Dancing With The Stars *Narry AU FanFic *Transgender!Niall

26 - Truth

My stomach was churning as the hair dresser started to cut my hair. I didn't give them an exact length as to what I wanted them to cut it, which I'm sure caused some confusion among them. I'm in the hands of them now, and I'm hoping they turn it into something that I will hate.

When they make the first cut, I nearly jerk away from the sight in my peripherals. A long section of my hair drops to the floor, and it seems almost as if they cut it off all the way up to the top of my ear.

The rest of the time in that chair was spent with me trying to catch any glimpse into the mirror to try and see myself. I'm so terrified that I'm going to completely regret this. I already regret doing it, but having a hair style that's even worse than I was expecting would completely ruin me. It took me so long to grow my hair out as long as it was, to a length that I was happy with but was also something that I could control.

When I was finally given a chance to look into the mirror, it was almost as if I was looking at my young self, looking in the mirror after I just re-dyed my hair blonde, and my brother is telling me that I would be a very pretty girl. That memory means so much to me. It's almost as if Greg knew there was something about me, as if he realized who I was before I even considered it. He put the idea in my head, and it's just spiraled from there.

It took me about an hour to walk home. The barber shop wasn't too far from my parents' house, but I decided to take my time on the way home. Many people had walked by me on the sidewalk. Some of them greeted me when I would glance at them, some of them would smile, and some of them would just walk by. I kept my head slightly tilted down; there didn't seem to be a reason as to why. I know that no one in this town probably remembers me, and, if they do, they'd be seeing the me that they all thought I was, and probably still expect me to be.

I finally did return home just as it was getting dark, meaning that my parents probably already have supper cooked and possibly already on the table. If there's one thing I remember from when I was younger, it was that my mother always had supper ready by 5 or 6, just in time for when my father would return home from work. We ate pretty early, and were expected to go to bed pretty early as well. As I'm thinking about it, I can't help but notice that I never really did experience what it was like to not have a "bed time" until after I left. My parents were pretty strict when it came to the night, even when Greg and I were teenagers. If my memory is correct, I'm pretty sure Greg wasn't granted an actual curfew until he was 15 or 16. By the time I was that age, I had already made a plan to leave Ireland to get away from my unaccepting parents. A bed-time was the least of my worries.

"Niall, you've returned! It's a bit late, where have you--" My mother cuts herself off when she sees me standing just past the threshold. Her eyes are locked just above my eyebrows, obviously gawking at my new hair cut. The hair dresser had put it up into a flimsy quiff, something that definitely would have down into a fringe if I ran my fingers through it. "Oh."

I stay silent for a moment, removing my shoes at the door and hanging my hoodie over my arm. "I'm not too hungry, so I don't think I will be eating with you guys, if you haven't already. I'll be down later to make myself a plate."

She glances back down and catches eye contact with me, a smile forming on her lips. "Don't worry, dear, we have already made a plate up for you. We were expecting you home earlier, but I now understand why you didn't return sooner." My mother comes closer and reaches up towards my hair, trying to touch it. I'm a considerable bit taller than she is, but not enough to where I'd have to alter my position for her to reach my head. When her fingers finally do comb through my hair - destroying the quiff and causing most of my hair to fall down just above my eyes - it feels strange. I haven't felt someone touch my head like this since before I left. Whenever Harry messed with my hair, he would comb from the back of my head and down to the ends. Now, since my hair doesn't even cover my neck anymore, someone has to touch the very top of my head to mess with it. It doesn't matter now, I can't go back and change what I've done.