I know I had committed a crime.

            “Isla!” my stepfather hollers from downstairs the second time in a row. I look down at my toes. I want to respond yet my lips remain pursed. “I’m not going repeat myself! Another strike and your monthly allowance goes out the window”, he warns. My eyes grow wide. No monthly allowance means homemade meals for the rest of the month. I can’t manage that lifestyle, especially bearing of how sloppy of a chef I am. Instant sausages do come with inedible plastic wrappers. It still bewilders me today how I’d failed to notice the fact and once flung a pack of sausages into the hot fryer with their wrappers on.

            I’m in knowledge of what I’d done. I had deliberately served injustice, and for the past week, my wrongdoing has clung to my mind—a place formerly filled with peace. It’s difficult to come to terms with myself and the crime I’ve committed. Certainly, dishing out an annual expense of sixteen thousand dollars on mere tuition, my parents do not anticipate ill-behavior. It’s about time I commit to the crime.

            “I’m coming!” I shout, as I briefly compose myself before sprinting downstairs. My parents are already seated on the kitchen stools across of me, their bodies tilted in my direction. With statures as composed as a rock, their chins are held high. Glares are shot at me, glares more acute than a pencil tip. Faced against me is our living room couch, red in color like the dread in my blood. I can already tell just then of how this isn’t going to be brief.

            “Have a seat, darling” Mother suggests, indicating at the couch. I oblige.

            Dennis, my stepfather of two years, clears his throat, “Your principal called”. I had expected. “Care to explain to us what you had done?”

            “Hadn’t school authorities informed you?”  I ask.

            “We want to hear you speak it, Isla. What have you done?” Mother stresses, her eyes as wide as a jawbreaker. It’s apparent she does not look forth to wasting time.

            Hence, I give in, “I cheated on a midterm, and it was deliberate”. Guilt overtakes me. I stare down at my lap and clenched fists. For every exam, takers who score within the lowest 10% are assigned a specific project and given negative marks on their reports. Having succeeded the filter immorally, I had nudged a fellow student into the bottom ten percent—a spot I should’ve readily embraced instead. I can feel the debris on my hands, filling the gaps in between my fingers and forming lumps in my nails. It can only be felt, not seen, serving as a representation of shame. Shame on me, I murmur faintly to myself.

            “What was that?” It appears that Dennis has heard. “Right, shame on you”, Dennis says, following an uneasy chuckle, perceivably tinted in grave disapproval.

            “Do clarify” mother urges, crossing her arms over her chest.

            I draw in a lungful of air before puffing out a long sigh. “I had a lot in mind. I’d been badly scarred by a certain someone I truly cared for. That resulted in me veering off my tracks of studies. A cheat sheet was the only solution that seemed viable to me then and the least intricate among every other, for that matter.” I imply. My reasoning isn’t an utter lie, but it’s not the truth at its whole either.

            “Another boy, it seems!” Dennis exclaims, following a chuckle that comes off too pleasant, it becomes perceivably artificial. I figure he’s irked, possibly growing more so every second. “What is with you and all your ridiculous flings these days?” He’s turned hot pink by now. It comes off to me a little amusing that he’s completely clueless he’s the person in subject—neither a boy nor an amateur fling. Dennis is the source of all problems, and he hasn’t a clue of what I’d witnessed of him. Just then, a recollection of last week’s memories flashes through my head. It was a stormy Friday night.

            ‘Yes, she’s asleep’ a faint gruff voice mutters, awaking me from my slumber.

            ‘Do you propose it’s safe? You haven’t seen enough of her face to be able to presume that, Dennis. Try check under the covers,’ suggested a hushed female voice. My doubts have been confirmed. It is they—father and his mistress.

            ‘That’ll startle her. You needn’t fret too much, Charlotte. Worry will age you.’ He assures her. It appears that the devil does have a name—Charlotte, it seems. I fathom I shall refer to her as The Devil Charlotte hereafter, it suits her better. Mother had fled Jakarta to visit her relatives, and in her absence, The Devil Charlotte took it upon herself to swap for her position.

             In seconds, I hear the knob churn and the door of my room gently shut. I slowly lift the covers off of me as I eavesdrop on their trudges against the carpet. I intend to keep an eye on them this time, as I may not be granted the same opportunity any other time. I steadily pick myself up from bed and set my feet on the ground. Then I begin pacing forward one foot at a time. The moment I hear the door to the master bedroom shut, I know it was time. Without hesitation, I seize a quick dash out. Holding my breath, I tiptoe down the flight of stairs before ultimately making it to the other side of father’s door.

            My heart sinks. Curiosity is telling me to persevere, but fear is telling me otherwise and it’s tolling upon me. I can already hear her muffled giggles from the other side. It’s hard to pretend not to understand what is happening, but understanding will only salt the wound. Drawing in a lungful worth of air, I descend to my knees and press my ears against the keyhole, attempting to eavesdrop.

            ‘I’m glad fate harmonized the both of us.’ Charlotte utters, fiddling with Dennis’s clutter of white hair. ‘I can’t think of any better hideout with any better man.’ She adds, in a faint whisper this time.

            ‘I can’t agree more, love.’ He appeases.

            ‘I wonder if you and I will ever be official’ she murmurs to him, pecking him on the side of his lips. ‘How much do you will to sacrifice for that?’ I can envision her on the other side of this door, looking at him coquettishly and batting her eyelashes. It’s hilarious how much endearing she opines she is when all she actually is in this world is a narcissistic social-climber, hungry of men and their bank accounts. It’s even more hilarious how Dennis fails to recognize that. Her looks are her only weapon, yet it has taken her far.

            ‘Much, you needn’t even ask’ he states, inducing a chuckle from the woman. ‘I just wish we had of met two years ago…’ He whispers, playing along. Right then, I feel a puncture in my heart. It’s evident how he was hinting on the time of his engagement with mother. The simple thought of it thrusts a knife in my heart. That was it. That was the bottom line. I can’t feed on the lies and secrets any more or I’ll wind up a spinster.

            I thought that understanding would have provided me with the closure I so desperately yearned for, yet I was too quick to assume. It did not take long for me to realize I was wrong. This is a mistake.

            “Isla!” Mother snaps, hauling me back to conscience. “Your father was asking you a question!” She proceeds.

            “I apologize. Yes, it was a boy I so foolishly fell for.” I imply, stuttering the more I near the end of my lie. Dennis doesn’t know what I know, and he ought not to know. It’s a labyrinth set upon my hands. A single misstep of mine may divert the fate of this household. Mother is a housewife, essentially reliant on her regular allowance. She can’t afford to lose Dennis, as if she were to, she’d lose all financial backing. She and I would be left without anything, if so. I did not want to lie, yet I am impelled to—for the good of us.