Page 8 of The Truths that Deceive

Bolting out the back door, I gulp down oxygen, panic exploding into each and every cell. My lungs tighten as I pant out each constricted breath.

The alleyway behind the club takes me down and through a set of streets before I realize he’s not following me. I meander around, off the beaten path, wandering in and out of small places as I continue to peek over my shoulder at anyone who dares come close.

But I’m wasting time. And as the sky above rumbles with thunder, I make my way slowly back to my street. I should have probably hunkered down back at the apartment insteadof risking my safety, but I needed to know for sure that somebody was out there looking for me.

And now I do.

I need to run. I need to just grab my shit and vanish again, move out of Berlin, maybe toward Latvia, or even somewhere like Italy, a place they might not think to look.

Keeping a firm grip on my panic, I eye the street around my building and organize in my mind what I need to do.

Make sure no one’s lurking.

Then fucking run.

If I pack the few things I need, I can be gone in under ten minutes. Well under. Get my stuff and run, then think.

Money, hard drives, makeup, clothes. I’m not a makeup wearer on the whole, but it works when a quick change in appearance is needed.

I look around me. No one’s lurking.

I circle the block twice, then cautiously make my way into the building.

The walk down the hall to my tiny little apartment is too long, too dark, too quiet.

It doesn’t matter if that’s all in my head. It’s how I feel, and my heart slams hard into my ribs with each step.

Outside my door, I tentatively place my hand against the wood. With extreme care and quiet, I insert my key and turn the knob.

Everything’s quiet. I flick on a lamp as lightning flares outside.

I look around.

Nothing seems out of place.

So far.

I drop my pack and jacket near the door.

Some might call me overly suspicious and paranoid.Everything seems to be untouched, and though there’s a shift in the air pressure, the tiny place seems empty.

But I’m way too aware of the meaning of the word “seems.”

Too aware of the panic that wants freedom.

I make my way to the bedroom and push open the door.

The shape moves so fast I almost don’t see it until his hands are on me and I’m slammed into the wall, face-first. My breath rushes from my lungs from the force but I still fight.

He twists my arm up, pinning me to the spot.

“If you want to fucking live, stop fucking moving. Now.”

Everything turns to ice at the growl that assaults my ears for the second time tonight.

Because I know exactly who that voice belongs to.

And I’ve got a pretty damn good idea of what he wants.

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