Mrs. Brightside– Coming Out Of My Cage Extras

Chapters

Everything You Want
Lady Picture Show
Ordinary World
Little Wonders
How To Disappear Completely
When I Come Around

Everything You Want

Author's Note

This isn't strictly going to have an updating schedule, just when a new idea for a scene that wasn't told comes into my head. As well, I'm not going to consider all of these strictly canon, and will mention when it's not.

In the case of this first chapter, I don't consider it strictly canon, just a cute scene that I wanted to write at the end of the story.

Everything You Want

Mark was shaking as he read the article, feeling like he was about to have a panic attack. He had no idea what compelled him to click into it, but he very much wished he hadn’t. It would’ve been so much better to just stay ignorant.

“This cannot be happening to me,” he whispered quietly as he read, the tears welling up. He clenched his jaw for a second before yelling, “Please, God, this isn’t happening to me!”

He knew he should’ve stopped. It was making him upset to read, but he continued anyway. He didn’t know what compelled him to read on, other than the fact that so much of what it said was what he was. He hated that fact. He hated how everything was suddenly clicking into place all at once, and desperately wanted to find something in the article he read that would turn everything around. He wanted to see something that would tell him the feeling would go away, because he absolutely hated it, more than anything else in the world. He didn’t want to feel the way he did, didn’t want the article to be right in what it said about him.

He didn’t want to be transgender, like he was certain he was after reading the article.

“Please, no, this isn’t happening,” he said softly as he took a shaky breath, the tears dripping down his cheeks. His teeth chattered a bit as he held his arms out in front of him, as though they belonged to someone else. It really was unbelievable how much everything lined up, almost scarily so. He’d heard the word transgender before, but other than the occasional political question, it was never something he ever applied to himself. He never even considered it. He’d spent his entire teenage life being oblivious as to why he hated everything about himself so much, although reading that article made it painfully obvious. So obvious in fact that he would’ve felt stupid for not figuring it out on his own if not for how terrified he was. He absolutely didn’t want it to be him.

Mark had to lay down, closing his laptop as he was finally unable to keep going through the article. His tears got his pillow wet as he began to think about how unfair it all was. He shouldn’t have felt the way he did, and felt so, so ashamed that he did. He was ashamed of who he felt he should be. He could only imagine the ridicule he would get if he ever told anyone, something he already knew he would never do. He would make sure it was never ever known what he was. Even as bad as he felt, it would be a secret he would keep for his whole life, that he knew. It would have to be a secret he kept until the day he died.

He spent more than a little while sobbing because of the revelation, so long that it almost felt like the entire afternoon. He absolutely hated the feeling he had, the dysphoria he realized, and felt like he would cry for the next lifetime because of it. He just wanted to be himself, but he didn’t know what himself was. It certainly wasn’t whatever he was now though, he knew that much.

“I’m not a girl,” he told himself as he wrapped a blanket around himself, a thought that made the pain he felt cut deeper. “I’m a man. I need to act like one. Even if I hate it, that’s what I am. I have to tough it out.”

He wasn’t sure he could, but he would try to, even in spite of this revelation. He needed to make sure he never acknowledged what he was. As long as he didn’t acknowledge it, he would be fine. He just needed to put today completely out of his mind. Just pretend he didn’t learn what he just learned. As if that was something that was possible. Still, he would sure as hell try. What else was he supposed to do?

He grunted and closed his eyes, the tears still coming down in streams, practically soaking his bed and blanket. So much for so long, he wanted to know what was wrong with him, but now that he knew, he realized it would’ve been better to just stay ignorant. Had he, he would’ve been able to pretend that maybe the feeling would eventually go away. He could still do that now, but it would be much harder given the revelation, to the point where it would be nearly impossible.

He had to wonder if the universe hated him. It was likely, given the circumstances. He wished he could say that he lost a coin flip, but no. He lost a coin flip that he had a 99.99% chance of winning. And because he lost, it just made life completely unbearable.

Still, he would try. He would push through somehow. Do his best to ignore how he felt and keep on keeping on, somehow. He’d done so for nineteen years so far. He just had to push through for another sixty. The odds of it were low, but he would try at least.

Somehow, in his tears, Mark found sleep, being woken up a little while later by a knocking on his college dorm room door. As much as he wanted to tell them to go away so he could keep being sad, he resisted, taking a breath to calm down as he called them in.

It was a woman who entered, one he’d never seen before, but who looked strangely familiar somehow. She was about as tall as him, with deep brown eyes and blonde hair like his. Her hair was longer than his though, going all the way down to her butt in a braid, compared to his pathetic one inch cut, something his father forced him to get as a condition of staying with him a few months before kicking him out. He envied her, and then looked away in shame when he realized he felt jealous.

He couldn’t tell exactly, but he thought she might have looked a little bit misty eyed as she stopped in the middle of the room, staring dead at him with a sad look on her face. Just looking at her, he thought she would burst into tears at any second. She didn’t though, instead moving a little bit closer to him and staring right down at him with big, sad eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking, although not succeeding very much. He could tell she knew he was upset, and had to wonder if she came here for that reason, not that that made much sense.

Apparently it did, though, because a second later, she was bending down to hug him as he lay under his blanket, practically radiating love and affection through her being. And sadness, and pain and hurting, too. She gave off all of those things, and he could somehow feel her sending them his way through her hug. It made him shiver and start to become teary eyed again. As weird as it was, it felt like she knew exactly what was upsetting him and trying to express her sympathy and empathy.

He wouldn’t normally accept hugs from strangers, but there was something about this lady that felt familiar. It was almost as though he was hugging his mother or sister, or himself even. That feeling was made even more intense by the fact that he thought she looked a lot like him, except a woman. He could feel a deep longing to be her extending into the center of his being, one that made him unable to take his eyes off her once she finished hugging him.

“You deserve nothing but good things in your life, dear,” she said sadly, giving a look that told him she knew exactly what was wrong and how he felt. “Absolutely nothing but the best is what you should get. You don’t deserve this.”

“I hate this feeling so much,” he automatically replied, unable to stop himself. “I wish this feeling would just go away, but it’s never going to go away, is it?” It felt like he was talking to himself when he spoke to her, and he looked up at her hopefully, desperately wanting a different answer than the one that would come. He knew what she would say though, and shivered again when she gave her answer, nothing more than a small, sad shake of her head.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he said, his voice cracking again. “I wish…” He didn’t know what he wished for. He felt so ashamed of even thinking that he wanted to be her. He just wanted the feeling to go away, more than anything else. If he could just get the feeling to go away, he’d be perfect. Which meant he would never be perfect, or even okay. He’d never be anything but completely broken and useless. The lady said as much with the shake of her head.

She bent down to hug him again, holding onto him as she spoke in his ear. “Nothing but good things is what you should be getting, honey,” she whispered, Mark able to hear her voice cracking now and the tears somehow making their way in. “You’re too nice a girl and too wonderful a woman to have to deal with all of this. It’s not right.”

He didn’t say that he wasn’t a woman, that if he was, all of his problems would be solved and he’d be living his best life. That he would never, ever be anything close to who he wanted to be. He was terrible, absolutely terrible, and he knew it. Still, he hung onto her words, even if they were untrue. They made him feel nice for a moment.

“I wish I could just be you,” he told her as she closed her eyes, still hugging tightly. “I just want to be as nice looking and beautiful as you. I would never ask for another thing if I could have what you have.”

“You will,” she assured him, sniffing a bit as she said it. “I promise you that you will, and it’s going to make you every bit as happy as you think it will and feel every bit as nice. You’re going to be a wonderful woman and an amazing mother, and it’s going to be everything you ever wanted. I promise.”

He smiled shyly through his wet eyes as she held his shoulders, looking right at her. He didn’t believe her, but it felt nice to think that for one second it could be real, despite the obvious improbability. Just the thought of it made his heart flutter with happiness. She was so right in that it would be everything he wanted.

“I know you don’t believe me,” she smiled sadly back at him, “and you’re not going to believe me for a long, long time, but you’ll get there. I promise you, you’ll get there. You’re going to be an absolutely beautiful woman and everyone’s going to see you for who you really are. You’re going to have wonderful children who you’ll love with everything in you and friends who love you and a body you like and a closet full of dresses-”

“Wh… what kind of dresses?” he couldn’t help but ask, feeling his hope rising. He didn’t know why, but it felt like she knew that this would all be given to him, as much as he didn’t believe it. As much as he knew she was wrong, he couldn’t help but hope she was right, and maybe believe her a tiny bit.

