bed bugs are never sexy.


He has bedbugs. After months of me insisting that those itches on his skin were simply an allergic reaction to something, I woke up coated in bites from the little suckers. I’m itchy and red and blotchy. I circled each bite before bed last night so I could make sure they weren’t in my own bed, sucking on my soft skin while I slept. I think I’m safe.

For some reason, finding myself covered in countless bites made me cry. I got frustrated and emotional and all I could do was whine and cry. He reached for the bottle of moisturizer and massaged it into my skin, trying his hardest to ease the suffering and discomfort. And he held me and my tears dried.

The next morning we cleaned everything. We vacuumed and changed sheets and beat mattresses and pillows. We sucked the buggers out of the seams of our sleeping surfaces. We covered everything with poisons for the pests. It felt good to be proactive, but I don’t think I can sleep there for awhile, until the bugs are gone. It’s a shame. I like waking up with him.

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