It’s three in the morning and I’ve woken up with bites all over my arm. Again. The bites are near the veins, this time, by my inner elbow.
How come you don’t have bi –
My partner doesn’t have bites. Why not? Why am I, alone, being targeted?
Someone do something!
I’ve discovered that my legs have also been bitten. How did the biting thing get into my pyjama bottoms? Is it still there?
I’m so itchy.
I’m so tired.
No I won’t put my –
I’m not putting my clothes back on. It might be hiding inside of them.
What if it’s a flesh eating scarab, but, like, it’s only a baby flesh eating scarab at the moment, so all it can do is suck my blood, like a human baby sucks up milk? And. And what about when it gets bigger and toothier? What then?
I’ve stripped the bedding and I’m washing it.
What are you looking at? Wha –
My partner is upset about being kept up and has stopped talking to me. Well, I’m going to hide the car keys in the freezer. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.
It’s morning. I’ve woken up naked on the kitchen floor. I can feel the bites, still, but I can’t see them anymore.
A hot shower helps to ease the itchiness.
The car is gone. Guess they found the freezer keys. Clever bastard.
My partner, not the baby scarab.
I call in sick and stay home so I can spend the day vacuuming the mattress and examining cracks in the headboard for clues. I find neither scarab eggs nor scarab nests.
Maybe I’m wrong about it being a scarab.
The internet says it could be a bed bug, and it could have entered the home in the luggage of somebody who’s stayed in a hotel recently. This doesn’t make any sense because I’ve not stayed in any hote –
Yeah, I know you’re at work. Have you been to any ho-
My partner hasn’t been to any hotels.
Probably having an affair. Sneaky bastard.
Evening comes and bed time comes and the bugs will surely come, for me and for only me. I am afraid.
I’m going to sleep on the –
The couch is smaller than I thought it was. My back hurts. But at least I don’t have to worry about being bitten here.
Peace, at last.
It’s three in the morning and I’ve woken up with bites all over my arm. Again. The bites run in a straight line along my underarm.
How did they find me?
Help me. Stop sleeping. Help me! Stop slee –
It’s no use. I’m in this on my own.
Or am I?
I sit on the kitchen counter and wait for the sun to rise. When it comes, I leave home and head to my parents. Unlike my partner, they’ll know what to do.
The walk seems to take hours. I feel like I’m being watched – being watched by omniscient, hungry bugs.
I know you can’t see the bites but –
My parents give me some old bug bite cream from their first aid kit.
I rub great amounts of it all over my arms, only somewhat remembering where the bites actually were.
I begin to consider the possibility that I’m hallucinating.
No. That’s what the bugs want me to think.
I’m going to get some rest.
I lay down on my parents’ bed, ready to finally catch some sleep without fear of being bitten, and shut my eyes. The bedding beneath me is soft and comfortable. It smells…recently washed.
Why would the bedding have been recently washed?
Bugs?! Here too?!
No. No! Nooooo!