Skin Care

With soft, circular motions, I rubbed my moisturizer into my skin before applying my sunscreen. Jordan’s mother's most important step – or I could only assume it was. I had never met her in person, not even after a year and a half of Jordan and I dating, but she did her fair share of telling me over Facebook and Instagram.

“Your skin is so nice! Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

“It’s hot out today! Don't forget the sunscreen.”

Even over the phone, every single Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, she would cheerily remind me.

“Daisy, don’t forget the sunscreen!”

She seemed nice enough, from what I could gather. I just wished I knew more about her or had even seen a picture, but Jordan kept his relationship with his mom very tight, almost secretive. Even her profile pictures on his phone weren’t pictures of her; they were all endearing photos of butterflies or ladybugs.

‘Maybe things will change tonight. Maybe things will finally make sense,’ I thought, whipping my purse over my shoulder before rushing out the door, heading to the location Jordan had sent me this morning: his mother's house.

On the ride over, I anxiously rehearsed conversations with her.

“Hello, it’s so nice to meet you. Wow, you’re beautiful.”

I pictured a cheery response and a warm hug, playing the moment over and over in my head until I convinced myself that things would go smoothly.

I took a deep breath before getting out of my car and approaching Jordan’s mother's front door. Her front yard was littered with native wildflowers, weeds, and wildly overgrown bushes. I held my breath as dozens of little gnats and mosquitoes buzzed around my head, swatting them away before ringing the doorbell.

Nervously I stood, my palms calmly and extra sticky with the added layer of moisture. As I swayed on my toes, I could hear the clutter of locks clicking and clacking as they were unlatched. If I had to guess, there were at least five. As the door opened all my lines from rehearsal erased themselves from memory and my throat swelled as his mother answered the door.

She was tall, obnoxiously tall, with tattered and matted blond hair that stood on her head in several directions like a lion's mane. Her eyes were sunken in as if she had lost years of sleep. They were irritated and bloodshot. Her milky blue eyes made it look as though she was blind. What got me, though, were the scabs. She was covered head to toe with scabbed-over gashes, some deeper than others, and some were still bleeding.

Unintentionally, I jumped and then stuttered.”Oh! Hi-uhh, Judy.”

The words came out somewhat slurred. I felt bad; disrespectful. I was just shocked. My heart raced, and I couldn't help but feel like I had messed it all up. Then Jordan appeared from behind her with his kind and assuring gentle smile. He gestured toward me while holding his mom's shoulder.

“Mommy, this is Daisy. Daisy, this is Mommy.”

A slight laugh fell from my lips before handing out my hand for a shake. ‘Mommy.’ I had almost forgotten about that. He always referred to her as “Mommy.” At first, I had found it odd but endearing. Over time, I found it irritating. But now? Why would he call her that now?

She smiled and shook my hand, inviting me inside. All of me wanted to leave. I wanted to call it off or ask if they would prefer to go to a nearby restaurant. It was too late though. Jordan had already wrapped his arm around me, pulling me inside.

I did my best to not cup my hand over my nose; the house smelled strongly of musk and possibly mold. She led the way to the kitchen where a small dining table sat under a dim, flickering light. I forced myself to smile as I sat down in front of an empty plate and a single silver tin filled with a soggy, brown, lumpy loaf covered with bright red ketchup smothered in a thick layer on top: meatloaf.

I was a vegetarian. Jordan knew this. Why would he be here and let his mother cook a meal he knew I wouldn't be able to eat? My eyes scanned the table. That was it. No sides, no bread, not even a glass of water. With a weary smile, I looked up at Jordan, hoping he would say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled as his mother pulled out a long, sharp knife, and with shaky hands, began leaning over the table. She sliced into the meatloaf several times in uneven slices, cutting through the tin and making small marks on the wood table. Once she was done, she dropped the knife, flinging small crumbs over the table.

She then proceeded to dig her hands into the mutilated tin and pulled up a piece with her fingers. I watched as the light pink center fell out in chunks and ketchup smeared over her fingertips. Hunks of meat fell onto the table as she dropped a piece onto my plate. I stared in horror down at the sloppy mess splattered against the plate. It was still raw. I stared at Jordan, desperate for him to say something, practically begging with my eyes. Instead, he smiled.

“Thank you, Mommy,” he said as she dropped another half-cooked moist piece of meat onto his plate with her bare hands.

It was then I had to excuse myself.

“I’m sorry, could I use your bathroom? I’m just not feeling too well.”

She nodded. “Of course dear, just go down the hallway over there and it’s on the right.”

I nodded back and stood from my seat, noticing now that there weren't even forks on the table. I followed the direction of her finger where she pointed, stepping over boxes and small piles of trash.

“What the hell,” I whispered to myself before pushing open the bathroom door. The white tile floor was stained with yellow spots surrounding the toilet and wet, dark brown footprints. My skin crawled, and I felt dirty and honestly afraid. I tried to take deep breaths, but the smell was so pungent I couldn't inhale without my stomach contracting and almost vomiting.