“Lovely, long flowery flowing ones,” she answered, smiling a bit wider and giggling a bit. “They’ll all look very pretty on you and you’ll look like you belong in them. And make up and nail polish you’ll love to wear, and soft skin and shiny hair and breasts- and the dysphoria, it’s going to absolutely melt away. You’ll never have to face it again. You’ll never have to be repulsed with yourself or flinch when you look in the mirror…”

The lady started to cry now as she closed her eyes, Mark himself crying again, desperately wanting what she said to be true. She knew exactly what he wanted, and even though he knew it would never happen, he badly wanted it to. He would give anything for her words to be true.

“It’s going to be amazing,” the lady finished, all she could say through her tears.

“Please tell me that it is,” he begged. “You don’t know how bad it hurts to be like this. I hate it so much.”

One more time, she reached down to hug him. “I know exactly how bad it is,” she said, “and I promise it’ll be amazing when it’s gone and you’re able to be yourself. You’re going to absolutely love every second of it.”

“You promise I will?” he asked, feeling like a five year old as he did. “You promise that I’ll be myself one day?” He hoped beyond hope that she was right, even as wrong as he knew she would be.

“I absolutely promise you,” she said, “you’ll love it every single second of every single day, and you’ll be nothing but absolutely happy being able to be yourself. You deserve it so much, Katrina. Trust me when I say you’ll get it.”

That was such a pretty name, Mark thought. Katrina. It felt like it suited him, and he wished it was his name. Not that it would ever be, but it was nice to imagine that maybe it would be one day.

“Okay,” he said happily, fully believing her for a single moment. “I’ll trust you.” Just looking into her eyes, he could tell she was telling the truth. It was easy to see in her eyes that being able to be herself made her happy, and he wanted to trust that he would be able to be, too, that the pain he had would go away like she said.

He placed his head into the lady’s neck, feeling the softness of her skin, still somehow thinking that he was hugging himself as he did. He didn’t know how long the moment lasted, but after a while, he felt himself yawning and getting tired, closing his eyes as he laid down. He stayed trapped in her warm embrace, feeling sleepier as he did. He would just rest his eyes for a second as he lay in bed, and…

He was woken up by a notification on his phone, the sun having already set it seemed. He tried to remember what he was dreaming about, but couldn’t quite recall what it was. There was a lady, he thought, and a hug, and… he couldn’t remember anything else. Except for the name Katrina. He remembered being called that in the dream and remembered thinking that it was a name that belonged to him. He let it roll around his head, liking the sound of it very much. He wondered for a moment what it would be like to be called that in real life.

Groggily, he turned over, and after he checked his phone, opened his laptop, seeing the page that he was reading before. Right. He was reading about how much his life sucked and why things would never be fair for him. He couldn’t remember the dream, but felt like it had something to do with that, with how he would be able to be who he wanted. Not that he ever would, he knew that in his heart of hearts. He would never be anything but a monster, never have anything except the feeling of hate for himself.

But the name Katrina… it was such a nice name. Not that he would ever do anything, but if in the extreme off chance that he was able to be himself, that would be the name he used. It was such a pretty name.

Lady Picture Show

Author's Note

I was trying to figure out how to structure this chapter and whether to use she/her pronouns or not on Katrina since it’s from her sister’s perspective, but I ultimately decided that since it was from Sam’s perspective while she wasn’t talking to Katrina, it would fit better to use what she believes to be true for her sister, which is the name Mark and he/him/his pronouns, as painful as it to read/write.

This takes place about four years after Katrina's 27th birthday.

Trigger warning: a fucking lot of misgendering is going to happen.

Lady Picture Show

Sam took a breath and knocked on Mark’s door, not knowing what to expect, but preparing for the worst. She’d heard from their father what he looked like now, but still hadn’t seen or spoken to him since he texted her on his twenty-seventh birthday.

“Wow, this was an unexpected surprise,” she heard in greeting as she watched the front door open, revealing an entirely different person from the one she expected. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you anytime soon.”

Sam practically glared back at her brother, quickly saying, “I’m only here because Mom said I have to invite you to my wedding, too.” Then she looked him up and down, adding, “You look different. Got fatter, too. I’d almost say you’re not Mark, but this is his house, so I know it’s you.”

Different was an understatement. Except for his eyes and nose, her brother didn’t look like the same person at all. Even his hair– she was sure it wasn’t this long the last she saw him. What was he, twenty-three when Sam moved to Georgia? It was shoulder length then, but now it went down to his butt, and looked a bit shinier. He was still taller than her by a good two or three inches, but was definitely curvier now. A few of his curves were almost as big as her own, something that made her scowl harder. He didn’t look very weird like she was expecting– well, he did look weird, being that he was her brother and he’d gone and done all of this, but no different than any other woman off the street. It was almost like she was staring at any other lady.

Sam knew she wasn’t staring at any other lady.

“You used to be a twig,” she continued. “No more than a hundred and thirty pounds when I last saw you. Also, I’m pretty sure you didn’t have breasts." She didn’t have a hint of happiness or surprise or congratulations in her voice, only malice and a hint of anger.

“I wasn’t ever that thin, but I wouldn’t say a hundred and eighty pounds is fat. But thank you for putting it all so bluntly anyway,” Mark said sarcastically. He sounded different, too, Sam realized. His voice was more high pitched and feminine. Softer was the word to use. Whether through training or surgery, she didn’t know how he did it, but wasn’t particularly interested in the answer anyway.

“I will admit I do look different though,” her brother continued, "but different is better. I like being able to stand being who I am and looking in the mirror. Also, you could’ve sent a letter, but since you’re here, you can come inside I guess.”

Sam entered the home silently, taking a look around at everything as Mark stood behind her. It looked just the same as it did the few times she visited, times that were well past five years ago at this point. She did notice it was a bit messier than she remembered, and noted a few baby toys and a child monitor on the coffee table, along with a playpen on the ground, set up in the middle of the room. There were also a few pictures on the walls, some with herself– himself– in them, others with a child and someone else she guessed was his husband. The man in the pictures was certainly not Mark, since she remembered what her brother used to look like.

It was interesting to see things after so long without meeting up with her brother, she had to admit. However, she brushed that fact aside, turning to him and saying, “I’m just here to tell you the wedding’s in August and is gonna be in Georgia. Like I said, Mom said I have to invite you.”

“Thanks for telling me that you don’t wanna see me there.”

“I didn’t say that, Mark,” Sam got out, making him frown at her little jab. “You know, you always do that. Put words in people’s mouths that they didn’t say.”

“I wasn’t the one who said that Mom is making you–”

Before the argument ahead could ensue, there was a noise on the baby monitor, one that Sam couldn’t really make out. An infant though, clearly, one who sounded wide awake and energetic.

“That’s my son, Tracy,” Mark explained, heading into the other room to get him, Sam following. “He’s almost thirteen months old and the most precious thing in the whole world.” He was in full baby voice by the time he finished the sentence, kissing Tracy’s cheek more than once as he lifted him out of his crib and held him. He was smiling from ear to ear as he looked at him, Sam not really sharing his enthusiasm, but the corner of her mouth turning up a bit anyway. She had to admit, for a man, he certainly acted like a mother, and even looked and sounded the part, too. Not that those things made him one.

“Ma! Mama!” Tracy proclaimed, using a tiny hand to tug on his parent’s shirt a bit.

“Yes, honey?” Mark asked happily. “What do you want?”

“Gibfd legjfs erum medsukl ee mama.”

He giggled at that, and kissed his son’s cheek again. “That’s right,” he said. “I’m your mama, aren’t I?” He looked like he was getting visibly happier by the second, something that made Sam back off from saying anything right that second. As much as she wanted to comment that Mark was his father, she decided right then might not have been the best moment.

“I’m your mama and you’re my son, aren’t you?” he said, rubbing Tracy’s back as he bounced him a bit. “My wonderful, beautiful little pony.”

“Bleblubf zhei mama,” Tracy agreed, resting his head on Mark’s chest as he giggled at what he said.

“Pssh,” someone suddenly said on the other end of the monitor, a man imitating static with an extremely tired sounding voice. “Katrina and Tracy. Lazy Days is trying to sleep. Please vacate the area so I can nap in peace.”

