"Danielle," I breathed, frozen in the spot where I stood.

She sat in an armchair situated between us and the door, meaning there was no way we'd be able to run past her to escape. There were two of us, which meant we could overpower her if necessary, but I was too stunned to think of anything coherent except shit shit shitshitshit.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" Danielle asked calmly. "You do know this is breaking and entering. I could have you arrested for this."

"We saw the photos," I countered, grasping at straws for some kind of leverage against her. "I'm going to tell the police, so - by all means - call them. Saves me a trip to the station."

Danielle uncrossed her legs, leaning forward to switch on a lamp, and smiled menacingly as soon as the small source of light flooded the room. Her iPhone was in her hand, perfectly manicured fingers gripping the light pink case tightly, and she lifted it in the air to take a photo of us.

"For my collection," she explained. "Although I'm not really sure Lincoln will like the whole 'criminal chic' look."

I frowned, "I'm going to tell him the truth."

"Good luck with that," Danielle laughed, the melodic sound fluttering through the air in sharp contrast with the sick person she was. "I highly doubt he - or anyone, for that matter - will believe you, an alcoholic failure, over me. Especially given the evidence."

She shook her phone at the last sentence, smiling happily as she tapped on the screen and showed us the photo.

"See?" She said. "You two look absolutely perfect for the front page of US Weekly. I can practically see the headlines now. 'Lincoln Shepherd's Ex Arrested. Poor Mental Health To Blame?'"

Val practically growled behind me, and I grabbed her arm to keep her from doing something stupid.

"You're a psycho bitch, you know that?" Val spat out. "We saw all of those photos in your closet. You've been stalking Lincoln and blackmailing Cait. That's all the evidence we need."

Danielle tiled her head to one side, "Evidence of what? By the time the police get here, it'll all be gone. It'll be your word against mine and - I'm sorry sweetheart - but you aren't really in a position to gamble."

She stood, tucking her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, and revealed the small handgun that she was gripping with her other hand. Val's eyes grew wide in shock, and we both took a step back as Danielle brandished the firearm in the air.

"After all, it was all just self-defense," she said, the corner of her mouth pulling up in a twisted smile.

"Oh my god, are you fucking serious?" Val cried as I tried to pull her behind me.

I lifted my hands into the air, one hand still gripping my cell phone.

"You don't want to do this Danielle," I said softly. "Just put the gun down. Nobody has to get hurt."

She cackled, "You don't fucking tell me what to do, you stupid bitch. I'm in charge here."

My heart thudded loudly in my chest, the sound filling my eardrums, as I stared back at the girl pointing her gun at me. It was one of those moments you couldn't imagine even if you tried. They show it in the movies, talk about it in books, but really there is nothing in the world like staring down the barrel of a gun and knowing that it could all be over in the blink of an eye. My breath caught in my chest while a buzzing rang in my ears, the world around me crashing to a halt, as I forced the onslaught of sheer panic back down my throat.

"Okay," I said quickly, nodding as I blinked back tears. "Okay, you're right. I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Danielle sneered. She waved the gun, "Move."

I did as she said, side stepping back into the kitchen with Val next to me. All I could think about was my little brother, how I failed him, and how many regrets I had in my life. I wondered if my mom felt this way before she died, like the world was ripped from beneath her feet leaving her breathless and scrambling for more time. She always seemed so at peace with her impending death, like she had come to terms with it, but - in that moment - I felt nothing of the kind.

I didn't want to die. Not now. Not because of Danielle.

"You just couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut," Danielle spat at me. "Now I guess I have to make a call to my friend and see what we can do about your family's situation. I wonder how your little brother would feel if he knew his sister was responsible for the death of his only living parent?"

"Leave them alone," I said through gritted teeth, taking a step forward.

Danielle lifted the gun directly at me, lining up the seemingly infinite black hole of the barrel with my line of vision, and I froze. She giggled, using her thumb to switch off the safety, and cocked her head to the side.

"You were saying?" She said with a demented smirk.

Biting my lip, I held back all of the insults I wanted to hurl at her and remained silent. My hands were still raised in the air, my vise-like grip on my phone causing my fingers to ache, but I kept them up despite the pain.

"Why did you do it?" I croaked, struggling to push back both tears and panic. "Why did you blackmail me? How long have you been following me? Stalking Lincoln?"

She scoffed, "Stalking? I've been protecting him, Cait. I'm his guardian angel, keeping him away from stupid bitches like you who don't deserve him."

"So that's why?" My voice cracked as my arms began to quake. "That's why you're doing this?"

"Yes, that's why," Danielle snapped. "You were just a means to an end. When you popped up on Instagram with him, I knew you'd be an easier target than his slut of an ex-fiancée Alexis. He just needed to meet me. I took care of the rest. Lincoln and I are meant to be together, Cait."

I took a shaky inhale, "Does he know that?"

Val shifted uncomfortably beside me, her eyes glued to the gun which was still pointed directly at my forehead. Danielle lifted an eyebrow as she watched me, her head tilted slightly to the side as she narrowed her eyes in anger.

