Simply, Simple.

The situation played again, and again in my head, his eyes engraved in my mind. It would be impossible to forget until the bruise I felt forming on my knee disappeared.

Finally arriving at my home destination, I take in the comfort of a familiar place. I have always been fond of the red bricks, and the bold navy nearly black door, with a large stained glass window in the center. Through the wide living room windows I could see my mother tittering around, fussing over her hair. I hold my breath ,and enter the space, hoping she doesn't notice my entry. But unfortunately, I am stopped before I could make it to my room.

"Olive, is that you?'' My mother calls sweetly from the kitchen.

"Yes Mom''. Making my way to the kitchen, not wanting to seem rude.

"Well, then' she says as she takes two wine glasses put from the cupboard, popping open a new french wine, 'how was school?''.

As she pours a glass for myself, I feel my cheeks burning, trying to forget the boy I managed to make a fool of myself in front of.
''Fine'' I reply in a small voice. She takes a look at my face, and pushes the glass to me. I take a greedy gulp, and sit quietly, finally having the silent peace of which I longed for all day. By the time I was only half done my glass, my mother was on her second. My Mother had let me drink under the condition it was only with her, and that I never spoke of what happened last year. The memory comes back, and turns my stomach. Guilt swells me up, yet again. I excuse myself politely and head to my room. I try to find comfort in the soft purple walls, of my room, but only manage to fall onto my bed, gripping the quilt my grandmother made me, thinking of the awful memory.

I had been coming home from school early that day due to a teacher's strike. Confusion struck me when I saw I car that wasn't are's in the drive way. The front door was locked, but fortunately I knew where the spare was hidden. As I entered, I noticed men's shoes, that were not my Father's. A sinking feeling entered my stomach as I made my way up the stair case. And when I opened the door to my parent's room, I saw exactly what I suspected, My mother in bed with some else than my father. She had screamed, jumped up slammed the door in my face. I could hear yelling on the other side of the door, but yet I just stood there, hoping that this was a nightmare. I had locked myself in my room, sprawled out on my bed singing Frankie Valli, hoping to feel something, anything, when she quietly knocked on my door. I had gotten up and opened the door, having no fight in me ,only numbness. I don't remember much after that, her telling me it would never happen again, that she loved my father. I had some how agreed to keep to this ''are little secret'', as she put it. After that she pretended nothing had happened, but every time I saw my Father, guilt would quickly wallow me up.

I snapped out of my faze, and glanced at my clock. The numbers read 6:02 in glowing red letters. I hadn't even noticed my room darken, as I was to fixated on my Mother's adultery. Speak of the devil, my Mother opened my door slowly, as though she was checking to see if I was asleep. She gave me a surprised look as she noticed I was awake.

''Dinner's on the table sweetheart'' and with that she headed back down stairs.

I figured there was no choice but to face my father, and not confess my moms dirtiest lie. My father, as well as my mother, were both seated at the table. I stopped in the doorway of the dining room looking intently at them. I knew I looked more like my father. I had his nearly black thick hair, and dark blue eyes. But I also had my mother's physical traits of natural red highlights, which she had now dyed blonde, and her pale milky skin. My grandmother told me I was as beautiful, and enchanting as Snow White her self, but the theory was buried, along with her body a long time ago.

My father looked up from his conversation with my mother, and motioned me to sit down. He was talking about his boss, Rick, who was supposedly making my father's life a living hell. Other than his boss, my father enjoyed his office job. He didn't feel the want to do anything wild, just provide for his family.

I had tuned out again, and I didn't notice my mother calling my name.

''Olive, Olive, Olive, OLIVE.'' She raised her voice at the last attempt to get my attention.

''Yes?'' I answered.

''You haven't touched your meal''.

I looked down at my plate to see she was correct. But heaven knows I was in no mood to eat right now.

''May I be excused?'' I asked as as sweetly as possible.

''I would like you to finish your food, you've been losing so much wei-'' she stopped mid sentence, realizing my eating habits were linked to her mistake last year. She snuck a glance at my father to see if caught on, but fortunately for her, he was to busy trying to rub out a wine stain on his shirt.

''You may go.'' She looked down at the table, guilt flooding her face.

I went up to my room and stopped in front of the mirror. I remember my mother saying ''you don't have the shape of Marilyn Monroe, but you do have hips to die for''. I had never been concerned about weight. I don't believe in the numbers I see on the scale, only what I see in the mirror. See. His eyes flood back into my mind. The sly grin making knots in my stomach. I lay on my bed and turn out the lights as I focus on the intriguing individual. I had only one question on my mind all night, who is he?