“Sorry honey,” Katrina– Mark– apologized, bending over to speak into the monitor. Then he looked at Tracy and said, “Let’s go. Dada is trying to sleep, sweetie.”

“Dada bedlughsh ee mama.”

It was certainly something to see Sam decided as she followed the two of them back out, Tracy making a little face at her as she did. She wouldn’t go so far as to say it was cute though. There was no way watching Katrina– Mark– pretend to be something other than a man was anything but horrific. She didn’t comment on that fact yet though, knowing he was just going to get upset if and when she said something.

“So is he adopted or what?” she asked suddenly as Mark put Tracy in the little playpen he set up. It made him turn around and stare at Sam with a confused expression, not knowing at all what she was talking about.

“Um, no?” he told her. “I don’t know where you got that idea. He looks just like me, except a boy.”

“Surrogate mother then?”

“Why would I be a surrogate mother?” Mark asked back, raising an eyebrow, now sounding completely confused. “I don’t have the time for that, and certainly don’t need the money.”

“Can you stop being intentionally obtuse and just tell me how he’s yours?” Sam asked, her face hardening.

“Mama! Gyblugh shuelm eat!”

“What was that sweetie?” Katrina asked, bending down to her son and petting his hair some. “Are you hungry, honey?”

“Eat! Eat eat eat! Reflugh eat!”

“Of course you wanna eat, honey. You just woke up after all,” Katrina smiled down at him, petting her son’s hair.

His son. His son. Mark’s son. Not Katrina’s. Katrina was a person who didn’t exist. Sam let out a tiny huff to herself at the fact that she was already getting mixed up in her head who Mark was. Just five minutes of looking at this woman was messing up her perception of who her brother was, and she didn’t like it. He was not anything but a man. That was all he was ever going to be, no matter how he looked or how motherly he acted.

Mark giggled as he picked Tracy back up, walking over to the dining room now to put him in his high chair. “Gosh, he’s such a smart kid,” he said, half to himself. Then, to Sam, continued, “But yeah. He was born after nine months of my being pregnant, same as every other woman.” Then she sighed– he sighed– adding, “Not that you would know that, since you weren’t there. Mom was there, but I guess it’s too much to ask for my sister to be there, too.”

“You’re right, Mark,” Sam responded. “It is too much to ask for a sister to go to her brother’s delivery room and watch him make a mockery of being a woman.”

The comment earned her a death glare from Katrina, a look Sam couldn’t say she ever saw from her sibling before, one that made her take a step back involuntarily. Before she could get the earful she was about to receive though, Tracy banged on the high chair with his hand, demanding his mother’s attention. His father’s attention.

“Eat! Eat pelopim veesha mama.”

“Of course, sweetie. Mama’s gonna get you something to eat.” His mother touched his nose, adding, “Your aunt Sam is about to earn herself a trip out of our house though if she keeps acting like a transphobic shi– uh, meanie head.” She shot her sister– his sister– a look before continuing, “Now what do you want, honey? Peas, or sweet potatoes?”

“Eees! Eat eat eees shighif mama!”

“Peas it is then, dear,” Mark smiled, heading over to the cabinet to get the food. As she did, Sam looked him over again, taking in his change. She had to admit, Katrina– Mark– did look like a woman, not that it meant anything. She could almost say he looked like she did, not that she would ever admit so. Honestly, she thought she looked better than most women did, if that was possible. It was annoying to see though, because that wasn’t what she was.

“Did you ever have sex change surgery?” Sam asked out of the blue, seeing Mark frown as he made it back into the dining room to feed Tracy. His expression was a deeply irritated one, but he didn’t turn his sister’s way, focusing on his son.

“That’s certainly one way to ask that question,” she said as a spoonful of mashed peas went into Tracy’s mouth. “You’ve never been one to be this blunt, Sam.”

“Well, you’re the one saying you’re a woman, so I want to see if you actually followed through with what you say you are,” she replied.

“You’re not my fiancé, so that’s not a question that matters to you. It wouldn’t make me less of a woman if I didn’t have it done.”

“So then that’s a no,” Sam replied, rolling her eyes. “But I expected that answer.” Mark wasn’t actually a woman, and this proved it, because he wasn’t going to go through with it all. Not that he would be either way.

He shook his head in annoyance, as though Sam was being completely ridiculous. “I’m getting it done in six weeks,” he told her, “so you can get whatever you’re thinking about me out of your head. Not that it would make a difference either way.”

“Well, why wait so long if you’re pretending to be this?” Sam asked accusingly. “If you really were a woman, you’d get it as soon as possible, so since you waited–”

“You think I intentionally got pneumonia the week I was supposed to have surgery originally?” Katrina suddenly snapped, turning her head and yelling the question at her sister. “I cried about it for weeks when I missed that appointment! I’m not waiting because I'm afraid of something!”

Sam heard her voice slip a little, but she caught herself before it went lower. Her son was now grabbing the spoon off the tray to feed himself as Katrina continued, “Don’t talk to me like that or you’re going to be leaving just as quickly as you came in. I hear enough of that shit from Dad as it is. I’m not gonna listen to it from you, too, especially not in my own home.”

Yup, that was Mark alright, same as always. He was just as sensitive as ever, it seemed. He was sensitive as a little kid, too. He cried over every little thing, like being called a mean name in school or getting his hair cut or anything else she could think of. In thirty years, nothing had changed about him, except everything.

Sam and he used to be as close as ever when they were kids. They watched the same movies and played the same games. Heck, Sam being held back a year even put them in the same grade for most of their childhood. She honestly had no idea what happened. It just seemed like they were drifting apart by the time Mark went to college, and she basically fell out of much contact with him after she moved to Georgia. Not that this helped anything. It wasn’t like she hated him, but once he told her about all of this, she was just automatically put off with him. How he could do this to himself was beyond her comprehension. Not to mention, all this new found pony business, and how Jase was basically convinced by him to move to Equestria. That put her off greatly, more than she could stand. Even if she was getting used to the idea of it, it wasn’t something she liked, hearing that another brother was living life as a horse because of the first.

One brother was an animal, and the other one was a woman. She certainly didn’t expect either of those sentences to be anything other than the punchline to a joke five years ago.

“Well, anyway, like I said, the wedding’s in August,” Sam told her, “but we don’t have an exact date yet. It’s gonna be in Brunswick, and Mom will give you all the other details.”

“We’ll be there, I guess, since you invited us,” Katrina said– Mark said– rolling his eyes as he went back to spoon feeding his son. “You might wanna tone down how enthusiastic you sound, though,” he added sarcastically. “I can tell you’re jumping for joy to have me there.”

“Don’t do anything stupid while you’re there,” Sam instructed harshly. “Men are going to wear black tuxedos, and women are going to wear red dresses, and I expect that dress code to be followed.”

“I’ll make sure my fiancé wears the blackest tuxedo in our closet,” her brother said, rolling his eyes. “Although I don’t think I have a red dress. I’m pretty sure I can get Rarity to knit me something special though.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am, too,” she replied. “I really don’t have a red dress, but I’m willing to buy one since you’re being strict about clothing.”

“You’re going to wear a tuxedo because you're not a woman,” Sam said aggressively, furrowing her brown.

“Yeah, I am,” Katrina shrugged, half chuckling, saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. She didn’t even turn her sister's way, still feeding her son, being completely casual.

“Of course, you’re acting like this,” Sam complained. “You’re gonna show up there and completely embarrass me. You already do now, with how I have to explain what you went and did to yourself. That’s probably the reason why you did this. Just to embarrass all of us.”

“What?” The words got Katrina to turn fully around, staring at Sam as she waited for an explanation.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the truth. You never liked Dad or Trent very much. I can see this all just being to get back at those two because you hate them.”

“Well, I certainly don’t hate Trent. In fact, lately, I’ve been going to eat out with him and his wife and Mom every few weeks. I don’t even hate Dad. Yeah, he’s impossible to deal with sometimes, but at least he’s coming along inch by inch and still talks to me. Not to mention, he doesn’t act like a complete jackass in front of my son, even though I know he hates me. He at least pretends he doesn’t.”

“So then you’re doing it to spite me specifically, is that what you’re saying?”

“Just get out of here,” her sister said dismissively, turning away from her once again, now completely fed up. “Don’t think about coming back either unless you’re gonna act right. I don’t have the time or patience to listen to this shit from you.”

“Well… if you wanna go to my wedding, you’d better wear a tux, otherwise just don’t show up.”