I pulled out my phone and sent Jordan a single text. “I'm leaving.”

Frantically, I pulled my keys from my purse to have them in hand so there would be no hesitation. From there it was just a matter of getting out and refusing to get caught up in a conversation. I turned to face the bathroom door. My hands shook as I reached for the handle. I could hear heavy breaths on the other side.

“I can do this,” I whispered, forcing myself to grab the rusted knob.

I pulled open the door only to be face to face with Jordan's mother's cupped hands. She held them out to me, still breathing heavily. My throat grew tight and I gasped, holding back a sob. Her hands shook, covered in blood, holding hundreds of peeled and dried scabs from her face and body. I stepped back, lifting the pointed end of my keys up at her. My eyes watered as I watched her face drip with tiny streaks and pools of blood that she dug out of her face. She shoved her hands toward me again.

“Do you see them? Do you see the bugs?” She asked. A drop of blood from her hands dripped on the bathroom floor.

Tears now streaming down my face, I yelled, “No! Let me leave!”

She shoved her hands toward me for a third time. “The bugs. They like nice skin. It keeps them full.”

This time her hands were close enough to my face: they touched me. I could feel the blood smear from the jagged tips of her nails onto my chin. I let out a croaked scream. “I need to leave!”

I centered myself and crouched. I never thought I would have to push down an old lady, but I feared this was life or death.

I pushed forward, jamming my shoulder into her ribs and sending her into the hallway wall. Jordan ran from around the corner. “Mommy!” he yelled, rushing to her side.

I ran past him waving my keys as a threat if he came too close. I rushed to the door, frantically attempting to unlock the five extra door locks. I struggled with the fourth lock down, just before the door handle, and I could hear Jordan coming around the corner.

I screamed, feeling the tears in my throat. My hands began to fumble and I started to panic.

“No! No, no,” I said to myself before I finally managed to open the door.

I threw myself to the outside world, bursting through a swarm of bugs running to my car. I swung open my door, accidentally hitting Jordan's car. As I started my vehicle, I watched him run out of the house, slamming his hands on my hood. My tires screeched as I reversed from the driveway. My limbs shook as I drove away, unable to stop myself from crying.

That night, I took a shower, attempting to wash off every inch of that house, any trace of blood she may have left on my body. As the water ran down my face and body, my skin prickled, and I rubbed my hands down deep into my skin, frantically scratching. Every drop felt like tiny bugs crawling over me; all of me.

I had to get out before I started to sob again. So I wrapped myself in a towel and made my way to the kitchen. For the first time in two years, I cracked open a bottle of vodka. I was saving it for a special moment, but I felt like this might be the only thing that would help take my mind off the bugs.

One shot turned into four, and I could finally not feel them. ‘It must have just been the water,’ I thought, staggering to my bedroom and plopping naked into my silk sheets. I could finally leave that nightmare behind me. My eyes grew heavy and before I knew it, I drifted off to sleep.

Chills riveted up my spine and my eyes snapped open. “What was that?” I questioned, squinting around my empty bedroom. Then it happened again, a light scratching sound like hundreds of tiny feet marching against the walls. My heart sank and I spun my body around, desperately searching for the knob on my bedside lamp. As I searched the noise got louder; more and more tiny feet scratched against the walls and now buzzed like swarms of flies were humming around in my room.

I finally found the knob and frantically switched it on. The moment the lamp lit up the room, the noise stopped, and the only thing I could hear was the fan. My eyes searched around the room looking for any kind of answer. I tucked my sheets to my chest. My hands shook. Something was wrong.

“Hh… Hello?”

Silence filled the room louder than I could speak. And for a single moment, I thought maybe I was dreaming. As my hands relaxed, I felt a slight sting and burning on my arm. It was then I noticed hundreds of tiny red ants crawling through my sheets. I flung the covers from my body, jumping from my bed and desperately swatting at the ants. My skin began to welt,and as I jumped, I could feel crunching beneath my feet.

To my horror, the floor was covered in roaches. Not just roaches, but centipedes, spiders, and scorpions that took turns biting and stinging at my flesh. I ran to my phone desperately pressing the numbers 9,1, but, before I managed to press the final 1, my screen lit up.

Text from Jordan: Today was amazing, Mommy really liked you. She wanted me to give you a big thanks for taking the bugs.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and large drops of snot accumulated above my lip as I stared down at my floor, clean of any insects. Instead, I watched as tiny lumps bulged under my skin. I stared at them as they made their way up and down my arms, crawling through my legs and under my eyelids. I could feel them feeding on my skin from the inside. I fell to my knees, slapping my hand to the top of my thigh.

“Got one,” I whispered as I pinched my skin until it bled, desperate to get the bugs.