When I had been a little girl, likely no more than ten, and with nothing to do but scour the library for books to pass the time, I found myself reading countless stories. But there was always one thing that had bothered me, and it only seemed to happen with the main character being a teen girl in some far off reality. It appeared that she would always cut her hair, and somehow, it would change her entire outlook on life.

I never really understood it: frankly, it seemed pointless to place all your issues into something as minor as hair. Something that so easily changed, yet a simple haircut would magically bring the hero back from whatever dark place they were. Even though I had been young, I thought I'd been so smart for finding this plot hole, as if it had been me and only me to announce how dumb it was for cutting hair to be so crucial despite being so foolish.

But I think I understood it now.

I stared at myself, really stared. Staring directly into my own eyes as if it weren't me, as if I was trying to intimidate someone. I placed the scissors down gently on the counter, a strange sense of relief like a weight had been holding me down as the cold metal made a small clinking sound as it touched the marble. I felt all the ways that girls in those books had described. And I realized that it wasn't as dumb as I had once thought.

Because it wasn't about the hair.

Using a dustpan, I cleaned the hair scraps which had fallen to the ground and scooped them into the bin in the corner, and as I stood up, I was once more transfixed by my reflection. Mere minutes ago, my hair had reached down my back and needed to be held up with two hair ties to keep it out of my face. I had rarely had haircuts, no more than a trim of the split ends. But now, it was cut. Just above my shoulders, so light that I wondered how long it had been since I had looked like this.

And I now knew why Marie had done it all those years ago.

I took a few towels from underneath the sink, unable to break away from my reflection and feeling as though I was waking up for the first time in weeks. Although it wasn't a complete disconnect from my past self as I still felt the throbbing pain of the bullet wound in the side of my hip, it was a step in the right direction.

A step I didn't know I was able to take.

Walking back to the living room with a few towels in my arms, it had set in what I had done like reality hitting me as it had done on March 3rd. Sometimes reality just hits you like that; all of your senses pushed to the extreme as the gravity of your existence begins to weigh. There was a small pang of regret, but the feeling of freedom was so overwhelming that it overshadowed any doubt I considered for more than a moment.

As I walked into the room, it took no more than a few seconds for Scott to notice what I had done. The moment he did, he stood up, concern crossing his face as he took a step forward. He shifted his glasses, staring at me as I had done to my reflection in the sense of disbelief. I paused, not knowing what I had planned from here.

"You..." Scott paused, and it seemed that he also didn't know what to say. Hesitantly, he took another step forward as if afraid of how I may react. I suppose he hadn't expected it really; I certainly hadn't. And for as much as he was able to read me, I doubt he could guess I would do something like this. He shook his head, taking another step closer, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," hearing my voice felt strange. Like it had been the first time I noticed how I sounded, and now I felt like I was paying attention to every word I was saying. I took a step closer, handing Scott a grey towel for his still dripping hair. But he didn't take it, just continued to watch me blankly.

"Are you... sure?" his words were so hesitant, so unsure of himself, I wondered if there was more that I had missed. I nodded, a small pain in my side, reminding me that I wasn't quite ready to be the hero of a story.

I moved onto the sofa, exhausted yet filled with a motivation I couldn't place. I began to try and dry my slightly damp hair with a towel, placing the other next to the medical cabinet on the coffee table. Scott stared down at me for a moment, and I knew that he needed an explanation.

"I'm fine, I'm-... I'm great," I gave a small smile, wondering if the buttoned shirt draped over the side of the sofa was worth drying with the towel. He moved forward again, sitting beside me on the couch. I sighed, turning to face him, the window behind him still hammering with rain, "I just... had a moment of clarity and just decided to cut it. And it felt... good. Just... doing it."

It was uneven, no doubt. Even though it was straight and kept straighter by the rain, I hadn't paid much attention. Because it hadn't been about the hair, it had been about me, and finally breaking the expectation of being something that wasn't as cookie-cutter.

"So you just did it? Just like that?" The concern had shifted from Scott's face into that of awe, a slight smirk and wonderous eyes staring at me. I placed the towel back onto my lap, feeling the cold air against the unwrapped parts of my abdomen. I nodded at his question, and without skipping a beat, he continued, "I just... wish I could do that..."

"It's called being impulsive," I sighed, feeling the gnawing doubt creeping in on what I had done. It always happened when I did something impulsive. I would feel great then seconds later feel so much regret I wondered if it was even worth existing in the first place, "I promise you that it's definitely not my best trait,"

"I beg to differ," he grinned, one of those grins that caught me so off guard I couldn't help but smile back. The crawling guilt crept away, the freedom finally winning over for once in my life. He moved closer to me, taking my hand lightly into his, "I worry so much about what I do, what I say, how I act, and what people think I never seem to be able to make choices like that... it's just another reason why I can't help but admire you,"

"I should probably learn to think about things before I do them too..." I said, wanting to sound confident but feeling a deep blush on my face burning my cheeks with embarrassment. I averted my eyes for a moment, the intense gaze matched with his praise too much to handle.