“Then I guess I’m not going,” Katrina responded, rolling her eyes. “Now leave.”

“You know, you’re saying I’m a jackass, and you’re the one who’s going to ditch your own sister’s wedding. Either that, or you’re gonna show up in a dress and completely embarrass me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did that.”

“Go.” Katrina turned around to give Sam a look, one that reminded her of the one you’d give a small child or a dog for misbehaving. “Don’t come back until you act better. I expected this behavior from Mom before I did you.”

With that, she turned back to her son one final time, sighing a little before she smiled and said, “I’m sorry sweetie. You shouldn’t have to see mommy act like that. Your aunt Sam is just acting like an idiot. Now let’s get some more yummy peas in your tummy.”

“Mama ewdkijgh glilp eees!” Tracy cheered, clapping his hands.

Sam gave an angry huff at that as she walked out, slamming the front door behind her. Mark was being absolutely ridiculous, and sensitive as usual. If she wanted to act like that– if he wanted to act like that– then fine. But she wasn’t ever going to play his game. As far as she was concerned, Katrina didn't exist. It was all a load of bullshit.

Ordinary World

Mrs. Wiley thought it was very interesting the way her son, Mark, acted.

She didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t like her other sons. Heck, it wasn’t even like her daughter. It was hard to figure out how to describe it exactly, but after a while of thinking, she came up with the word ‘feminine’. He acted extremely feminine, much more like the girls his age rather than boys. It was even more so than Sam, somehow.

He was at home with her right now from his father’s yearly camping trip, like he would be for the next two weeks, on account of being sick the day they were supposed to leave. He didn’t seem to mind much though. In fact, he was probably more comfortable at home than he was out there. He never seemed to really enjoy it like his other siblings did. He was the kind of kid who much preferred to stay indoors and read a book or write a story than go hiking or adventuring.

Inside was where he was right now, laying down in the living room, a few toy figurines in his possession, moving them around and talking to himself as he played with them. There were a couple of regular action figures in the pile, but most of them were toy dolls, she noticed. There was also a dollhouse that he made them move in and out of, something that belonged to his sister, and a couple of other of Sam's toys in the pile he was messing with. It was things like this that made her curious like she was right now.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” she asked casually as she sat down in front of him, Mark only looking up for a second before going back to the toys.

“I’m playing house,” he said as he moved the toys around. “This one’s the mom, and this one’s the dad, and they have a lot of kids. Mostly girls. They’re all about to go to the park.”

“I see. Very interesting, Markie,” she said politely. “You have a good imagination. But you know, if you want to, you can play the 64. You do have it to yourself until they all come back.”

“It’s okay. I like doing this.”

“Okay, honey. Just as long as you know. You’re very cute though. My cute, little boy.”

He smiled at that, before looking back down and going back to playing. It was weird for his mother to see, she had to say that. And adorable, very much so. He might have been a bit old to still be playing things like house, especially house with dolls, but it was very cute to watch anyway. If he was her daughter, she was sure he’d enjoy things like having his hair braided or going shopping with her for clothes, more than Sam seemed to. His sister might have been a bit of a tomboy, but he was definitely very girly.

It was more than just playing house with dolls though. It was how he spoke and his more sensitive nature and being closer to his sister than his brothers and the things he was interested in. It was also the fact that he still enjoyed affection. Neither Sam nor Trent at twelve and thirteen years old did. Heck, even her son, Jason, at just six, was already getting leery of the affection she gave her. Mark still enjoyed it, though, and in fact, even asked her for hugs from time to time. It made her smile whenever he did. It was very cute.

Her husband didn’t like it, but what did he like? Whenever they talked about Mark, he always highlighted how he needed to be more manly, like Trent, as if he wasn’t only a ten-year-old. He talked a few times about toughening him up, but never put those words into practice, thankfully. As far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter how he acted. He’d be just the same as everyone else when he grew up.

“I’m gonna go make some dinner now, Markie,” she told him after a while, getting up from her spot on the couch. "Are beans and rice okay for you?” He nodded, not looking up, and she went into the kitchen for a little while to cook.

She wasn’t gone for that long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes before she was stepping out into the living room again to sit back down. Mark was gone though, having disappeared from his spot on the floor. He left the toys he was playing with right where they were, so he was clearly intending to come back.

She checked around for him anyway, not bothering with calling his name. It wasn’t very long she had to check, only a couple of minutes before she found him in his sister’s bedroom. It wasn’t that strange of a place to find him in– as far as she knew, he and Sam were basically best friends. What he was doing in there did leave her quite surprised.

She watched quietly through a crack in the door as he turned from side to side, looking at himself in the mirror mounted on Sam’s closet door. He was grinning from ear to ear as he examined himself in the dress he had on, one of Sam’s long, flowery ones that she wore on special occasions. He seemed to be quite enjoying himself, moving his hips back and forth so that the dress twirled a little bit.

Mrs. Wiley watched for a second before stepping back quietly, wondering what she should do. She felt like she should say something, but didn’t want to suddenly step in and embarrass him. However, she knew wearing his sister’s dress was a step above just being girly. A few steps actually. It wasn’t something that should go unsaid, certainly not something her husband would let go unsaid if he saw.

But then again, he did look happy, and who was it hurting? No one, she thought as she made her way back into the living room quietly. He wasn’t hurting anyone, but that didn’t make it any less strange. Almost worrying. It gave her something to think about at the very least. Questions like if he would group up and turn out gay, or something else. What was that word? Transsexual? Transgender? She couldn’t remember, but it was a possibility that automatically entered her mind. She didn’t know what she would say if he ever said he was that, but she was certain it wasn’t something her husband would like. Knowing Scott and how he was, she wouldn’t be surprised if he disowned their kids over something like that. Not that she ever would. She couldn’t. She loved all her children dearly.

The question of whether or not she should say something remained on her mind when her son finally reappeared, casually laying back down in front of the dolls he was playing with, the dress no longer in sight. She couldn’t help but look at him a little bit differently now after that, but remained silent. It was probably best to not say anything. Scott would just ride his back about it until he grew up and moved out, something she didn’t want to happen. Besides, it was probably nothing. More than likely, he’d grow out of whoever he was now and grow into a strong, young man like his older brother was.

Whether Mark grew out of it or not though, she would love him just the same, no matter what.

There she was, nearly twenty years later now, sitting and drinking hot chocolate with her daughter. It might have been June, but it was a drink they both enjoyed. It always fit whatever mood they were in, no matter the time of year.

The woman in front of her looked different from the little boy she knew in her memories, and even the young man she was talking to just a couple of years ago. Different, and yet still the same. Her eyes were still that light brown they always were, hair still more blonde than all of her other siblings, almost as long as her own, a pointed nose that she still shared with her father. But it was mostly differences she saw. Her face looked… she didn’t know. Softer? Gentler? Her hair was shinier, and she filled out her clothes a little bit better, no longer the twig she used to be.

And most importantly, she looked happier. She was actually smiling, something Mrs. Wiley hardly ever saw after she started puberty. It was a nice change of pace, a change that made her seem brighter. Her son was nice looking in his own right, handsome even, but he always looked so depressed. The girl in front of her had a look in her eye like there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world, something that made her more beautiful than her son ever could aspire to be. It made her heart melt to see happiness in her child’s eyes that she hardly ever got before.

“Did you really catch me wearing Sam’s dress?” Katrina asked, giggling at the thought of it. “I don’t remember that.”

“You weren’t older than twelve, I know that,” her mother said as she sipped hot chocolate. “I do remember though. I keep imagining what your father would’ve said if it was him that caught you.”

“Probably something about how I needed to buck up and be a man,” she replied. “I know that’s what he wanted since he told me that about a million times. I guess I kind of messed up on his instructions though. Oopsie.” She giggled at her little joke.

“Hehe, I guess you did stray a little bit from what he wanted,” her mother agreed. “But it makes me so happy to see you able to be yourself. You always acted that way when you were a kid. I’m glad to see you smiling again after so long.”

“Thanks, Mom, I love you so much. I’m glad you’re always there for me.”

“What else am I supposed to do? You’re my daughter after all.” Then she gave a little sigh, and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything back then. I debated for a long time saying something before deciding not to. But seeing you so happy right now makes me realize that I should’ve said something. You might have been smiling more if I had.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Katrina assured her genuinely, still smiling. “I said before I was nineteen or twenty when I realized. All of that waiting to be myself is on me. And besides, I’m just happy to be able to be happy right now. Being myself is wonderful.”