"He will," she insisted. "Especially once you're out of the way. See, he still thinks about you. I know he does. He says your name in his fucking sleep. Do you know what that's like? To be with someone who can't stop thinking about someone else? He's fucking called me by your name, Cait. I wish I could say it only happened once, but - unfortunately - I think he needs a little more of a 'push' if he's going to get over you. Your little visit tonight is only helping me to speed up the process. Soon, you'll be gone for good, leaving Lincoln all to myself."

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, causing all three of us to freeze. Danielle put a finger to her lips, motioning us to stay silent, as she took a step forward and pressed the gun flush against my forehead. The cold metal brushed my skin and I shivered, a tremor rippling through my body as I fought the riptide of fear attempting to carry me away.

It felt unnatural, standing stock-still in a vulnerable situation with the knowledge that one twitch of her finger could end it all for me. Everything in human existence teaches us to protect ourselves, and self-preservation has become instinctual over the years. They say the fear reflex is so ingrained in us that we respond to the stimulus of fear before our brains are able to process the event itself, which is the reason why we flinch away from the black spider we think we see in the corner of our eyes, when really it's just a jumble of thread.

My entire body was screaming at me to jump. To run. To hide. To fight. Anything but stand here, completely exposed, with my head on the chopping block. It was like I was falling the ground while making a conscious decision to avoid cushioning the blow, allowing my head to hit first even though my instincts told me to protect it.

Any movement might set her off, especially as the footprints slowed, and a bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing with every breath in my body that whoever was outside the door would knock, but it never happened.

Instead, Danielle's phone began to ring.

She jerked at the sound, the metal of the gun pushing further against my skin in the process, and I tensed.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

The words repeated in my head over and over while tears trickled down my cheeks, waiting for what seemed like an eternity for Danielle to decide how to respond. The phone continued to ring, the sound echoing loudly in the deathly quiet of the room, until eventually Danielle took a step back - the gun still raised - and slipped the phone out of her pocket.

"Hello?"

She lifting the phone to her ear, adapting the sweet and innocent tone she'd perfected so well. The sound of it made me want to vomit, and I held my tongue as I listened to the muffled sound of a man's voice crackle through the phone.

"Is this Danielle Smith?" The voice asked, earning a polite 'yes' in response. "This is Sergeant Adam McCleary of the New York City Police Department's Hostage Negotiations Team," I heard the man say, and I nearly sagged with relief. "I'm here to listen to you and to try to make sure everybody stays safe."

Her eyes flashed with fear, immediately followed by immense rage, and I held my breath while waiting for her to respond. I had no idea what might happen next - if she was going to shoot us instantly or be willing to speak to the police - but I prayed and prayed that we might make it out of this alive.

"I'm sorry," Danielle said, her jaw tightly clenched. "You must have the wrong number."

She moved to hang up the call, but the voice interrupted her, "I have the perimeter surrounded, Danielle. I'm going to need for you to talk to me, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Her hand froze, and she turned her gaze back toward me. My arms were burning from the effort of keeping them in the air, shaking violently, and I sucked in a breath.

"What. Did. You. Do," Danielle hissed, still gripping the phone tightly.

I could hear the police negotiator still talking through the phone as she held it, the gun still pointed at me, and I attempted to swallow the lump caught in my throat. I didn't want to tell her the truth, afraid that she'd lash out and take a shot at me out of desperation, so I decided to try to reason with her instead.

"Danielle," I pleaded softly. "Please, let's just put the gun down and talk to the man on the phone, okay?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched, and she shook her head. With the gun still raised at me, she lifted the phone back to her ear and smiled as she spoke.

"Sorry Adam," she quipped. "I'm not interested in negotiating. I've already got what I want."

The next moment was simultaneously the fastest and slowest moment of my life. In the blink of an eye, Danielle hung up the phone and turned to toss it onto the loveseat, briefly taking her eyes off me, while a thunderous sound crashed into the apartment. The door flew open, smashed to smithereens, and Danielle whirled around to see a fully-armed S.W.A.T. team swarm into the room - guns trained directly at her - before slowly lifting her gun into the air in a sign of surrender.

In that instant, it felt like the blood came rushing back through my body - my lungs finally able to fill with oxygen once more - and tears fell unhindered down my cheeks. The first S.W.A.T. officer instructed Danielle to keep her arms lifted while he and his colleagues kept their weapons trained on her, until he was able to approach and pull the handgun out of her grip.

As soon as her fingers lost contact with the weapon, my arms dropped to my sides - as did Val's - and I slumped into my best friend. We watched as they had Danielle kneel, instructing her to lie flat on the ground, until they were able to cuff her hands behind her back. Two of the S.W.A.T. officers rushed over to us, asking if we were injured, and I managed to babble the word 'no' to them through my tears.

"How did they know we were here?" Val asked, still shaking as she cried out of relief. "How did you find us?"

I laughed, lifting my phone weakly into the air and showing her the screen as more police officers flooded the room.

"I joined Twitter the other day to watch one of Andrew's live interviews," I told her with a choked laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Once she started talking, I managed to turn on the live stream on Periscope."

Val coughed back a laugh, gripping me tightly as she wiped back tears, "Saved by social media?"

I nodded, squeezing her hand as we allowed one of the police officers to guide us out of the apartment.

"Yep," I told her, smiling weakly at the thought. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Are you alive?

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