At first, when I hear glass shatter, a surge of hope washes over me. I see it play out the way it does in action movies. The S.W.A.T. team swoops in. An officer dangles from a helicopter line and then kicks in a window. Rescue accomplished.

I only hear Nora’s voice, though. No one yells for her to get on the floor. No one demands to know where I am.

Behind the knotty pine door of the cabin’s back bedroom, Nora rants. Her voice pitches up and down as if she’s arguing with someone. At first, I think maybe she’s on the phone. Maybe she has finally called Helen. Helen will urge her to go on home, to drop me off at the feed store in whatever hick town Nora hauled me past. Helen will threaten to send in the cavalry. Helen will plead with Nora, who will eventually break down and agree. I am certain that Nora is back there yelling into the phone, putting up one last stand against Helen’s good and steady sense. I scurry as close to the door as the stupid chain will allow, trying to listen to plans come together for our imminent departure.

I can’t hear her words clearly, just the rise and fall of her tone and volume. Sudden shouting and the occasional cackle. It’s the cackle that first gets me. The sick feeling starts roiling in my stomach. Nora never pauses to listen; no one interrupts her. If she’s on the phone, I don’t think there’s a person on the other side of the line.

The more I eavesdrop, the more I am certain: It’s not a conversation that I’m listening to at all. It’s just Nora back there, destroying herself with online comments. As soon as she suggested tracking reactions, I knew this would happen. TikTok is not kind; comment sections are not welcoming places. Nora was excited, and she had reason to be. We made a really kickass video. I mean, it’s not worth being kidnapped for or anything. But the Alice in Chains video will go viral. I know it.

And if our video goes viral, there will be backlash. That’s the cycle. People will seize on the one weak piece—the part that doesn’t quite fit or keep the beat. They will tear that weak piece down, especially if she’s a hesitant and basic-looking girl.

I knew my followers would decimate Nora. I counted on it. But now they’ve pushed Nora off the narrow edge she’d balanced on. She’s back there, breaking glass and ranting at commenters as if they’re right there in the bedroom with her. I’ve set something in motion now that I don’t know how to rein in.

My own cell phone, with its mint-green case, sits on the top shelf near the kitchen. Even if I drag myself back closer and elongate my body in my deepest stretch, I won’t be able to reach it.

But I can’t just sit here and wait while Nora deteriorates. Maybe she’s hurt herself. Maybe she’s tired. This could be the weakest she will be.

“Nora,” I call out. “Please. I need to use the bathroom.” I try to sound as pitiful as possible. She doesn’t answer. She’s still ranting and raging. “Nora, please. I’ve to go!” I full-on bellow—like a real put-the-lotion-in-the-basket moment. “Nora, I just need to use the bathroom and I can’t reach. Please, Nora.”

“Stop it. Shut up. I can’t think.” The door muffles her voice, but I hear her just fine. Nora sounds stressed. She sounds like someone who may not be thinking so carefully. Who might be distracted. Who could be overcome.

“I can’t think either. I have to go so badly. Please, I don’t want to pee on the floor. You have to treat me like a human being. Please just let me go to the bathroom, Nora.”

“Enough, okay. I hear you. You’re so needy, Shea. You’re spoiled. Self-centered. I don’t know how you’ve managed to trick hundreds of thousands of people into believing you’re worth their time and energy.”

“I’m so sorry, Nora.” She comes out of the room and looks different—wild-eyed and disheveled. Her eyes don’t focus on me. She’s still talking much too loudly. I fight my instinct to try to calm her down. I’ve been placating Nora for more than eight days. It’s only gotten me a longer chain. “Were those comments harsh? I hope my followers didn’t attack your dancing. I’m sorry—what am I saying? I mean our followers. Did our followers attack your dancing, Nora?”

“Shut up. You know very well that they did. Do you have to use the bathroom or not?” She holds the tiny silver key to the cuffs between her thumb and her index finger. Usually, she wears the key on a chain around her neck. There’s one key for both sets of cuffs. I watch her pull the chain over her head.

“I do.” I make my voice sound strangled, like I can barely speak. I nod vigorously and shove my wrist into her face. She snaps the second set of cuffs on me. But not on her. The one set just dangles from my wrist.

If we were climbing, the equivalent would be unhooking the first carabiner without fastening the second. Suddenly, I hang there, suspended between confinement and freedom. I don’t dare look down. I can’t cause Nora’s eyes to follow mine and see that she’s forgotten to snap the other side around her own wrist.

“Thanks, Nora. You’re the best. Why don’t I say that? To our followers? Why don’t you let me sign in? I can even record a video. I can tell them how much work you did on all the best parts of the ‘Would?’ video. How you discovered the song and coached me through the choreography. Right? Let me log on and tell our followers it was all you.”

She fits the tiny key in the lock and turns. Right as the hinge opens, Nora zeroes in her gaze at me. “Really? Because from what I remember, you chose the band. Alice in Chains.” She smirks. She blinks. She shakes the set of handcuffs. Right at that moment, I realize that Nora knows why. Someone online understood my message. Someone’s coming to help. At that same moment, Nora realizes she never hooked herself to the second set of handcuffs. We stand there, facing each other, in the center of the cabin. For the first time in days, I am unbound.

Panic hits Nora’s eyes. I’m sure she sees it reflected in mine. For a long moment, we both freeze.

Then I run.

I sprint straight toward the front door of the cabin. It’s not a big house; it can’t take me more than five long strides, but it feels like forever. Nora screams my name behind me, and my hand reaches to slide the deadbolt while I’m still springing forward. I fling the bolt to the side and yank the door open.

My hand braces against the inside of the doorframe to try to pull my body forward faster—away from Nora, who charges behind me. There’s no screen door. Outside, it’s that time just before the sun starts to set. The tall trees filter out most of the light. I step through. My right foot crosses over onto the woven doormat. It slips a little and I slide but manage to steady myself.

I have no plan, just a direction—out. Forward. Behind me, Nora shrieks, but I don’t turn. All I see is the outside, the open land around the small house where she has kept me. My body is mostly out. I use my hand on the door to propel myself forward.

That’s when the door slams. It thunders closed. It doesn’t snap shut. It cracks against my arm and brings me to my knees. I can’t see the trees outside. Just the woven welcome mat below my feet and the dusty bricks of the front walkway.

I taste vomit in my mouth. I smell pine and the iron scent of old blood. I make myself open my eyes and look at my arm.

It dangles. The angle of how my arm hangs is all wrong. Thin threads of blood seep from my old wound, but the whole limb looks less like an arm anymore. Next to me, I feel the old door quiver. But of course, it’s not as if the door slammed itself.

Beside the door, Nora stands panting. “What have you done, Shea?” Her voices sound weary and disgusted. She crouches down and wraps one arm around my waist. She drags me up. My arm flops and hot, blank pain shoots all the way to my shoulder. I don’t recognize the sounds coming from me as my own voice. They’re moans. They’re the chorus to an old song about broken people surrendering. Nora’s got her breath back. She hisses in my ear as she locks the handcuff back in place. “Why I am not surprised? No one can trust you. You do your absolute best to ruin everything, don’t you?”