“Watching you be yourself is wonderful, honey,” her mother agreed. “I’m happy to see you being who you’ve always been. You’re my daughter, and I love you, Katrina.”

“I love you, Mom,” Katrina smiled. “Thank you for being there for me.”

Little Wonders

“Hey, Dad?” Katrina started, stopping her father for a moment just before she left with her kids for home. Tracy and Quinn were already sleeping in the car as she stood outside of it, the air not too cool despite how late it was. Her brother’s house was still very full, most of her family travelling long distances to go to the reunion, and naturally spending at least the night in his large space. Thankfully, Katrina and her kids lived just in town.

So did her father, a few miles closer to her than Trent lived, yet despite this, she hardly ever visited him. She saw him perhaps once a year, if that, mostly when everyone else was around. Their relationship was so strained, more now than it was before she transitioned. She knew he hated greatly what she’d done, and wanted to tell her off every time he saw her, but had the restraint to refrain from commenting on it like he did during the first few years.

But now she had something she wanted to say, and turned to her father to speak. He stared at her expectantly, a look on his face like he didn’t know what was coming. Katrina hardly knew what was coming either, only deciding to say what she was going to within the last couple of minutes.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she told him simply, softly, but not quietly. There was something genuine in her voice, almost like relief, but not quite that. Perhaps it was repose? Whatever it was, it made her father raise an eyebrow and give her his full attention.

“For calling me your daughter, I mean,” she continued, clarifying for him. “I want you to know that I appreciate it, especially because I know you don’t– well, anyway, thank you.”

“Oh,” he said, definitely caught off guard by the statement. “Well, uh, I guess, um…” He didn’t know how to respond other than with a shrug. “It is what it is,” he told her as he rubbed a hand behind his head. “I can’t go around confusing my grandchildren, can I?”

Katrina sighed quietly, finishing, “No, I guess you can’t. But thank you, Dad. I appreciate it.”

She turned to get into her car, but was stopped by his hand on her shoulder. “You know,” he said, turning her back around with his voice, “It’d be nice if we could talk. Not about sports or your writing or any of that other stuff. I wanna actually talk to you. It’s been forever.”

“Yeah, it has. I think that’d be nice,” she agreed, trying to finish the conversation. However, it seemed her father had more to say, and held her back for just another second.

“Because I know you think I hate you,” he continued, “and that I want to hurt you or something. That’s what your little brother said you told him, but I don’t. Even if we haven’t always seen eye to eye– well, almost never for that matter– I do love you, just like I love your siblings.”

Katrina sighed again, this one more painful now. “I know you don’t hate me, but it feels like you do.”

“If this is about you being–”

“No, it’s not about that,” she stopped him immediately. “It’s just always felt that way. It really, truly always felt like you didn’t like me. Since I was a little kid.”

“How could you possibly think that, Kat?” he asked, almost stupefied. “I don’t hate you. I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make me hate you, save for murdering our whole family.”

“It’s the way you always talk to me,” she told him. “You’ve always talked to me like you can’t stand me since I could remember. Because I let my hair grow too long or I didn’t go to college for the right thing or I acted too sensitive or that I didn’t like camping with everyone else or that I worked in an office instead of something more demanding–”

“I don’t hate you,” he said slowly, speaking like he was trying to make sure she understood each word. “I know you didn’t turn out how I wanted you to turn out, but you know I still love you. That’s never changed, and it probably never will.”

“It doesn’t feel that way though,” she said quietly, above a whisper, but not by much. “I remember one time you said you would disown me if I turned out to be trans.”

“You know I was exaggerating, Katrina,” he said exasperatedly. “I didn’t disown you, did I? That should prove that I was exaggerating.”

“You also said I’d be a complete embarrassment if I was,” she continued, “and said that it was unnatural and that I’d be tricking men into dating me if I was trans. You made it clear that you would hate me.”

“If I knew that’s actually what you were, I wouldn’t have said those things.”

“That doesn’t make it hurt less.”

The conversation seemed to be going nowhere. Katrina stared down at her feet, and her father had his hands in his pockets, looking around as though there was something interesting going on. Finally though, the former said, “I have to get home and put my kids in bed. I’ll see you some other time, Dad.”

“I’ll see you later, Kat. You should stop by sometime soon though, so we can actually talk. And I wanna plan out having Tracy and Quinn over for the summer. I had Jason’s kids over last year, and want yours this year.”

“Okay. I’ll see when I have time. Bye, Dad.”

Talking to him soon apparently meant the next day, because not long after she woke up, she got his call to head over to her childhood home. She considered saying no, but decided she might as well get it over with. She waste any time after she hung up, and dropped her children off at her older brother’s house for the day and then headed over to her father’s.

It was just the same as always, no different now than the last time she’d been here, a distinct memory in her mind. She was helping her brother move out, and she and her father were arguing about the state of her life and what she could be doing better. It was near the end of a lot of things and the start of others. There were a lot of memories here, too, none of which she was quite interested in getting into today. She had no doubt that she’d receive some though.

Her father heard her pull up, and opened the door to let her in before taking a seat on the couch. It was more empty in here than she remembered, too. The last time she was here, there was at least Jase, and for most of her childhood, her whole family lived in the building, the house always noisy with the sound of six people. Oh, how the time seemed to go by.

“It’s so weird being back here,” she said casually as she took a seat on the couch. “I should’ve brought the boys over here to see it.”

“If you want to grab them, you can,” he told her. “I don’t mind. Fifteen minutes doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Eh, maybe some other time. I don’t really wanna waste the gas.” Then she said, “Anyway, what did you wanna talk about? Other than those two staying part of the summer with you.”

“Just about you," he replied. “I wanna catch up, see how you’ve been. I don’t think we’ve done that in fifteen years, have we?”

“I’ve been much better now than I was fifteen years ago,” she said, wanting to be serious but unable to help smirking at the difference in who she was between then and now. “You already know I’m an author, but lately I’ve been trying to break into other stuff. You know, fantasy writing and children’s books and things like that.”

Her father nodded, and then asked, “Looking for a relationship? Or are you already in one and just haven’t told us yet?”

“Nope. Still single. I’m not looking either.”

“Well, you know kids need a father figure in their life, especially boys. It’d be good for them to have that kind of guidance.”

“Well, if a man comes along and sweeps me off my feet, I’m not gonna say no, but it’s not like I’m out there actively looking for someone.”

“You’re not gay, are you? Or whatever the word is when you like both?”

For once, his ignorance actually made her laugh. “No, I don’t like women,” she chuckled. “I just wanted to be one. That didn’t mean I was gonna become a lesbian.”

“I thought you dated girls before, Kat,” he said. “I remember a couple of times you brought a girlfriend home with you when you were a teenager. That didn’t change when you did, did it?”

“Nah, I was never really into women. They were always more into me. I dated a guy in college for a while until just before I graduated. He said he was bi, but I felt like I was lying to him anyway, so I broke up with him a couple of months before graduation. I liked him a lot, but it made me feel terrible.”

“Wait, when was that? I don’t remember hearing about that.”

“I was like twenty one or twenty two at the time, and I didn’t tell anyone in our family because I knew how you’d react.” There was a little pause before she quickly continued, “I mean, I also thought I was kind of asexual, too, but I realize now that it was just dysphoria. The funny thing about that though is when I saw him a few years ago at the reunion for our graduating class. Apparently he went and got married a few years after we dated. He and his wife have kids now and everything.”

“Huh. Well…” Katrina could tell her father wanted to say something, but he held back. Maybe he actually felt a little bit guilty? Like it was his fault that she wasn't with some random guy she dated once in college?

“It doesn’t matter, Dad,” she told him before he could say anything. “It probably wasn’t gonna work out anyway. And besides, who knows what or where I’d be if I stayed with him? I’m gonna choose being a woman over dating some guy from college every time. Anyway, how have you been?”

He described how he’d gone back to work a couple of years ago, and was now the manager of some corporate store in the city. He also said that, despite being nearly seventy, he and some woman he’d met on the job were hitting it off, and that he himself might be interested in dating again. It was extremely strange to hear, and certainly interesting. Katrina wondered if she would be looking for love at age seventy.

“I mean, I’ve got another good fifteen or twenty years in me according to my doctor,” he told her. “Why not spend that time with someone else?”

