No sign of blood. Not on the sheets or the mattress. Maybe in Sammy’s room? Or Mom’s? Piper’s? They could be anywhere. Everywhere. An infestation!
FACT: Bedbug eggs may be difficult to see with the naked eye since they are about the size of a grain of sand. Look for grain-sized eggs that are milky in color.
Downstairs, I hear Sammy on the phone.
“You have to come home! She’s having one of her episodes again.”
No, Mom. Don’t come home. Stay away, we’re infected. I’m infected. The linens, we need to wash all of them on the hottest setting, no, no, we need to boil water, steam clean, I think I brought our old one with us . . . wait, our old one? What if we brought bedbugs from Cali? What if they’ve been with us all this time?
FACT: Bedbugs can go without feeding for twenty to four hundred days, depending on temperature and humidity.
Bedbugs bedbugs bedbugs they’ll follow us everywhere!
Piper hovers in her doorway, watching me.
“Piper! Strip your bed,” I cry, throat dry. “We have bedbugs!”
Piper doesn’t move. Just stands there with a smug smile painted on her face. As if we aren’t under attack by mini demons; we’ll never get rid of them. Never ever ever ever ever! They’re multiplying, living in the walls, in the sockets, the carpet . . . on our clothes. I check over my body, every nook and crevice, in search of a bite. Nothing, nothing. But the eggs are there, in my arm hairs, invisible, microscopic. I knew it! I knew they were here! I knew it!
Shower. I scrub my skin with a new loofah. Hot water, soap . . . and rubbing alcohol. I jump out, slipping on the wet tile. Can’t use the towel, might have bedbugs. Heat. Must use heat. Heat will get rid of them. I plug in my hair dryer, turn it on high, and blow-dry all my arm hair and leg hair. My skin is red and blotchy. Is that from the bedbugs or the hair dryer? Do I need another shower? More alcohol it stings, it burns, it stings, it burns. I have no clothes all of them covered in bedbugs they’re everywhere, everywhere!
Downstairs, the front door slams.
“Sammy,” Mom calls. “Where is she?”
“Mom!” I scream, running downstairs. “Mom! We have bedbugs again! I found them in the sofa.”
Sammy covers his eyes as Mom grabs a blanket out of the living room.
“Marigold, my God,” she shrieks, wrapping the blanket around me. My skin engulfs in flames.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” I scream, shoving her off me, hard.
Mom crashes into the wall behind her, dropping her purse in shock. “Marigold!”
“I didn’t wash that! It could have bedbugs!”
“You can’t stand here naked!”
“Mom, you’re not listening!” I scream through choked sobs, face sweaty, skin burning. “We have to call the exterminator. We need to book hotel rooms so they can do smoke bombs. We need to smoke them out!”
Everything itches. The scalp under my wet hair, my legs, my stomach, my arms my arms my arms they’re everywhere oh my God please please please . . .
“I—I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!” I gasp. “I can’t . . . can’t.”
Mom’s eyes flare as she scoops me up under my arms. “Sam, grab her inhaler! Come on, baby, come on outside with me.”
Mom gathers the blanket and gently leads me out to the back veranda. The chilly air on my wet skin is a slap to the face.
“Come on baby, breathe,” she instructs, slow and steady. “That’s it, just breathe.”
The patio furniture is covered in leaves that crunch under our butts. Mom rubs my back.
“Mom, we . . . we have to . . .” But I can’t finish a single sentence. The building sitting on my chest weighs a million pounds.
“Marigold,” Mom whispers, cupping my face. “Marigold, you need to relax, baby.”
Sammy runs out to join us with Buddy on his tail. He passes me my inhaler and a bottle of water. Mom digs into her purse, taking out her medicine pouch. After about forty-five minutes of deep inhales and exhales, I could feel my heart rate start to slow by a fraction.
“Now in just a few, we’re going to go inside and I’m going to show you what you saw.”
“No,” I whimper. “No, please, Mom! I can’t. We need to go.”
Mom smiles at Sammy. “But your brother has done all this work to make sure you’re safe. Why don’t you come see?”
Inside, the cushions and pillows are laid out on the floor like a giant thick rug. Mom tries to lead me over and I resist.
“No no no no no . . . wait, please!”
“Look, Marigold,” Mom insists, turning on her phone’s flashlight. “Look at their color, at their shape. It’s not bedbugs, baby. Sammy’s right, it’s coffee grinds.”
I blink and blink again.
“Coffee?” I parrot, as if I’ve never heard of the word before.
Mom talks to me calm and rationally, even places a few specks in my hand to examine. I sniff, recognize her morning rain forest brew. Not bedbugs. Just coffee. Tears spring up as I glance at Sam.
“I’m . . . sorry,” I mumble with a shiver, clutching the blanket to my chest, painfully aware I’m naked underneath. How many times am I going to scar his childhood?
“It’s all right, baby. I would’ve freaked out too,” Mom says, holding me.
Shame swallows me up. I can’t believe I shoved my mom. First, I made her have to move because of my addiction, because of my anxiety, and now I’m physically abusing her, when she’s already done so much for me. Is this rock bottom? This has to be.
“We’ve been through a lot with those stupid bugs, haven’t we,” she says with a tender smile, wiping my tears. “They definitely left their mark.”
Sammy brushes the sofa with a perplexed scowl. “How did coffee grinds . . . get in the couch?”
Mom shrugs. “I don’t know. Guess maybe some spilled out when I took out the compost.”
“Yeah, but in the sofa? It’s almost like someone stuffed them down there.”
She sighs. “I don’t know, guys. But . . . it was an accident. Everything’s fine now, right?”
I look over my shoulder at Sammy, his eyebrow cocking up, and know we’re both thinking the same thing.
Piper.
Mom kisses my forehead. “I’m going to make you a cup of chamomile tea, draw you a nice oatmeal bath, and give you some melatonin so you can get a good night’s sleep. That’ll help you relax.”
Resolve comes slipping back into my bloodstream, because there’s only one thing I know that’ll really help me relax.
Yusef is all smiles in the hallway by his locker, holding up a doughnut.
“Cali—”
“Not now,” I grumble, blowing right past him.
I didn’t change my clothes, brush my teeth, or do my hair. I rolled out of bed, grabbed my book bag, and took off for school in my pajama pants and Ugg slippers. I’m on a mission: trying to catch Erika before homeroom. I need some bud. I need to smoke a bong the size of my head.
My stomach cramps up. Did I take my pill yesterday? Or today? No more alarms on my phone. Too freaked out. My hands are shaking, sweat dripping down my face. Haven’t been this bad since . . . I don’t even know when. But if I don’t find some bud soon I’m going to need something stronger. And I swore to myself . . . never again. I said the words in rehab, and I meant them. I know no one believes me and I don’t want to give them a reason to be right. All I know is that Piper did this to me. She knew my greatest weakness and used it against me in the cruelest way possible. Don’t know how I’m going to get her back, but I know I will.