Jacqueline Burned the house down. A simple fight with her father, and she burned the house to the ground. Sent it up in smoke by screaming at him through the door. No one died, but her dad had third degree burns on his face, and he would never look the same again.
He wouldn't ever look at her the same again either.
Because she'd burned the house down.
The hospital was cold, but she didn't really try to warm herself. Instead, she focused on her toes, digging into the bed. For whatever reason, the fire hadn't burned her. Of course that seemed to mean absolutely nothing as she was still there, with an IV in her arm, and her clothing folded over a chair.
The nurse had told her her father was awake an hour ago. That her mother and little brother had come to see him. No one had come to see her though. Fear gripped her by the throat, and squeezed hard, cutting off her air, and making her heart flutter frantically in an attempt to stay alive.
A lot of people spoke of this mysterious point in depression, and anxiety where they just stopped caring. She wished for that, but for some reason could not attain the height. Instead she was drawn down into the depths of a gasping, nasty monster.
She thought about it all, and her skin burned with some unnamable emotion. An embarrassment so deep it made her crave death. Made her ashamed of herself, and who she was, and what she was capable of.
Jacqueline held her breath, and tried to stop the fire in her lungs, but there were footsteps in the hallway, and there was a panic creeping up on her that couldn't be assuaged. The door opened, and men in flame retardant suits with big letters stepped through holding guns. It was the last thing she saw before it all went up in smoke.