“No reason not to, and I’m not judging. It’s just weird to hear that my seventy year old father is gonna get married in a couple of years.”

“All my kids are doing interesting things. Jason’s in Equestria, Sam’s wanting to move overseas in a few years, you’re… well, anyway, I have to keep up. It’s gonna get lonely.”

And there it was. The topic that she knew her father wanted to talk about. She wanted to avoid it, but she seemingly began the process of working things out with Sam yesterday. Why not her father?

“When we were at Jase’s house yesterday,” she started carefully, “what were you gonna ask?” He looked confused, and she continued, “You started to ask if I was gonna wake up one day and then stopped when I cut you off. What was it gonna be?”

And now he sighed. “I was gonna ask if you thought you were gonna wake up one day and decide you wanted to be a man again.” Katrina put a head in her hand and closed her eyes, letting out a breath as her father continued, “It’s a real question. Do you think something like that would ever happen?”

“Dad…”

“Look, I don’t know anything about this, so I just wanted to ask.”

“You’ve had ten years to ask me that, Dad,” she told him, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You don’t talk to me at all though. It’s not like I’ve been ignoring you for ten years like Sam has. I even got on her about that. You can ask anyone. It’s not like I’ve just been sitting around.”

“The first time I tried to tell you,” she started slowly, like she was explaining it to a child, “you stomped out of the house twice.”

“The first time you tried to, you turned me into a horse! You can’t drop that on someone and expect things to go smoothly! I would’ve listened more if not for that!”

“Would you have?”

“Yes!”

Katrina sighed and rolled her eyes while she shook her head, a move that made her father let out an exasperated breath. “I was there in the waiting room during the delivery of both your kids, wasn’t I? I willingly turned myself into a pony to see you. You can’t say I haven’t been trying, because I have! But you don’t talk to me. Not when you were a kid, and not now either.”

“You cannot put this on me, Dad,” his daughter told him, no anger or frustration in her voice. There was only simple flat emotionlessness, like she was stating a fact.

“You said you were going to disown me if I turned out to be trans before I came out to you. And then when I did, you stomped out of my house angrily before I could finish explaining it to you. On my birthday. Suggesting it’s my fault that you didn’t try harder to talk to me is not fair since you made it seem like you wanted nothing to do with me and hated me.”

“I don’t hate you! How could you think that?”

“Because when you frown when I say I’ve never been better in my life after asking about me and suggest that I should turn into a man and be a father–”

“I didn’t suggest that,” he interrupted. “I was only saying that you should find a father figure for them. I know you can’t be that because you’re their mother. For Christ's sake, I call you my daughter!”

“And it took over three years to get to that point. And when you frown when I tell you I feel good about myself and don’t stick up for me when you see Sam demeaning me in front of everyone, it doesn’t come across as love.”

For a long moment after her statement, the two of them sat in silence. Her father crossed his arms, and she sighed, leaning her head back against the couch cushion. She knew he despised her. Just the way he acted to her for all of the years of her childhood proved that. He was going to have a tough time convincing her otherwise.

“The issue is that we’re too alike, Katrina,” he finally said after a long minute.

That got her to raise her eyebrow and turn her head curiously. “You’re not about to come out to me and say you’re jealous, are you, Dad?”

“What? No! I mean personality wise.” That definitely got her attention, and he explained, “We’re both stubborn people who are stuck in our ways, Kat. We’re people who won’t have our minds changed once we’ve made them up. I know there’s not any way I’m gonna convince you that I don’t hate you, and you’re not gonna convince me that I’m the terrible father you’re trying to paint me as. Having that conversation is gonna be completely pointless.”

“Then why–’

“Don’t interrupt,” he silenced her. “I have somewhere I’m going with this. Anyway, I’m sure there’s not many things you’ve changed your mind about, but from what your mother told me, your plan before Equestria happened was to go through life and be a man. And then you changed your mind.”

“Yeah? Okay? Where are you going with this?”

“Well, I changed my mind about something, too,” he said. “I thought for the longest time that I had only one daughter. Even after you tried to convince me that I actually had two, I wasn’t willing to change my mind, because I’m stubborn and stuck in my ways.” He paused for a breath, or maybe it was just dramatic effect, and continued, “But then you called me and asked me to be there for Tracy’s birth, and even though I wasn’t in the delivery room, I realized you were right, and that I actually have two daughters. You changed my mind while I sat in the waiting room, and watching you hold your son in your arms clinched it for me.”

Okay, maybe he was going to be able to convince her that she was loved, even if his love was backwards and made no sense at all. His little story left her surprised at least, and made her heart flutter like she only got from her children these days.

“I don’t think I frowned when you said you were feeling good about yourself, but if I did, I didn’t mean to. It’s just frustrating as crap to know thirty years of knowing you is actually completely wrong, just like it’s probably frustrating for you to think about anything before the last ten years.”

Completely ass backwards and absolutely infuriating was his love, she could say that much. He didn’t even apologize for how he made her feel, but she would take it. It was better than nothing, and probably a sign of endearment in his own shitty way.

And then, as though reading her mind, he went the extra mile and topped himself.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t love you,” he told his daughter. “That was never my intention. I love you just as much as I love Sam and Trent and Jase. I’ll admit that all of this still frustrates me, and even now I have to remind myself to not call you the wrong thing or say something that’s gonna upset you. But you’re my daughter, and I don’t think there’s anything I’m gonna be able to do to change that. I mean, I was just saying I was stubborn after all, and you do have me convinced.”

From anyone else, it would’ve just been annoying as crap to hear, but coming from her father, it was actually kind of sweet. She couldn’t help but smile at the end of his little speech. Maybe she had her mind changed about him, too.

“So what I’m hearing is,” she started jokingly, a little smile on her face, “if I decided I wanted to detransition and be a man again, I’d still be your daughter?”

“If you do that, then I will disown you for real,” he said sharply, Katrina unable to tell if he was serious or not. She didn’t really care that much, only laughing as he continued, “One gender change is enough. Wait until I’m dead if you wanna do that shit again. I don’t want to have this conversation again in ten years.”

“You definitely won’t be having it again, I assure you that,” she laughed. “Twenty seven years was long enough. I’ll disown myself from life if that ever happened.” She sighed and tapered off her laughing to chuckles before saying, “Anyway, you said you wanted to talk about Tracy and Quinn being here for the summer?”

“Absolutely. They need a father figure in their life, and their mother’s certainly not capable of being that, unless she wants to be disowned. I can be that in the interim while you look for a man.”

“I already told you that I’m not gonna look for a guy. If he comes along, he comes along, but I’m not going out of my way to find someone.”

“Well then I guess I’ll have to get online and put up applications saying my daughter is available and make them come to you. A lot of men like sports girls.”

Katrina only laughed at that. Yeah, her father was still shitty, and they’d probably find a reason to fight in the future just like they always did. But maybe he was an okay dad, even if it was in his own terrible, completely dumb and roundabout way. Did right now make all of that other stuff better? Katrina didn’t know, but it did make it hurt a little less.

She would take what she was getting from him though, since she’d already gotten the only thing she ever wanted.

Author's Note

I think this is going to be the last chapter of extra's probably, at least for now. I do plan for NaNoWriMo to write the sequel to Coming Out Of My Cage, tentatively titled "Bring Me To Life" about Katrina's son being half human and half unicorn pony who can do magic. I want to write it all in November, just like I did with Coming Out Of My Cage.

How To Disappear Completely

Author's Note

This is a non canon "what if" scenario of if Twilight never created the worldgate into Equestria for Katrina to travel through. Content warning: themes of suicide in this chapter, although suicide isn't directly stated.

How To Disappear Completely

Mark stared at himself in the mirror, flinching hard at what he saw.

He saw a man that was beginning to age. It wasn’t significant yet, but the signs were there. There was a permanent stubble on his face that wasn’t there before, a little less hair in spots, a little bit of his hairline receding despite his attempts to halt and hide this, and a few more wrinkles on his face. He didn’t look very much different from the average man on the street, and in fact, many people still thought he was just as handsome now as he always was, maybe even more so with how rugged looking he was. However, his reflection still hurt to look at, almost physically. He thought he could hold out if he kept doing what he was doing, but he was starting to come to the conclusion that he couldn’t. It was getting to be impossible. He looked awful, so awful, and it seemed every day he was looking worse.

