, her playthings, and tonight, we will perform for her amusement. The taste of the blood in my mouth turns bitter, a symbol of my powerlessness. But deep within me, a spark of defiance remains, a flicker of hope.