Page 25 of Love Me Fierce

“Did you know a flea can jump eighteen centimeters?” Mateo asks. He’s leading Everett to the little creek behind our unit.

“I did not,” Everett replies.

“It’s why Mom won’t let us get a dog.”

“Oh yeah?" Everett replies. “What kind of dog would you want?”

Tuning them out, I climb the two steps to the tiny porch.

Try to leave things as they are.

With a hard sigh, I use the toe of my shoe to push open the door.

It creaks open, and I step inside. I try to take it all in, but it’s too much awful at once to process.

Down the short hall, where the parquet flooring meets the blue shag carpet, there’s a giant tear where someone peeled it back.Beyond, my couch is askew, and the contents of my knitting basket are strewn everywhere.

I’m tempted to put everything back in order. Now I know why Everett said to leave it undisturbed.The crime scene tech is on his way.

Because my house now a crime scene.

I step behind the door, and peek into the bathroom. The contents of my cosmetics case has been emptied all over the floor. My toothpaste tube has been squeezed flat, the white stripe of its contents coiled in my sink. The cupboard beneath the sink is open, the bottles of cleaner knocked over. Even my boxes of tampons and pads have been dumped out. In the bathtub, the shampoo and conditioner bottles have been emptied, too.

I lean my back against the wall and inhale a shaky breath.

What has happened here?

Through the window in my bedroom, Everett and Mateo’s chatter reminds me that I’m on a timeline. I don’t want Mateo to have to see this, but Everett can only keep him occupied for so long.

I move into Matty’s bedroom next. The drawers in his nightstand hang open, and the lamp shade is crooked. His covers are flung to the side, and the sheets are untucked. His dresser drawers have been emptied, littering the floor with the shirts and pants I folded and put away not two days ago. One of the dresser drawers is cracked and rests in the corner, like it was flung there.

Everett said to catalogue what’s missing, but how am I supposed to do that? I press my fingertips to the corners of my eyes to keep the tears from leaking out.

I’m capable. I’m strong. I’m resilient.

I take one last look at Matty’s room, then move to the main room. Bracing myself, I round the corner.

I cover my mouth to hold in my cry.

Every container from the pantry closet has been dumped out. Flour and sugar is all over the counter, the floor, the range. Penne pasta litters the floor like dried-up worms. Cereal and lentils and granola bars and chocolate chips are sprinkled across every surface.

The fridge is open, and every container from inside it has been emptied too. Milk has congealed on the parquet flooring. Juice has created a sticky sheen on the shelves. A jar of applesauce is gooped in a brown pile at the base. The empty jars and bottles have been discarded like flotsam after a storm—though, strangely, none are broken. I pick my way through the detritus and open the freezer. Packages of frozen vegetables have been sliced open. The frozen pizza and bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets I keep for emergency dinners has been ripped open, the contents dumped. Even the ice trays have been emptied.

I don’t have the heart to check the cupboards for what might be missing. Does it matter? My home has been turned upside down.

My couch cushions have been eviscerated. The back of the couch is sliced open too, revealing the cheap framework and upholstery staples.

I know I need to check my bedroom. But I don’t want to.

Maybe it’s time to call for help.

My purse is outside, with my phone. If I go out there, I won’t have the strength to come back in.

Matty’s carefree laughter through my bedroom window snaps me back to my purpose. Forcing my feet to move, I cover the short distance to my room.

What little floor space I have is covered with the contents of my dresser drawers, the sheets and comforter, and what’s left of the stuffing from my pillows. My mattress is propped sideways against the wall, the shiny fabric sliced at the seams and peeled open. The bedside table’s single drawer is tugged out, my tube of hand lotion squirted all over the floor. I spot my little vibrator discarded in a pile of clothes, the battery compartment cracked open.

Not only did they tear up my home, they had to humiliate me too?

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