He thought if he could just keep growing out his hair, keep shaving, keep avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, something would change. Or at least, he could hold out until he grew into an old man and died. He was coming to realize however that he wasn’t going to be able to. The dysphoria never, not even for a day, let up. He took to exercising, working longer hours, taking anti depressants, and just doing everything he could to try and distract himself. And it all worked, for a little while anyway, but the dysphoria always came back. There was once a point where he could get by with how bad it felt, but these days, he found himself crying himself to sleep most nights no matter what he did.

He felt absolutely terrible, and knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it except let it continue to get worse.

He knew he was nearing a certain point. The point of no return. It felt too bad to keep going on the way he did, and he didn’t know if he could take another day of living life the way he was. He tried desperately to push through, but couldn’t, and was now coming very close to a point that he wouldn’t be able to return from. He knew what was going to happen, and couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Why am I like this? he wondered silently as he cried at his reflection. I’m too old to still feel like this. He was coming up to age forty next year. Next year he would be forty, and then there’d only be thirty more years of suffering to contend with. At minimum anyway. At least thirty more years of this horrible feeling getting worse, exponentially so. He couldn’t take thirty more years of this.

Thirty more years of bottling it up and pretending to be fine and never telling another living soul how he felt. Thirty more years of living alone and crying in bed as he desperately he could be someone else. He would rather be anyone else, the reflection he saw was brutal.

He was wondering right now if he could last another five minutes.

He was close, so close to just giving up. Not for five more minutes could he do this. There was nothing to look forward to but worsening pain and that horrible, terrible ache in his chest. He knew well enough ten years ago that this was the case, and yet he sought to foolishly convince himself that there was hope when there wasn’t. This wasn’t going to end, not ever, and staring in the mirror right now was bringing that realization to the forefront.

He was just so tired…

Thankfully, the door bought Mark at least a few more minutes of trying to carry on and pulled his attention away from the mirror. Someone banged on his door out of the blue, and on the other side, he heard a voice he recognized.

“Mark! Get your butt out here!” Jase called. “Trent and I wanna go out, and you have to come with us!”

“Hold on,” he said, having to hide the pain in his voice. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He rubbed his eyes dry, but couldn’t help that they became wet again. He hated what he saw in the mirror so much, hated how bad his life was getting. This dysphoria felt so bad.

It was a few minutes before he was opening the door, both of his brothers standing at the front door waiting for him. It had been a few years since he’d seen either of them, and he internally gasped at the sight of Trent’s hair.

“Wh-what happened?” Mark asked, a bit shakily, afraid of what he saw.

“Huh? With what? What do you mean?” his older brother asked in the flat tone he always had.

“You’re hair! Your hairline wasn’t that bad when I last saw you!”

“Oh, that? That’s just male pattern baldness. You know dad has it, too. Actually, I think I can see some of your hair receding. The line looks a little farther back than it did before. It’s crazy though how fast it goes.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t wanna hear that! It took every ounce of Mark’s being to not scream out loud.

“Anyway, we wanted to go out with you to Denny’s, if that’s cool.”

“O-okay,” he said, then cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to calm his nerves. “Okay. What for exactly?”

“Just to eat,” Trent said flatly. “I mean, it’s been what? Three years since I last saw you even though you live just across town? I wanna hang out with you and catch up, you know?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Jase added. “Come on, man, it’s been years.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you guys is all. Did you wanna leave right now?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you. Did you have something to do?”

He looked back inside his house, in the direction his bathroom was in before shaking his head. “No, we can go now if you want.”

To Denny’s was where they went, not taking longer than half an hour to sit down and have their orders taken. Jase chattered away like he always did, Trent being more quiet but interjecting every so often. The two talked about how their lives had been so far, Trent talking about his kids and Jase describing how he’d just broken up with an ex girlfriend. Mark desperately tried to listen, and did his best to smile and nod along, but knew he wasn’t doing a good job. His thoughts were still on the bathroom and how he was ready to give up and stop pretending like hope could be found.

“Anyway, how have you been, Mark?” one of them finally asked. “You look like you’re keeping up and doing well for yourself like usual. How’s everything?”

“Eh, same ol’, same ol’,” he said with a shrug, a statement that might as well have been true, even if for Mark that meant he was still horrific.

“Anything new with you, man?” Trent asked, Mark involuntarily flinching at the word, something he seemed to have less control of over the years. Thankfully, his brother seemed not to notice it as he asked, “Any women in your life? Or, you know, men if you’re gay, I guess.”

“No, I’m still single. There’s absolutely nothing new with me.”

No new partners or friends or experiences or TV shows or movies he’d seen or foods he’d tried or anything. He was floundering so hard right now, barely able to keep his head above water. Or maybe he was already under water and drowning right now. It certainly felt like that.

“Well, you could certainly get anyone you wanted. I know a couple of girls who said you were attractive before, and with long hair like yours and how meticulous you are about it, you could probably get guys if you wanted them, too.”

“Haha, yeah, maybe,” Mark pretended to laugh, sighing internally as he did. Everyone seemed to continuously talk about how well off he was and how he could do anything he wanted or get anyone he wanted to be his partner because he was just so great and handsome and whatever else, and yet here he was, drowning. If those things were true, then why did he have to be cursed to feel so ugly? Why couldn’t he just be normal and not hate his body as much as he did and not be so intensely dysphoric?

“But how are your kids?” he asked a second later, wanting to keep the conversation off of himself. “I wanna hear more about them.”

They talked a little more and ate some lunch, Mark heading promptly back for his home shortly after that. Jase, however, asked to stay over cause he wanted to talk to him some more. About what, Mark didn’t know.

Mostly childhood memories it turned out, something Mark despised going through. Almost all of his memories were painful, except for a couple of bright spots. His mother holding him close when he cried, trying on his sister’s dresses in secret, the feeling of hair touching his shoulders for the first time. These things were few and far in between, most of his memories of childhood being how he stayed home in his room and cried all day during his teenage years. That’s how most of his memories were turning out now, too, crying in bed in between the times he had to work or go outside. Every single day, it felt like there was less and less to live for.

What was he still trying to live for?

He was so wrapped up in his own head that he completely forgot about Jase as he sat down on the couch, put his face in his hands, and sobbed. Not that it was anything new. Five or ten years ago it might have been, but he was so attuned and used to it now, he hardly thought about it. Attuned to it like he wasn’t to the pain he felt. He imagined most people who had such long term pain as he did, whether physical or mental, got used to it, to the point where it was as normal as having to go to work. He wished his dysphoria felt like that, rather than the terrible hot coals that only seemed to continuously burn hotter and burn his skin and soul greater. That was the worst part about it. It kept hurting worse, day after day.

He wasn’t going to be able to take another day after this.

He didn’t even realize his little brother was touching his shoulder with a firm hand until it started to rub carefully. It was a hand that eventually worked its way around his waist to pull him in close. It made Mark sob harder, appreciating the comfort but feeling worse because of it.

“What’s wrong?” his little brother asked as though it didn’t surprise him in the least to see from him. It was a surprising gentleness from someone like him, like he knew what was wrong and knew exactly how to help him.

He didn’t though. Mark knew that. Jase didn’t know, and if he did, there was no way to help him.

“Mark?” he asked more firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

He didn’t dare look up at his little brother, but couldn’t help leaning into his brother a little bit as he cried. “I- I- I… I’m sorry… i-it’s nothing…”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing, Mark,” he said, talking to him like he was his parent rather than his little brother. “I’m here to listen. Let me try to help you if I can.”

“Y-you… you can’t help me…”

“You can’t know that if you don’t tell me,” his brother said. “I wanna know what’s wrong. Let me try.”

There was no way he could help, not at all. Mark knew that. But why not tell him? It wasn’t like he was going to keep on going anyway. His closest, most painful, most well guarded secret wasn’t going to matter if he was ready to give up. It didn’t matter right now if he was only six feet from the edge and thinking that six feet might not be so far down. What could there have possibly been to lose?

Mark’s hands were shaking badly and he was struggling to catch his breath as he looked up at his little brother. Jase didn’t have surprise in his voice, but Mark could see the shock make its way onto his face when he caught just how distraught he looked. He must have been expecting something flat and depressive rather than the shaking panic he had now. He imagined he looked like a man with a gun being put to his head. It was basically true.

It was exactly true.

“I look like a monster,” he whispered quietly, almost inaudible. It was words he thought in his head but never spoke aloud. The shock on his little brother’s face increased, but he did his best not to show it, and definitely kept it out of his voice.

