The State of Broken Things

This Is Why I'm Falling

This is Why I'm Falling

Intuition is a funny thing.

Trust your gut. There's actual scientific evidence as to how the bacteria in your gut responds to neurotransmitters from your brain. There's definitely merit behind it. If you have a feeling, you should follow it.

My entire life, I've always had feelings. My friend in New York was going to be sick at school tomorrow. My dad wouldn't be able to make it to dinner tonight. My sister was going to be upset when I picked her up from school. My mom wasn't going to get better. It was always based on what I know about them, or something I knew was going to happen. My friend looked a little more tired than usual. My dad was working on a big case. Whatever the reason, most of the time, I was right.

Other times, I get these random feelings out of nowhere that something might be going wrong. I don't have any rhyme or reason behind them. It'll be 1 in the morning and I'll need to call Cas to make sure that he wasn't mad at me. And he'll ask me why, and all I'll be able to say is that I had a feeling.

Those feelings are almost always wrong. More often than not, it's something small that I blow out of proportion and get irrationally nervous about. So I don't know whether that means that my gut instinct is worse than others, or if it's been messed up by years of my inability to cope with anything that's going on in my life.

So I'm never 100% sure what I should do when I get those random feelings. I don't know whether or not to trust it or to ignore it because most of my feelings seem insanely unreasonable anyway. When I get random feelings that I shouldn't be driving because it's dangerous, or that I shouldn't go downstairs because my dad's in a bad mood, I never know what to do with them.

Right or wrong? Good or bad? Truth or lie?

Is my dad really going to change?

Am I going to end up in New York?

Is Cas going to leave me?

I don't know. Because like I said, those feelings are almost always wrong, except for when they're right.

Sighing, I stare up at my house, outside of which I've been parked for thirty minutes, according to my phone. Pulling my mirror down, I inspect the right side of my face in the vain hope that the bruise might have lessened slightly since the last time I checked. At least my lip has stopped bleeding.

I fumble for my bag in the backseat, and then get out and lock the car. Pull the plug out of the wall and charge it.

Making my way into the house, I see my little sister in the living room, watching TV. Once I close the door, she runs to hug me.

"Hi," I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

She pulls back and looks at my face, blinking when she sees the swollen cheekbone.

"What happened to your face?"

I sigh, turning to walk into the kitchen and get myself some water.

"It's a long story. How are you doing? Are you hungry?"

"I'm good, but Papa didn't make dinner yet," she says, following me into the kitchen. "I'm watching Pokemon."

"Is he home?" I ask, depositing my bag. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know, he's in his room," she says. "Can you make food?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll heat something up," I say. "How are you doing?"

"You asked me that already."

I swallow heavily, my back turned to her while I take our leftovers from yesterday and heat the stove up.

"I know, but..." I trail off, then turn to look at her. "You know what today is?"