Disclaimer: ASP is my Hero – But I'm not her… so I will now tell you that I take no credit for any of the characters here (except those not mentioned in the TV series)

This chapter title is property of The Coors.

A/N: This fic, while slightly AU will be very realistic. I was fortunate in being able to do some charity work in Toronto, with the homeless, and met a number of drug dealers, and prostitutes. This fic will be generally quite accurate in its story line… and will follow a Go Ask Alice/Speak format.

Thanks to Sum41rocks, who is beta-ing for this fic. It's my first time writing a first person narrative, instead of third person narrative… and it's terrifyingly difficult, and well yes… that's it… please bare with me – and check out some of Sum41rocks' fics.

Rating: PG13 - R for content and mild language.

WARNING – This is not a fic to read if you are looking for Fuff or a light read. It is harsh, angsty, and will be very gruesome at times. For Mature audiences (viewer digression advised :P)

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Chapter 2: All in a Day

I woke up in my room. My head was pounding, and I was still wearing my clothes from the day before. I tried to rake my mind for the memories of the preceding night; Sam, Dean, Beer, and more Beer. Wow, I feel like I've lost IQ.

'How did I get into my room?' I wonder. It's possible that I made it here last night, but not very probable… I don't remember faring so well on the porch steps, let alone the steep ones leading to my room.

I decide it's probably best to go downstairs and find Mama… if I was lucky and didn't see her last night, then she'll expect me to be up and ready. If I'm not so lucky and she did… well lets just hope it didn't come to that.

Walking down the stairs, I noticed how quiet the house is. Normally there would be people looking around the shop, or at least Mama in the kitchen, cooking tofu for dinner.

"Mama," I call.

"Lane," I hear from the kitchen. Her voice is expressionless, I have no idea what to expect.

I walk around the corner, weaving through antiques towards the kitchen, where I heard her voice. She's sitting at one of the antique tables in our kitchen, holding a mug of tea; silently, staring at me.

"Mama," I say, knowing the script we follow well.

"Explain." She says. I already know she doesn't care what happened. Explain is just something she is required to say. It's something she always does –but it doesn't matter. I could say nothing right now, and she would continue on.

"I went to a party Mama – " I get out before she interrupts me.

"And had beer! I did not raise a daughter to go to parties where there are boys. At parties there is beer, there is kissing, there are drugs, and teenagers getting pregnant. Then pregnant teenagers dropout, and no Korean boy will marry a girl that has not finished school. What have I taught you Lane? I do this to protect you! You come home sick and throw up good Tofurky lunch. Why do you do this? I did not raise a girl like this!"

"No Mama!" I yell, getting lost in the words she spits at me. "You raised a girl that has secrets; a girl that has a CD collection hidden in her floor boards; a closet full of so called devil clothes. I sneak out, I kiss non-Koreans. I don't tell you anything because you don't listen."

"You kissed a non-Korean!" Mama yells. "Who? Who is this boy? Did he ask me to kiss you!"

"No Mama! He didn't ask because I told him you would say no!"

"Because he is not Korean!"

"Mama, do you hear this? Have you listened to anything you've said? How about I give you my life? We can sign a contract; you can manage it for me. I'll pass over the deeds, and a set of keys – You can run it for me. You can be me, Mama."

"I do not want to be you Lane. I want you to be safe. I want you to attend bible school, I want you to go to Christian university, and I do not want you going to parties and kissing non-Korean boys!" Mama yells. "Look now? This is not the girl I raised. Yelling, and talking back! This is what parties and kissing boys does!"

"Mama!"

"Go to your room! You are grounded. No phone, no friends, no school! I will call Reverend and he will do bible study at home, you will stay here until I get a discount ticket to Korea, and then you will go and stay with Aunt Jung. Now go!"

Huffing, I run up the stairs. Mama rarely ever loses her cool. I know what I did last night was wrong, but the hold Mama Kim has on me is so tight. I'm like a bar of soap – she's so strict that I can't do anything but try and break free. I can't stay here. I won't go to Korea.

I have to leave.

