Pain

Chapter 1

A/N: If anyone of you copy from the previous comments- I WILL KNOW! Because this book is completely changed and the previous comments won't make sense now.

It all started so fast; I didn't have time to comprehend. 'Was this my life now?', I wondered sometimes. It was almost like a dream; a really fast one. It was my time for marriage, time for me to grow up. I had to move on from my past, but was I ready to? I didn't have much of a choice. I had to move on. Before I tell you what happened, let me first tell you about me; about my past.

"Ashley," my mother called aloud.

"Coming!" I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. Walking out of my room, I was met with the sound of clinging of spoons and dishes; a typical morning at the McAllen's.

"Good morning," my mother greeted me, as I walked down the stairs. I acknowledged her presence with a simple nod and sat down at the breakfast table. "All ready for school, honey?" she asked again in a desperate attempt to make conversation. I never understood why she called me 'honey'. Honey meant a sweet, sticky yellowish-brown fluid made by bees and other insects from nectar collected from flowers. Now being called a sweet, sticky yellowish-brown fluid did not appeal to me at all.

I ran my hands through my messy brown hair and looked at my mom, a splitting image of me with matching brown hair and hazel eyes. "All ready," I said, not even a bit enthusiastic.

School had always been and always will be like a prison for students; a prison for me. What's the need to learn 'what is (x - 3)(x - 4) = 0'? When the mathematic teacher asks us to find 'x', I fight the urge to tell him that I am sick and tired of finding his 'x'; just accept the fact that she's gone. Of course, I never had the courage to tell him this. What I ended up muttering to myself was that it's not like we would be using it in our daily life, ever.

The sound of my father entering the dining room distracted me from my thoughts. He sat down across me as if no one else was in here. I looked at him and thanked God everyday I didn't look like him. I was not that good looking, but I was definitely presentable. If I inherited my looks from my father, they would have locked me in a zoo with bald hair and saggy skin. The thought brought shrills to me. My whole family had brown hair but his started to grow grey roots. He was fat and hardly ever smiled.

Growing up in New York, my life had been pretty simple. I wasn't exactly a nerd but I wasn't the girl to have fun with either. I tried my best to be at the top, to get straight A's, but like always, I was the second best. I didn't envy anyone who passed my achievement level. It just made me want to try harder. Sometimes trying was all I can do.

My parents never discouraged me. But I can't say that they ever encouraged me either. For them, life was all about family, work, children, and money. Love was never part of the equation. They had an arranged marriage. I knew that they loved each other very much, but they never displayed their affections.

My mother served my father his breakfast, "Syrup?" she asked him. He nodded and she poured the sweet maple syrup over the pancakes.

I found myself unable to understand their relationship. They hardly talk to each other; not in front of me at least. My mother served as a house maid to him and I often wondered how I was born; not the process of course.

They would not kiss in public, or at home. In private, it was a different story. Or I wouldn't have been born. But sometimes I wondered if they really did love each other at all, since I was an only child. Still, I imagined that I could see love in their eyes. Through struggles and hardship, they were always there for each other, no matter what. Maybe that's what love was.

It was like their life goal was to educate me, to earn money for living, get a better lifestyle, get me married, get grandchildren, and die old and cozy in their beds. It was like their lives were planned. It had no excitement. It was very dull and boring, well at least to me.

That's why I decided, whatever happened or will happen, I will never consent to an arranged marriage. My parents could decide which school I went to. They could decide who my friends were and who my enemies were. They could decide what I wore and what I ate. But one thing that I will never let them choose is who I marry. I knew that one day, maybe when I was 19 and done with school, they would start looking for possible alliances. They were very old fashioned and didn't believed in dating and getting married to the one you love. They thought that marriage was the foundation and you were suppose to fall in love with your husband. I knew this would not work with me. I also knew they would find me a guy tall and handsome, rich and kind, someone who can keep me settled and happy. But I guess they will never know, that no matter how settled you were, no matter how happy money can make you, without love everything just would feel incomplete.

I tried to make friends as much as I could, but somehow I only ended up with one friend wherever I went. I guess that was alright compared to being alone. I didn't look as good as the other girls; maybe that's why no one liked me. I remembered reading off of my mother's magazine 'Looks are not everything. A personality is what makes you human'. So were they not human if they had no personality? Looks may not be everything, but I had to admit that they were something.

Not having many friends to interact with, I was focused on my studies. But I wasn't exactly one hundred percent concentrated back then. I did have the crush of my life, from junior high all the way to high school. He was what people would say 'so out of my league'. I thought I would end up marrying him, and have kids as cute as him. I didn't know that the world ran on money, like a car ran on fuel. My whole world revolved around falling crazily and madly in love, with someone, with anyone.

Hey, just because I was desperate to find love doesn't mean that I was some sort of pervert OK? I was just like any girl, except maybe I dreamt a little too much.

Like I already said, my life was pretty simple. Wake up in the morning, breakfast, school, cafeteria lunch with friends or more like my friend, bus, home, homework, TV, dinner, chores and bed. Then the cycle would all start again. I guess I had become so accustomed to this routine, I was secretly afraid of any changes. I liked being comfortable and I was comfortable exactly the way I was.

Once my father was done, he got up, not even bothering to clean up after himself. My mother never seemed to complain either. "Can you clean up?" my mother asked me. It was not a question, but more of a demand. I picked up my dishes and their's as well, dropping it in the sink.

We were accustomed to this; this routine. I don't blame them for this though. My great grandmother was from an Asian heritage. She married my great grandfather who was American. From then on, our family had been following the cultures of Asians even though we looked like normal Americans.

I waited outside for my father to join me. I tapped my feet on the pavement while standing in front of my father's car. I was waiting for more than 5 minutes and he was testing my patience. Just as I decided to walk to school considering it wasn't a far walk, my father made his grand exit. I sighed in relief and got into the car as he unlocked it.

The drive was quite as usual. He kept his eyes on the road and I kept mine outside the window. He parked the car outside the school and as I unbuckled my seatbelt, I heard a group of laughter. I looked up to a see a crowd of students, mostly boys, laughing at an inside joke. One of them looked towards the car and I recognised him from my class. He gave me a smile which I ignored; but not my father.

"Who is he?" he questioned, keeping his eyes locked on them. I shrugged and opened the car door. "There is no reason for him to smile at you. Who is he? Is he your boyfriend?" he asked, his voice rising with each question.

"Relax," I said casually. This was not something new. It happened from time to time, with the same questions. "I don't know who he is," I told him getting out of the car. He looked at me and his eyes held the slightest doubt, but he nodded and I slammed the car door shut. Fathers.