Broken

Chapter VII

I yank my phone out of my pocket and unlock it. My hands are jittering and I can barely operate the touch screen. I go to my dialpad and call Tane.

I hear the dial tone, and he finally answers,

"Hey babe, whatcha need?"

"I'm freaking out. I come home and.. And.. My door was unlocked, and there's this.. This candle sitting on my counter and its-" I am interrupted,

"Izza. Calm down. It was probably just your parents," he tries to reassure.

"No. You don't understand. Come over. Please." I beg.

"You know I will say yes. Im getting in my car now. Just get some milk."

I can't help but giggle. He loves making light in bad situations. Really, get some milk?

"You're so silly. Now get your booty over here now." I'm smiling into the phone, and I hang up.

I remove my bookbag from my back and leave it on the kitchen table behind me keeping the candle in my perriphial vision. That way I can see if it disappears and I really am going crazy.

I check my finger, and the bleeding has stopped. I get a band-aid and Neosporin and doctor up my finger anyway; I don't want an infection.

My phone begins to have a spas attack in my pocket and I take it out and unlock the screen. I have two texts.

I have one from Tane reading "I'm almost there xx" and one from Kaylen reading "IZZA!!!!! Text meeeeee, we gotta hang out this weekend baee!!"

I don't reply to Tane, but I text Kaylen and inform her of the situation. I decide to text the story since I have nothing better to do while I wait for Tane to get here, and it will keep me occupied. She immediately replies asking if she should come over, but I type "no" and press send. Tane is already coming.

With my phone still in hand, I shuffle closer to the candle. I want to look at it.

The black ribbon of smoke is still rising from the wick. How long will that last? Its been... I check the clock on my phone. I've been home for 22 minutes. The black ribbon hasn't dissipated for that long. Theres no way its normal.

I open my messages again on my phone and tap on Kaylens name. I press the paperclip icon to attach a photo. I aim the camera at the candle and snap a picture. The shutter sound fills the room.

I go to look at the preview of the picture, and as soon as it pulls up, a crack originates from the candle wick on my screen and spreads to the edges.

I scream and drop my phone on the counter; I shove my back against the pantry door behind me, and I am breathing heavily. I have both hands over my mouth and tears well up in the corners of my eyes. They begin to stream down my face wetting my cheeks, dropping to the floor.