Whenever I Close My Eyes

Part Two - Playing with Fire

A/N: Hello again! WHAAAT! Check out the weirdness in this chapter! What do you guys think is wrong with Jenna's Aunt Zee and friend Madison? They've been acting kinda weird, don't you think? And I dunno about you, but I think that waiter guy is kinda suspiciousss... (Forshadowing, Yo!) (: Love you guys! But mainly @TwixHS and @NiallersAndHazza. Read their storys! BUT READ MINE FIRST YOU'RE ALREADY HERE!<3

Part Two - Playing with Fire

-Jenna's POV-

You know that feeling you get when someone's walking behind you, about to step on your heels and take your shoe off when you're walking through the hallway at school?

That was the feeling I've had for two days now.

Let me rewind back to the night of my birthday.

Madison and Aunt Zee were sitting in the living room with the TV on. All of us had changed into our PJ's; Aunt Zee was painting her nails, and Madison was texting, checking her twitter, and rambling on and on to my Aunt about Harry Styles and Taylor Swift.

And I, being the nerd that I am, was seated on the floor by the fireplace, reading a rather thick book. The fire was burning strangely bright tonight, for such a lack in firewood.

All of a sudden, there was this crash like glass braking in the kitchen that made me jump, and the fire twitch. Madi yelped, almost throwing her phone across the room. It scared poor Aunt Zee so much; she almost got pink nail polish all over her own satin red pajamas.

"What the hell-?" Madison gasped, spinning to face the kitchen as if whatever made the sound would be standing there in the kitchen doorway.

"I've got it. Something probably fell off the counter." I reassured them, though I didn't know how that could've been possible. I stood up, placing my book on the mantle of the fireplace, and walked into the kitchen. Maybe we were having some kind of small earthquake.

Lying on the kitchen floor was the shattered remains of an antique, glass picture frame, that held a, now bent and a little torn, picture of my mother.

My mom had died when I was seven of some sort of blood loss disorder that the doctors couldn't fix, if you were wondering as to why she's only been mentioned in the past tense. Ever since then I've stayed with relatives, like Aunt Zee.

The picture was old, and it was one my dad took with him when he went off to war, before my mother had died. And it was the one that the officer in white gloves who had shown up at my doorstep on December 20th handed to me, as he read a paper informing me that my dad wouldn't be coming home for Christmas anymore; Lost in action.

I bent down and picked up the picture of my mother, ignoring the broken glass. One of the corners was folded over, and I saw something written in faded blue ink. I turned it over and saw something that almost made me cry.

"Happy Anniversary, babe. I love you."

The sight of my mother's handwriting made my stomach flop. I placed it on the counter top and began to pick up some of the larger pieces of glass with my hands while my mind wondered all over the place.

Then I noticed the back door that led to the basement had been opened the slightest bit. This was weird, because I remembered locking it the night before... And then I remembered something else.

I burnt that picture to ashes out of drunken rage a few years ago.

"Shit!" I gasped in a raspy whisper as a drop of blood dripped and hit the wood floor from my sliced fingertip. I stood up and turned the water on in the sink to run my finger under it.