"Then maybe it seems we have a thing or two we can learn from each other," he said softly, his thumb trailing gently across my hand. When I looked back to him, a small strand of hair fell in front of my eyes, which he moved to curl behind my ear, "Your hair looks beaut-"

He was cut off by something that made my entire heart sink into dread, his light demeanor shifting to harsh and slightly terrifying confidence. I turned, my whole body tensing up as the very person I didn't want to see unlocked the door before walking in.

Jake.

His hollowed face drenched in blood stared blankly at us. Cuts lined his face, no doubt matching the rest of his body underneath the stark white armor. Scott moved forward slightly in front of me as I tried to stand, feeling as though I was once more trapped with nowhere else to go.

He looked like he'd been drained of all the life in his eyes as he stared in disbelief, his gaze darting between myself and Scott. With our bullet wounds and his bloodied face, you'd wonder how many of us were still standing.

But if he was here, then what had happened to Charlie?

"What the fuck are you doing here?" hearing Jake turn to an offensive tone made my heart drop. I felt sick just hearing him, looking at him, bringing back memories of just hours earlier. And whether or not he was still alive, there was no doubt Jake had hurt him.

And I wanted to make him pay for it.

"Have you returned to finish the job?" Scott countered, and some part of me wondered if he was looking to start a fight. The emotion that had been there just seconds ago was gone, replaced with the cold exterior of Scott Preston. It was as though he was two different people entirely.

"What are you-..." it seemed that Jake was more confused than anything, the intensity that had been there was gone, now replaced with the cookie-cutter boy from March 3rd. He glanced to me, looked me up and down before sharply turning to Scott, and just as I had begun to relax, the terrifying violence had returned to his voice, "You couldn't even wait until we'd switched before fucking her? On my sofa, no less?"

"I saved her life!" Scott stammered, taking another step forward as I still tried to prop myself against the sofa. A small part of me wanted to hide, wanted to run away with Charlie and Lillian, and pretend none of this happened. But I knew that if I just ran, I would be the same Rebecca Aria, who left Charlie to die.

"I know what you did!" Jake's voice was strained, teary-eyed as he slammed the door behind him. He took a step forward, the guard boots so loud against the wooden floors I wonder how they didn't break with each step, "I know what you did to Jessie! I know how you've hurt her- and- and how you violated her! I should have known you'd try it again; you creep- I'll-I'll fucking kill you!"

"She's a lying bitch," Scott wasn't standing down, he held his stance without flinching. I felt my voice catch in my throat. I was lost, confused, and the pain in my side was growing with each passing moment. Scott continued, "You know what she is! You know the truth; you just don't want to face it!"

"I don't care!" Jake was crying now, pale patches on his face where the tears had washed the blood from his face, "I love her! She was meant to be mine- we were meant to be matched! – she was going to change once we had been assigned; it was all planned out!"

"Do think shooting Rebecca and I will fix that?" Scott had raised his voice to match his tone, "That somehow things will work out? That if you erase us from the picture, you're plan which magically take place?"

"I don't care about Rebecca- but you- I can't fucking live with you," Jake had tossed his helmet on the ground, mirroring how easily he'd done it in the alleyway. It seemed, in a way, that things were repeating themselves. That they were talking about me like I wasn't even here.

"Take Jessica - I don't want to see her vile face again! I hate her more than I hate my own Mother," his words were harsh, and as he took a step forward, I almost expected him to lunge at him. There was a pause before he continued, "Do what you like but leave- leave Rebecca out of whatever hatred you have towards me!"

"What so you can fuck her?" he glanced at me again, seeing my state before returning his glare to Scott, "You don't even know her!"

"I don't care!" there was a hint of emotions in Scott's voice, but it was no longer that of soft words but strong, passionate feelings, "I don't care if I don't know her she's the best person who actually cares about me!"

"I'm protecting her!" hearing them talk to me like this made my head swarm with guilt and anger. I wanted to be there; I wanted to be standing and defending myself and not sitting on the sidelines. Jake continued, "I save her from the danger you put her in!"

"Then why shoot me?" I moved in front of the sofa, wincing in pain but trying to remain steady. I had to say it had to defend myself. Jake looked at me as if he had forgotten I was there. My voice had wavered, but the whole room seemed to shift. It was quiet for a moment as Jake tried to process what I said.

"What?" he blurted, his stance shifting back. He shook his head, "I never- I would never even- what has he done to you?"

"Nothing," I took a step closer, feeling so angry and upset yet somehow managing to keep myself collected. Jake was half a meter from me now, and staring up at him, I don't know how I managed to stay calm. I shook my head, "But you- you hurt me..."

"I would never," his tone wasn't that of pure sympathy, but more as a horrible mixture of pity and anger. I tried to take a step back, wondering when I had gotten so close when suddenly he grabbed my wrist, "Hey- just talk to me-"

"NO!" I screamed, reaching across the bench where a kitchen knife lay drying against the sink. I was so angry, so furious and so done with people treating me like this that as my hand curled around the handle, I plunged it into his wrist.

He let me go, and the moment he did, I stumbled backward. But I was caught, Scott catching me before I could fall once more. He grabbed a coat that hung on a hook near the entry, throwing it around me as he opened the front door. He dragged me out and towards the elevator before I even had time to process what I had just done.

"That was brilliant," he turned to me, an armed wrapped around the sizeable oversized coat, intense eyes staring at me in a way I had never seen before, "You're brilliant,"

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