No, I’m not. I’m getting my damn ankles loose. Although to be fair, if I didn’t have a ton of adrenaline pumping through me right now, I probably would be unconscious.

“A bottle of sleeping pills?” Sam gasps. “You… you poisoned her? Abby…”

“It’s for the best,” she says. “Don’t you see? She’s all wrong for you. It would be so easy to let her go…”

“Jesus Christ…”

“You know this is the right thing to do, Sam. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore. I’ve done the hardest part.”

And now my ankles are free. Except it doesn’t help me as much as you would think. I’m wedged in this tiny little space, I’m half-asleep from a bottle of sleeping pills, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to leap out and overpower anyone. I don’t think I can.

“Monica.” Sam’s voice is calm but I know him well enough to hear the underlying panic. “We’ve got to get Abby to a hospital. I swear, we’ll figure out a way to help you with… well, everything. But please, Monica. Don’t…” And now his voice breaks. “Please let me take her to a hospital.”

“God.” Monica’s voice is filled with disgust. “You’re pathetic. Even when something a million times better is staring you in the face, you don’t want it. My mother was totally wrong about you.” She snorts. “Well, too bad it doesn’t matter. It’s too late for her. For both of you.”

In the entire time I’ve known Sam, I’ve never seen him throw a punch. Correction: we’ve never been in a situation where him throwing a punch would make even remote sense. He’s not some drunk who gets into bar fights. Yes, he’s in good physical condition thanks to that insurance-lowering gym membership, but he doesn’t go around punching people.

But I manage to sit up just in time to see him lunge at Monica.

As he’s doing it, the gun goes off, the shot echoing through the apartment. Wow, that’s loud. I don’t know if she got him or not, but he’s got his left hand on her right wrist, and she’s screaming. It takes him a few seconds, but between his much greater strength and her abdominal girth, she falls to the floor.

But she’s still got the damn gun.

I manage to sit up, but it takes every ounce of my strength. I feel like I’m moving through molasses. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do anything at all to help Sam. And what’s more, now that I’m standing, I can make out the blood on the floor. Actually, quite a lot of blood. And now I can see the crimson seeping through Sam’s shirt.