MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER.

"Kids forever, kids forever, Baby soft skin turns into leather. Don't be dramatic, it's only some plastic, No one will love you if you're unattractive"

God I hate myself.

I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself.

What more is there to say anyway?

I don't have any redeeming qualities, i'm clingy, overdramatic, I can't do anything right, i'm too short, my hair is gross all the time, i'm weak, and i'm overly sensitive.

Who would ever want to date a guy like me?

Signe was right. I am ugly.

I stare blankly at the TV, gorgeous male models on the screen, promoting their lifestyle of plastic surgery to seem to have larger muscles, showing how they bleached their hair, each with a lovely lady in their arms.

Why can't I be like that? I want to be handsome, I want muscles, I want a girlfriend or a boyfriend that actually loves me. Heck, I just want someone that even remotely likes me.

But that's always way to much to ask for.

Her words like spears pierce through my head and replay over and over and over again.

'He never dated you because you're ugly.' The more I think about it the more it hurts.

My mom walks past and sees me.

"Mark dear? Are you okay sweetie?" She asks in a sweet tone. I just look at her, before I can answer i'm running up the stairs to the bathroom. I slam the door and lock it.

I feel numb, i'm shaking, i'm crying, i'm balled up in the corner of my bathroom with my mom coaxing me to come out and tell her what's wrong. But she wouldn't understand, no one understands.

No one understands what it's like to always be last, to always be picked on, to always be hurt, to never have anyone there for you. This feeling of isolation and hatred is my life, and I can't seem to get rid of it.

I stand up and look in the mirror, and I see just what I thought I would see, a pathetic lonely depressed sack of shit. That's what I am, and that's what i'll always be.

The tears begin to trickle down my face yet again. It feels so weird to cry after all this time, I kept it together for so long, and here I am, crying because i'm ugly.

It's pathetic if you ask me.

After a while, my mom gave up trying to get me out of the bathroom. She just figured I wasn't going to leave and nothing could change that.

I look down at the sink and see the blade I brought in, with a shaky hand I pick it up. I bring the tip to my wrist, crying, numb, hurt.

I prepare to glide it across, but I can't bring myself to do it, I drop it and drop to my knees and cry harder. My stomach is in knots, my head is in a fog.

I sit on the floor, crying like a baby with my knees brought up to my chest. I force myself to stand up and I look in the mirror again.

My flowing ravenous black hair falls into my tear soaked face. I push it away, but then it hits me. I need change. I want to change something about my appearance and I know what it is. Something that will stand out, something people will recognize me by, something that will make me look original.

I grab the electric razor from under the sink as well as mom's hair dye bottle.

I turn on the razor with a buzz, and it vibrates in my hand.

"Farewell Crybaby." I say through tears and bring the razor up to the side of my head, shaving the sides and watching as my black hair plummets to the floor.

I'm left with a "mohawk" look for my hair and I grab the hair bleach and begin dying the long tufts of hair on my head. It burns, it stings, and it hurts. But I liked the pain, it distracted me from the numbing pain I felt earlier.

I watch in awe as I could see my jet black hair turn blonde. It was surprising and different, but seeing something so bizarre and so different, it made me feel better. As if a lifelong weight was lifted away.

I wash away the bleach and dry mead head, already happy with the progress i'm making.

I dig through the cabinets and find the pastel pink dye my mom was planning to use for a special occasion (what that occasion is, I will never know) and apply it to my semi-wet, fresh dyed blonde hair.

I let that set in and I was away the excess dye and dry my hair to reveal a whole new person.

"Hello, new Mark." I say as I stand back and stare into my own reflection. Hair freshly dyed pastel pink, like cotton candy atop my head.

This is it. This is the change I craved, a change of image.

Out with the old, in with the new.

I don't need plastic implants, I don't need bulging muscles, I don't need blonde hair to stand out.

No, I want something that makes me unique and different from others, and here it is. Dyed hair.

I look in the mirror and see someone I could learn to love. Someone who I know can be confident. Someone who is ready to stand up.

It's me.

I unlock the door to see my mom sitting there. She looks up and her eyes widen at my hair.

"MARK!"

"Sorry mom. I know you were saving it, but, I needed this." I say nervously, twiddling my fingers.

But shock soon turned into joy.

"My dear, you look lovely with pink hair! Did you cut it yourself? You look adorable." She brings me in for a hug. "My baby, I love love love you. Don't scare me like that ever again. You had me worried sick. I- I just didn't know what to do, but I just want you to know i'm always here to listen. You can tell me anything and everything, even if it's bad. I'll always have an open mind about it. Even about something like... this." She says as she ruffles my cotton candy curls.

I smile and begin to cry.

"No! No! No crying dear!" I laugh and look at my mom.

"These are tears of joy mom! Thank you. Thank you so much for always being here. I love you so much." I say as I begin to hug her more.

I've never felt this close to my mom ever before, it all felt so new to me, and I knew I never wanted this love to end. This was the only love that I needed.

I don't need a guy to make me happy, I have a loving and supporting mom.

What more could I ask for?

A/N: heeeeyyy. I'm back from the dead! And I kinda took that mini hiatus to kinda get my emotional and mental state back together... shit got a bit rough, but i'm better now! I'm on winter break for about another week and a half, which I will use wisely to write up a storm! thanks for sitting tight y'all. Love you!

~S❤