I run into my closet; and grab a duffle bag. Inside it, I stuff some skirts, jeans, a number of shirts and tank tops; clothes that I've bought just to look at. I grab my disc-man, and start to ponder what CDs I plan to take. My bag is pretty full as it is, and I have no idea what mood I'll be in. Getting an idea, I toss one of my Lava Lamps along with my Pink Coat, identical to the one Brandon Flowers wore on his recent Killers tour. Pulling the zipper shut, I open a second duffle bag.

I flipped up my floor boards, and began pulling out sections of CDs. Careful to keep them organized and stacked, I crammed most of my collection into the duffle bag. The remaining one I tossed into my purse, along with my wallet. Hiding my bags in my closet, I grabbed some scrap paper and started to jot down everything of importance I could think of.

My list started out with people who I'd have to write to, and by the end had turned into a poem about how angry I was at my situation.

"Lane," Mama Kim's voice came from behind my closed door. Quickly hiding the paper under my American History text book, I flipped it open as she entered my room.

"What are you doing?"

"Studying history Mama," I reply.

"Who are you studying?" She asked suspiciously

"Roosevelt," I reply easily.

"Roosevelt," she repeats. "Get changed for church."

"Yes Mama," I say quietly.

I pull out one of 'Mama Kim's approved dresses and quickly change into it. Walking downstairs, I make a mental note to pack my black halter mini-dress before leaving.

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"This is the word of the lord, Amen." The reverend concludes. I slowly stand up and follow Mama Kim out. Normally at this time I'd go to Rory's, but in my current situation, it looks like I'm not going to get a chance to say good-bye.

Dinner was quiet; not that dinner at the Kim house is typically thrilling, but the characteristic silence is all the more awkward. I move my food around my plate, losing myself in thought.

I'm not sure where I'm going to go. I heard it's nice in Toronto, but there's no way I could get across the Canadian boarder. Well that is unless I call myself a refugee… If they ever met Mama, I'm sure they'd agree. However I doubt they'd take the time to meet her.

I could go to Florida! It's so nice and warm there. I could lounge on the beach, and watch the waves wash up on the shore… and burn. Right, no sun… sensitive skin… Okay, so New York. I could do that. It's a big city, it'll –

"Lane!" a voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Eat your patty; made with soy – good for your heart."

"Yes Mama," I say. It's only now, sitting at this table that I realize how much I say those two words. Yes Mama. It's like I've been bread to be obedient. Have I ever had an opinion? What a stupid question. Of course I've had an opinion. I've just never expressed it.

"Mama, I don't feel like Tofu Patties today. I'm not very hungry. May I be excused?"

"To study?"

"Actually," I say, trying to pick the right words. "I'm feeling very tired. I think I'll go to bed early tonight."

"It's seven o'clock. How are you tired."

"I was praying very hard today in church." I lye.

"For good reason; kissing boys!"

"Yes Mama," I reply.

"Go sleep. Tomorrow you help me organize shop. Move all chairs to one side, and all tables to other. We'll have big sale on lamps. 30 off all customers who buy lamp with chair."

"Yes Mama," I echo, silently counting three.

"Then go to sleep. But remember your prayers – prayers in church today not enough for the whole night. Jesus does not listen to the silent."

"Yes Mama," Four.

"Then you may go."

"Yes Mama," I reply, as I start to walk back upstairs. Five.

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My alarm clock flashes 3am. I slowly slip out from under my covers. Grabbing my bags, I prop open the window, and toss them outside. Taking three deep breaths, I grab my wallet, all the money I have, and slip quietly out the window.

All that's left of me is what remains in my closet, which I've left open, and a white envelope on my desk.

I silently make my way to the bus stop. Using half of my money for my ticket, I quietly sit on the bench, waiting for the 3:30 bus to New York.

All in a day, she saw the face in the mirror lie. To her dismay, she saw the child that was in
her die. And she cried... overnight. 'Cos what she sees... she doesn't like.
I'm twisting; I'm turning; I'm aching; and it's burning in one day...

As the bus pulls up in front of me, I take one last look around. Everything's silent; Miss Patty's dance studio is locked up, Luke's is closed, Doose's Market is empty.

"Goodbye," I whisper, and slowly carry my bags up the bus steps.

Picking a window seat near the back, I watch as the bus pulls away from Stars Hallow. Wiping a tear from the side of my face, I lay down on my bags trying to get some sleep before facing New York.

My eyes never closed, and before I knew it – I had arrived.