“How do you look like a monster?” Jase asked, sounding like a concerned teacher talking to a student.

“I– you– it’s st-stupid… I’m sorry…”

“It’s probably not stupid if it has you feeling so messed up, Mark,” Jase countered. “I’m here to listen to whatever you wanna say, and certainly stay here if you’re not feeling so safe alone.”

“I… I’m not…” he admitted, looking down at his feet shamefully. There was no way he would be safe alone for another night. He might have already given up by now if not for his brothers knocking on his door earlier.

“Well, I’m here to listen. Tell me whatever you want. I’m not gonna judge you or anything.” There was a little pause as he asked again, “How do you look like a monster?”

He wanted to hold back how he felt, but couldn’t. It was stupid to do so. He was already on the edge of the cliff with nothing to lose. He wasn’t going to last the night with the way he felt. Either Jase was right and it would change something, or he’d give up.

He told his little brother how he felt, and cried the whole time doing so. Jase offered advice from his limited perspective, but it seemed like good advice to Mark anyway, not that there was any bad advice with how bad off he was. Jase also stayed the night to make sure his older brother was safe, not daring to sleep while Mark did.

Despite what Mark thought though, Jase genuinely did help him, and within a few years, the dysphoria disappeared almost entirely, and so did he. Jase told him how to disappear completely, and Mark did, leaving someone much more beautiful and happy living in his place.

When I Come Around

Mark very much disliked being out in public.

It was nothing new or out of the ordinary– after all, what teenager did like being out in public? He would much rather stay at home than go out to eat with his family, but apparently being almost fourteen years old wasn’t old enough to stay home alone. At least summer was over though. That meant he could finally begin to dress more comfortably and not have to wear loose clothing that exposed his skin.

His mom was there, too, which was nice, and he made sure to sit down next to her before anyone else could. He was old enough to tell that she didn’t like his dad anymore, but thankfully it didn’t stop her from joining up with them and seeing them. They were still married, but right now his mother seemed a little more distant from her father than before. It was awkward to see the two hardly talk, each declining the other’s invitation to go out when they took him and his siblings places. They didn’t really scream at each other or argue– at least, not to Mark’s knowledge– but he was old enough and smart enough to be able to see where it was going. If the awkwardness of the last couple of years was any indication, a divorce was probably coming soon.

But she was here now, and that was what was important. He smiled as she rubbed his hand while the rest of the group talked, still liking the affection that even his little brother was now leery of. His family was talking about school and what they were doing while looking over menus to order food at a small, quiet, local little place he’d been to a couple of times before. There weren’t many people here, which was good. It made a bit of his self consciousness go away, enough that he pulled the hood of his hoodie down.

His hair didn’t usually get very long, but his father was more kind than usual about it in the last year or so. While his other brothers were required to shave their heads, he wasn’t made to, the hair now down a little past his ears and on its way to his neck within the next year. It helped make him feel a little bit more comfortable, and gave him a rare feeling of appreciation for his dad for not touching it.

It was definitely different from the rest of his family. Not only did the rest of his family minus his mother have short hair– even his sister Sam, who for some reason wanted it– but their hair was a mix of wavy to curly, unlike Mark’s, which fell straight down as it grew. As well, everyone else had generic medium brown hair quite unlike his natural blonde. It stood out, so much so that he would’ve wondered if he was actually adopted if not for the fact that he basically looked like his older sister, except as a boy and with different hair.

He certainly liked it, but sometimes it did make him insecure how much it stood out from the rest of his family. Why people would come up to him and ask about it like it wasn’t his real hair, he didn’t know, but it frustrated him greatly and made him upset that they did. If he didn’t like the color and texture of it so much, he might have asked to have it stylized.

Predictably, someone asked about it, that someone being the waitress who came to take their order. He understood that she was just trying to be polite and make conversation as she waited on them and asked for their drinks, but it soured his mood and instantly made him frustrated.

“Did you dye your hair, kid?” the lady asked. “I like the look! I had my hair dyed once! It really makes you stand out!”

Mark let out a breath of a sigh and looked down at the table. “This is my natural hair color,” he muttered. “I didn’t dye it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman quickly backtracked. “It’s just so different from the rest of your family’s. It looks great though! I’m jealous! Anyway, what can I get for everyone to eat?”

His mother knew it bugged him to be told that, and rubbed her thumb over his hand more as he let out another breath. He liked his hair. A lot, actually. But questions about his hair rubbed him the wrong way. Why couldn’t people just assume that it was his real hair? That would be the kinds of comments he would’ve liked to have received.

And why did she have to say he stood out? He didn’t want to stand out. He felt like he already stood out enough, not that he knew what about him gave him that feeling. But his hair was the one thing he liked about himself. He wished people wouldn’t comment on it and insinuate that it was fake.

He tried not to cry, he really did, but sensitive as he was, he couldn’t help a few tears that started to leak out. Probably once a month or more did he cry, and sometimes it frustrated him, but right now he was okay with it because his mother was there to grab him and hold him close. His father, on the other hand, looked quite unamused, and had a scowl on his face.

“Why are you crying son?” he asked once the waitress left. “Is this about your hair? Cause if you don’t like it, I can cut it off.”

“No, I don’t want it cut!” he said quickly, trying to stop his tears but failing. “I just don’t like it when everyone tries to ask if it’s fake or if I dyed it cause it’s my real hair.”

“Like I said,” his father repeated, “if you don’t like it, I can cut it, so stop crying or I will.”

“Scott, can you get off his case, please?” his mother asked. “If Mark needs to cry, let him cry. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It’s annoying the crap out of me, so that's the reason he needs to cut that shit out. For real Mark, you’re too old to keep acting like a five year old. Now buck up and act your age, or I really will cut it.”

“I’m not being a five year old,” he protested as he wiped his eyes and tried to calm down. “I just don’t like people talking about me like they only like me because I’m pretending to be someone else. I like my hair, and I don’t like people assuming it’s fake.”

“No one’s assuming you're fake, Mark. You’re just being sensitive like you always are. Now cut that crying out in ten seconds or I swear, it’s gonna get cut tonight. You’re interrupting the good time the rest of us are trying to have.”

“Give me a second, Dad!” Mark told him, desperately trying to slow his breathing and stop crying. He knew his father was fully serious, and probably counting out the seconds in his head, too. He hated how his father operated. He wasn’t necessarily strict– in fact, he might have been relatively lenient in his parenting. Except he didn’t like certain things, and when he set his mind to something and made it up, it wouldn’t be changed. If he said, “Clean your room in an hour or you’re going to be punished,” he would give you down to the second to complete the task. Doubly so if what you were doing annoyed him.

Mark knew a lot of things about him annoyed his father greatly. He couldn’t help that he was so sensitive.

“Five… four… three…” his father counted down, rushing him.

“You’re not being fair! Give me a chance to calm down!”

“Two… one…”

“Scott, stop that,” Mark’s mother reprimanded. “You need to at least give him a chance to calm down. You’re not helping anything by acting like that.”

His father scowled, and looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t for a long moment. After the long period of awkward silence, he finally said, “You’re lucky you have your mother, but I swear, if I see one tear out of you for the rest of the night– no, the rest of the month, I will cut it. You need to grow up and be a man.” Then he let out a huff of a breath, continuing, “I swear, you cry more now than your sister did when she was five.”

Sam snickered at that, and his mother sent a look his father’s way before rubbing Mark’s shoulder. He leaned into her and closed his eyes, taking a second to calm down before he wiped his eyes, opening them again just as the food came. The server set plates down, and apologized to Mark again, telling him that she didn’t mean to make him upset, surely seeing the look on his face. His father told her that she didn’t need to apologize and that he was just being sensitive, then changed the subject to something else.

His father always told him that, that he just needed to ‘grow up and be a man’. But what if he never did? What if he always cried and was sensitive and liked being comforted by his mother and never wanted his hair cut? That wasn’t his fault. He could only ever be himself… although he did know there were certain things he probably shouldn’t do, lest his father let him know how he needed to be a man and get more angry with him than he already always was.

If he could grow up and act like a man, his father wouldn't be so angry with him all the time. If he couldn't, then his father would always be angry with him, probably for his whole life. It was a thought that almost made him start crying again.

But his mother kept on rubbing his shoulder, which helped comfort him for now.

Author's Note

I think there's going to be one more extra before the sequel.