I've always had a feeling that I would die young. Ever since I started pondering on deaths door I've had this feeling. I could care less about the hell and heaven shenanigans, but death. I want it. The end of my life.
I want to be in my suit, in my...
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I slam my hands onto the kitchen island, along with my head as I beg for her to stop.
My mother stands on the other side, a kitchen cloth in her hand as she wipes the counters. "You're going." She says in a calm voice.
I groan again, falling to the ground and covering my face with my hands as I begin to fake cry. "But I don't want to." She chooses to ignore me and I hear the sound of the front door swinging open. I remove my hands from my face, watching my father walk into the house. His black bag strapped onto his shoulder, his shirt untucked and his shoes already half way off.
I immediately stand up, running over to him. "Dad, you can't make me go." I grab onto his shoulders. "It's Noah. It's your old patient. Remember?" I force a smile as he waves me away, walking over to the kitchen island where my mother is. "You can't make me go!" I cry out, falling to the ground once again.
I lay on the wooden floor like a child who's having a meltdown in the middle of the grocery store. My mother sighs deeply as she begins to speak to him. "See, she's been doing this all day. Cry, cry, cry."
I lift my head from the floor, glancing over to her as she complains about me. "Beta, why don't you want to go?" My dad asks me as he begins to boil the kettle.
I stop for a minute, thinking for a good excuse so that my dad will convince my mom to not force me to go.
Noah Aeron Duarte, what is wrong with you? He's the oldest, he's active, he gets good grades and plans on studying at a good college. He's not good looking, but my mom believes he's the most beautiful person. He's tall, but not muscular at all.
He comes from a good family and he has good money. There's something wrong with him, I can tell.
"He's a boy and boys ruin my energy." I sit up straight, waiting for my dad to reply. "Go get ready, he's going to be here in four hours." My mother shouts and I groan, dragging my feet up the stairs towards my sisters room. "And wear something nice!" My mother screams from the kitchen. I groan again, rolling my eyes and pushing open my sisters room without knocking.
My older sister, Rani is only four years older than me. They should get her married first. She's at marriage age. Rani already has a boy named Ali who she's engaged to. They should execute with the plan instead of forcing me to find a boy. Especially a white boy for gods sake.
I know that Indian's love pale skin, but I didn't know they would want me to marry a white boy.
Rani looks up at me from her phone, immediately reading my face. She knows exactly whats going on and begins laughing lightly. "What's the outfit?"
I drop my shoulders, walking over to her walk in closet. Swinging open the door, I search through the dozens of modest clothing, fancy clothing and casual everyday clothing until I find the plastic box we hide deep in the closet.
