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"Wouldn't it be labelled as incest though?" Luisa asked me. I shrugged.

"I don't know, I mean we're not blood related...our parents just love each other." I replied. She bit into a slice of cucumber, then rubbed some more avocado scrub on her face.

"What's he like back home?" she asked.

"Eh, he's okay. Pain in the neck." I replied.

"No, I mean do you like him so much you want to pull his shirt off?" she asked. That was a tough question. Zach has so many sides of him: there's the jackass, the dumby, the player, and my (least) favorite, the sleaze-bag...but he's also got a sweet side to him that he doesn't like to show off. Would I ever think of him like that?


You know how when you were little, like four or five years old, and you thought your parents were perfect and nothing could ever break them apart? Well, I was one of those kids, and I also happened to be one of those kids who was very, very, very wrong.

When I was sixteen, I came home from school. My mom wasn't home, but my dad's car was parked outside, so I knew he was there. I went up to my parents room, expecting him to be there. I wanted to ask permission to go to my school's spring dance, which then would lead to my follow-up question for money to buy a dress. But when I went into the bedroom, I saw something I never thought I'd ever see as long as I may live.

My bed...with another woman.

She was younger, maybe in her early to mid twenties, and she had shiny red hair with orange tips. She had a tramp stamp on her lower back of angel wings, and a nose piercing. She was on top of my father, they were 'reaching', if you understand my drift. But my dad stopped her mid-way when he saw me at the door. I remember when the girl turned to me, she smiled, like she was happy to meet me. I wanted to smack that look off her face with a chair. 

When my dad saw me, he pushed the girl off her and got out of bed, coming towards me. He tried to explain to me what a terrible mistake this was, but I didn't want to hear it. I ran back downstairs and grabbed my dad's car keys, then drove all the way to my mom's work building. She was in her private office, scrolling through her computer, oblivious to everything around her; that is until I knocked on the door. 

She looked up at me, smiling as she was happy to see me. It broke my heart to tell her what I saw back at the house. Her smile faded as she picked up the phone and dialed a number. I only knew at first she called a man named Harry, and they talked about setting up an appointment for Wednesday at two. I didn't take rocket science to figure out she was talking to a divorce lawyer. From the way she spoke to him, I could tell they've had previous conversations about a divorce between her and my dad. All that I could think about from that day was the look on my mother's face when she told me to leave. Tears were welling up in her eyes and her breathing became uneven. She hated it when I watched her cry; she was a proud woman, and hated looking weak in front of me.

From that day on, I was my mother's best friend, and I was determined to never fall in love with anybody. Why? Because it always falls apart in the end. What's the point when of opening your heart, when someone breaks it anyway?

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