Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Light Doesn't Run From Darkness

Jeremy

The sunlight slipping through my blinds feels different this morning—brighter, heavier somehow, like it's carrying more than just light. My eyes blink open, the dream still clinging to me like wet clothes. My Bible sits on the nightstand, right where I left it after praying last night. 

I can still hear my own voice whispering into the dark, "Lord, please... speak to me. Show me what I need to see. Protect Cecilia. Protect us."

And then I slept.

But it didn't feel like sleep.

It felt like I was carried.

In the dream, I was standing on the vast stage. Not the kind I used to know with scripts, cameras, and set lights—no, this one was endless, like an arena without walls. The sky above churned red and black, a storm without rain. 

And then, I heard him. Damien. 

His voice echoed like it was fed through a thousand microphones, each one distorted, each one sneering. He was mocking Jesus, twisting His name and Scriptures, laughing at the faith that saved me. The words burned, not because they were true, but because they were so boldly, disgustingly false. He called Christians weak. He called us blind. He said we belonged in chains. 

I wanted to shout back, but I couldn't move. 

Then God's voice came—not loud, not competing, but steady, like a river cutting through stone. 

"My son, this is not a man to be prayed for. His heart is hardened. His lips serve only destruction. I show you this so you may understand: the evil you sensed was not imagined. It is real. Guard My children. Stay firm."

Even now, the words echo inside me. I've never heard God speak with that kind of finality. Usually, He nudges me toward grace, forgiveness, patience. But this? This was different. Almost like He pulled back the curtain so I could see what Damien really is—what he's always been.

In front of me, scenes flickered like a reel of film snapping into focus. Damien in a room I didn't recognize—candles burning, symbols scrawled on walls. His hands outstretched, chanting things I remembered yet didn't understand but felt in my gut were wrong. Satanic. Dark. 

Then the dream shifted. I saw Hollywood—award shows, after-parties, recording studios. And beneath it all, threads like black veins running through the city. Ties to things I didn't want to believe existed. People bowing to idols, thanking Satan for their success, using His name in a derogatory tone in movies, and trading souls for spotlights. 

"Do not fear, Jeremy," God said. "But do not be naive. You asked to see. And now you know. This is why you were pulled away from the darkness. This is why I am raising you to speak the truth."

"Shit," I woke up gasping, my heart pounding like I had run a marathon.  

Now, sitting on the edge of my bed, I run my hands through my hair, trying to shake the weight of it. But it won't shake. It wasn't just a dream. It was revelation. 

I grab my Bible and flip it open without thinking. My eyes land on Ephesians 6:12— "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers,against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." 

A shivers runs down my spine. That's it. That's exactly what I saw.

I kneel right there on the carpet. 

"God," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Thank You for showing me. I don't deserve visions like this, but You still chose to warn me. Help me not to fear Damien, or Hollywood, or the darkness that's out there. Help me to stay close to You. Protect Cecilia. Protect her mind, her heart, her spirit. She's so brave, Lord, but she's hurting. Give her peace and heal her. Don't let the enemy get near her again. Don't let him use Damien anymore. I hear You. Loud and clear. I won't waste prayers on a man who mocks You. But I'll pray for the ones he's hurt. For Cecilia. For my parents. For Mr. and Mrs. Evans. For me. For anyone he's tried to break."