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// When I Come Around 
// Story: Mrs. Brightside– Coming Out Of My Cage Extras 
// by Boopy Doopy 
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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.