Justice For All The Girls Hardin Scott Screwed, and The Power Of Small Things

The Ontario sun pierces through my window, forcing my head to tilt up. My pillow is still humid with the tears from last night—which was only a few hours ago. Sighing, I decide to pull myself up.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I decide that there is no amount of makeup that can fix the puffiness my eyes hold today.

My black yoga pants and my oversized jacket fit my mood today. I want to feel comfortable inside my body—at least in relation to my clothing.

Damn. My hair is a mess. A rainbow-color headband rests on my desk, and it seems like the best option. I slide it down my head and then I pull it up, pushing my hair away from my face.

Yeah. Well. That's the best I can do today.

My fictional friends won't mind me being my usual self. 

The bus drive helps soothe my nerves and anxiety. The main factor helping is that I can focus my attention on something else that is not myself. Sometimes, I think I dwell too much on my condition, and I end up sucking the life out of me. 

My attention zooms in and out to different places and peoples. No one looks sad as they walk decisively to wherever they are going. I picture each person being a character, belonging to different worlds and books. And until you don't dedicate the time to read them, you don't get them. I think that we must all struggle so much but we're too busy to voice our feelings. Oddly, that thought comforts me. 

Two sneezes fire from my nose as soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs of the library. I drop the key on the now clean desk and grab the books. They're still right where I left them.

Seconds after opening Pride and Prejudice, Darcy and Elizabeth materialize. Lizzie walks next to me as we approach the living room area.

"Hey, how was the bonfire?" she asks, intrigued.

Glaring at her, I remain silent. She interchanges a concerned look with Mr. Darcy who is on my other side.

I stuff The Hunger Games and After under my arm as I collapse on the dusty sofa.

"I need to talk to Hardin," I tell them.

"What did he do?" Darcy stands behind Elizabeth who is sitting on one of the armchairs.

"You'll see," I reply while opening the remaining books. 

Once they're all open, I set them on the coffee table.

Katniss, Peeta, Hardin, and Tessa go physical before my eyes and the gang is now complete.

"Finally! How did everything go?" Peeta beams at me. He sits on the coffee table, right in front of me. Katniss takes a seat on the armrest of Elizabeth's armchair.

"I bet Lukah just died when he saw you with Hardin!" Katniss rubs her hands together in excitement.

"Hi, Tessa. I'm Sunset." I stretch my hand to greet her. "How are you today?" I ask her.

"Hi." She smiles brightly at me. "I'm so happy to finally meet you! Hardin told me all about Lukah. And I have to say that it's nice to be in a different story for once!" she adds, taking a seat on one of the book stools I crafted when there was no living room.

I smile back. Poor Tessa—Being trapped with a jerk like Hardin.

"Hello, Sunset," Hardin greets me, standing next to Tessa but I ignore him.

"I'll try to bring you, Tessa, next time. You've always been my favorite, anyway," I state, my eyes fixed on her.

Hardin scoffs. "You're never gonna let this go, right?" He casually leans on one of the bookcases, his arms crossed.

"No, I won't," I reply shortly. 

"Oh, come on, Sunset. It was nothing! I got back," Hardin argues, throwing his hands up in the air.

"What did you do, young man?" Mr. Darcy steps closer to him, so he is now standing next to Elizabeth.

"He ditched me in the middle of the bonfire," I say while crossing my right leg over the left one. "And..." I trail off giving suspense to my answer. 

I mean to tell them that he made out with some random girls, but Hardin looks at me with pleading eyes.

Of course. I quickly understand that he doesn't want Tessa to know about him making out with other girls.

I force myself to keep that information to myself—for Tessa's sake.

"Do you want me to bring the matches?" Peeta asks, glaring at him.

"Nop." I smile plainly. "I have them with me already." I produce a lighter out of my back pocket. I'm embracing my psychotic era here.

Holding The After copy in the air with one hand, and the lighter in my right one,  my thumb scrolls the wheel that gives life to the small flame.

The atmosphere in the room changes violently. Tessa shoots up from her place and Hardin takes a cautious step toward me. Katniss uncrosses her legs, and Elizabeth straightens up as they contemplate my actions.

"Please." Hardin gulps, his voice sounding fragile.

"Wh-why would you do that?" Tessa stutters as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ears.

Peeta clutches my knee cap, forcing me to look at him. "Sunset," he breathes. "I was just kidding. Put that down, please," Peeta begs me.

"People, relax." I roll my eyes. "It's not like I'm holding a gun to his head." I laugh, shaking my head. 

"Sunset, honey." Elizabeth kneels next to me now, her hand lands on my thigh. "If you burn that book, they will disappear—forever," she remarks.

I fight back the need to swallow and I stare blankly ahead of me.

Does this officially rank me as a psycho? 

Hardin walks closer to me, squating next to me. "I'm sorry for what I did." He struggles to form his sentences. "I- you see... I- I told you that I just needed a break from everything. I saw you with Lukah and thought that you were okay. I didn't mean to ruin your night." His hand slowly approaches the arm rest.

He sobs. "Sun, love, I beg-"

I crease an eyebrow at him and I glide the lighter closer to the base of the book, the flame threatening the frail paper. 

His eyes glisten with fear, and I notice small drops of sweat blanketing the base of his forehead.

I may be enjoying this a bit—on behalf of all the women he mistreated.

Cheers to you, ladies. You are most welcome.

"You can't be that scared." I chuckle, still finding it hard that their destinies can be so easily manipulated.

"Believe me, Sunset," Katniss claims, "you don't want to be like those merciless authors that kill us just to make a point."

How much can these guys hate authors?

Mr. Darcy approaches me now, standing tall before me. He takes his cap off, his hand stretching to me. "Lady Sunset, I would assist you in burning this twisted adaptation of my own character, but I do not wish for you to make a decision that will burden you for the rest of your life. Please, give us that fire kindling device. Authors and characters do not have a good relationship. If you burn that book you will become an author of a tragedy."

My eyes lock on the golden flame held in my hand.

Have you ever considered how much power small things have?