I wiggle my arm and work my hand out from the rope. The rope slackened even further, making it easier for my arm to escape. Once my arm was finally free from its prison, I waved it around, enjoying being able to move my muscles again. I’ve always wanted to just stay in bed and do nothing forever, but I don’t think that’s something I want to do anymore. 

Now that my arm’s free, how do I get myself out of this chair? I can’t exactly untie the rope from my feet with a single hand. Not only am I not skilled enough to do that, but I could end up causing a ruckus if I’m not careful. For all I know, Tiffany’s on her way down here right now. A chair falling and breaking isn’t the quietest sound in the world after all. 

But, I have to try something. Otherwise, I’m never getting out of here. I look around me to find something that is somewhat sharp enough to cut the ropes. The wood from the chair would give it splinters, but a few wood chips aren’t enough to cut it. 

Giving up on looking for something to cut the ropes, I attempt to untie the ropes. I know that I just went over how that’s impossible, but goddammit, it’s either I try it or I stay down here. 

I rub my free hand against the rope, searching for the knot. It’s not in the front of my leg, so I searched the back of my ankle. Sure enough, I found the knot at the base of my ankle. It’s stiff, but I could feel the knot slack as I wedged my fingernail in an opening. 

I wiggle my finger, wedging my thumb deeper in. I attempt to pry it up using my fingernail, but it’s too tight to give. My finger begins burning from the constant friction on the rope, so I remove it from the crack and let it cool down. Once the pain fades, I work on the knot again. I repeat the process in a futile attempt to free myself, but never once do I even loosen the knot. 

I curse to myself and look around the basement again. Is there anything in here that can help me in the slightest? Being the broken chair arm, the fragments of the broken plate were laying on the floor. There may be a few sharp fragments from the bunch that could at least loosen the rope.

However, it’s on the other side of the room. The only way I can get over there is to crawl while dragging the chair behind me. Once again, the sound could very well reach Tiffany’s ears. But, there’s a chance that it won’t. I have no fucking idea what her house looks like up there. As far as I know, this is a two-story house and she sleeps on the second story. If that’s the case, then I have an even better chance at escaping.

I extend my hand in front of me, and I take a deep breath. I’m using my left hand to move about, which gives me a massive handicap. If it were my right hand, I wouldn’t have a problem. Masturbating can be pretty good exercise if done every day. The only problem is that by doing so, I reject the other arm. 

I promise, Lefty, when we get out of here, I’ll give you as much attention as my right hand. But in order for that to happen, you need to man up for your twin brother and push us. I know you can do it, Lefty. 

I push myself forward, and surprisingly enough, I inch forward ever so slightly. Just the fact I managed to do so sent adrenaline rocketing through my system. I push forward, again and again, until I make it halfway. 

My arm is burning, much more than ever before. I push myself forward again and again and again. The fragments grow larger as I make my way closer. The basement light reflected off the treasure, welcoming me. The fragments are begging me to use them. The sound of the chair dragging against concrete may be loud as hell, but I kept on pulling myself ahead.

My heart may be thumping as fast as a train. My mind whirred with all the possible ways I can get caught, then die. There was so much going on that thinking wasn’t even my second priority. I acted on pure instinct. 

I made it to the broken plate fragments, however, and began sifting through all the pieces. The piece I needed didn’t need to be the sharpest thing in the world. All I wanted was something that can cut enough to either loosen the rope or cut off the knot. 

As I waded through the fragments, I felt a slight pinch on my finger. I yank my hand away from the mess and look at where I felt the prick. Blood began dripping out of the tip of my pointer finger. I looked to where my hand was before, and I saw a single piece that looked to be as sharp as a razor blade. 

Ignoring the pain on my finger, I grab the fragment, careful to not cut myself any further. I bring it to the knot behind my ankle and began sawing away at the rope. I could feel the fabric give as the sharp edges cut its way through the rope. 

The edges are too sharp, however. Every time I slip up, the fragments dig into my skin and cuts into me. I could feel the wetness of blood stain my hand as I saw faster and faster as the rope tears further and further. Now that I think about it, I should’ve cut the rope off my hand first and untied my ankles. That doesn’t matter now, since the fragment tears away the knot and the rope falls slack. It drops to the floor with a soft thud, leaving only the burn of cuts and rope burn in my hand. 

I hack away at the rope of my right arm next and it gives within a matter of minutes as well. It falls to the floor and I drop the plate fragment with it. I use my free hands to untie the final knot, and it falls to the floor as well. I’m finally free after spending an entire day tied up in the blasted chair. 

I stand and stretch my body as much as humanly possible. I never thought that I’d feel relieved to move around, but after that experience, I’m not taking the subtle act of movement for granted anymore. There are a lot of things I take for granted that I never realized before. 

Never mind about that now. All that matters is that I can get the hell out of here in one piece. I take off my shoes and lay them beside the staircase. They’d only make more unnecessary noise, and it’ll be a sort of farewell present. She’s crazy, so she’d probably see this as a win-win. 

Before I head up the stairs, I take one look back at the self-made shrine in my honor. The picture taking up all the attention as the centerpiece of the flowers looked back at me, asking, Was it fun? 

It was fun for a time. I wrote a story that took off, but never went mainstream. I remember how I felt during that time when I got the email that said I sold more than a hundred thousand copies after the first month of publication. All the stories I heard about book publication are that I should expect to not do well the first time through. I took that to heart, so when I saw that email, I didn’t know what to think.

Then I wrote my second book, riding off the high of the first, and I came with an even larger hall. A million copies sold after the first month. That’s something that only a few authors can pull off, and the majority of those authors were established names over years of practice in the business. It was like the universe set up all the pieces, and as soon as I published the first book, it all came tumbling down in my favor. 

That was the first, and last, book signing I ever went to. Interestingly enough, although I never wanted to do another book signing again, there was always a part of me that missed seeing all those people coming to my booth just to see me. It was all so surreal, but I abandoned it all, and it became one of my many regrets. 

However, as I climbed the stairs to my escape, I added something else to my bucket list. What kind of bucket list is it? Well, I title it as the bucket list of fixing all my fuck-ups. Or at least try to fix them. Some of them can no longer be repaired, no matter the amount of glue I use.

The stairs creak and squeak as I scale the stairs step by step. The door grows ever closer. It’s just within arm’s reach. I extend my hand, grabbing the doorknob. Finally, I can be free again. I turn the knob and open the door.

On the other side, Tiffany is sitting on a chair, her arms crossed and hands hidden within a brown coat. It’s not that cold outside, so why should she need such a thing? A coat in the summer. Ridiculous.

“How was your night?” Tiffany asks.

I look around but don’t see any trap. No one is nearby and I don’t see the unmistakable reflection of a pistol hidden behind a bookshelf. I’m safe and she’s powerless.

“Fine. So if you don’t mind, I’m just going to leave. I won’t tell the police about this,” obvious lie. “But I won’t ever return. See ya.” I wave her goodbye as I turn down the hall. 

She takes out a pistol. 

“Did I say goodbye? I meant, nice to see you again.”

“Turn around.” She orders.

I can’t exactly object to her when she has a gun on me. From how she idealizes me, I don’t think she’d actually shoot, but I’m not taking that risk. 

I turn around and close my eyes. Something hits the back of my head and the world disappears.