Only Pretend by Nora Flite

The click of it turning, opening, put bass drums in my chest. This couldn't be. It was fucking impossible.
    Dropping my shoes on the front step, I took one giant leap out into the world.
    And I ran.
    Nothing existed but the wild fire in my veins. It kept my limbs flying, carrying me down the long driveway. Not once did I glance back. I wouldn't—couldn't take that risk. Eyes forward. Keep going. Keep running, Celeste!
    I was on the top of a slope, the cobbled road leading me to the cluster of buildings below. Thick trees dotted the land, a spread of sparkling blue water far in the distance. A lake, or an ocean?
    My lungs threatened to shatter by the time I stumbled into the town. I didn't need to know where I was to grasp that it was foreign to me. The architecture was simple; clean, well made in spite of how quaint everything felt.
    Police, I need the police! Clutching my chest, my bare feet throbbed from running on the hard ground. I need someone! In the middle of the day, sun shining so sweet, my eyes fell on a small crowd outside of a fruit stand.
    I was shouting before I drew near. "Help! Someone help me, please!" All of them turned, gaping at me with open mouths. They stood there, looking like goldfish while I grabbed for one of them. Clawing at the shirt of a stranger, I sobbed. "Please! I need help, a man kidnapped me!"
    Some of them ran backwards. Others lifted their hands, seeking protection from... what? Not me, surely! In the reflection of a shop window, I caught me frantic expression. "I—I need the police," I said, releasing the man. "Please. Call them!"
    Everyone around had frozen, staring at me—staring at each other. They whispered, some of it sounding Russian, the rest slightly different. The longer I hung there, waiting for anyone to help me, the faster my fear blossomed. Every sign on the buildings was unreadable to me.
    "English." I twisted on the spot, hands on my head. "Oh god, please! Does anyone speak English!? I need the police! " I was ready to start bawling. "A man kidnapped me! Does anyone understand? He lives up the hill, his name is Leonide!"
    The wave of their heavy silence slammed into me. The unease on their paling faces matched my own. These people, whoever they were... were they scared of Leonide, like me?
    Up ahead, by a curve in the cobbled street, I spotted a man at a phone booth. Adrenaline shot me to him in seconds. He saw me coming, eyes like eggs in his head, voice short and fast on the line. "I need you to call the police! Please! My name is Celeste Barstow, I was captured!"
    On the phone, I saw how white his knuckles were.
    A sickening knot formed in my guts. It grew to tennis ball size by the time I heard the rumble of a car, saw the shiny silver vehicle rocketing down the hill. I didn't need to see the driver to know who it was.
    Leonide.
    Run. I had to run again. If he caught me after I tried to escape, he would—I didn't want to even guess.
    Wheezing as I went, my legs pushed to carry me deeper into the town. I didn't know the place, though. Every door I ran to, the handle jiggled with a lock. In windows I saw people staring at me fearfully. At Me. They were afraid of helping me.
    I took a corner too hard, partially fell and dove down an alley. The other side was so clear, so welcoming. That car rumbled like a lion on the prowl. I was sure it was behind me. So sure.
    Silver paint pulled up short outside the alley and in my path; I slammed into the front, hands on the hood. Through the windshield, Leonide and I met eye contact.
    The pure rage in his inky pupils sent me tearing off again.
    To my credit, I got out into the main square, people dotting the sidewalks, before he grabbed my dress from behind. "No!" I screamed. "Stop! Let me go!" I appealed to everyone looking on, frustrated tears on my cheeks. "Help me! God dammit, you assholes! Help me! Please!"
    "Celeste!" he grunted, iron fists on my elbow. My body wrenched, threatening to tear my arm from the socket just so I