Presumptuous Routines

A lot of the time, when your life seems as a routine, it's normal to believe that the weird quirk an individual has is common.

In her case, Maeve Lannon assumed that everyone could feel whether or not a scenario wasn't safe.

She'd heard the old wive's tales of gut instincts, and that's what she had assumed it was. Driving down the road at the wrong time of the day and having a feeling that something's going to go wrong, causing you to turn back and go the long way instead, later to find out that there had been a car wreck down the exact same road you had turned on; it was a gut instinct. She could recall the time that her friend, Asa, told her that Maeve had saved his life by telling him he should stay home instead of going to the out of town party.

As soon as he had mentioned going to it, her stomach felt queasy. They were at lunch, and she had set down her sandwich, her appetite gone completely. She could've sworn she heard severe coughing, almost like someone had something stuck in their throat, but nobody around them was choking.

The news showed that same night that at said party, there had been a fire caused by a freak accident where someone had broken a lit oil lamp in the garage. Surrounded by rum drinks, the fire quickly spread, trapping in a large amount of students. It had sent thirteen people to the hospital and unfortunately taken one life of a girl with severe asthma.

"I really thought you were just being a prude," he admitted in an attempt to make the situation a bit lighter, but he had a weird tone in his voice. "I could've been in that girl's place," he added quietly, referencing the unlucky seventeen year old that had died in the garage.

Asa had suffered from asthma as well, and Maeve assumed that his condition was the logical explanation as to why she felt sick to her stomach when he mentioned going to the party. She was a quick thinker, and common sense came easy to her.

The feeling in her stomach was common. It felt like there was an animal in there, running around and twisting at her organs. It made her feel ill immediately, and whenever she felt it, her mouth worked faster than her brain could process.

In this case, though, it felt as if she was going to throw up.

"I have to go, Maeve," her father said, pulling on her coat. The familiar taste of bile, unforgiving and hot, rose in her throat as soon as he had mentioned leaving to work the graveyard shift at their local pizza place. "I'm almost late. I'll be back soon, okay? Lock the door when I leave."

"Dad, please don't leave," she said quickly, her hands shaky.

"Are you feeling sick?" he asked, walking over to her and putting a hand to her forehead. "You're not warm, so no fever. Just lie down in the living room and put on a movie, I'll be back soon."

"Please don't leave," she repeated, following him up to the door. Their house was placed in the outskirts of their town. She had always had a bit of anxiety balled up in her stomach when he mentioned leaving her home alone at night, but this time it was so overwhelming, her head was spinning.

"Maeve, I'm not going to repeat myself," he warned her, and she shrunk back. "I'll see you later, I love you."

Her voice was small when she spoke again. "I love you, too."

He smiled, and when he shut the door behind him as he left, she ran over to the window and watched him back out of the driveway.

Her legs were shaking so badly she could barely stand, and a tiny signal in her mind kept shouting 'Door! Door!' She glanced over to the door, and her nimble hand went over to the doorknob, and she locked it.

The feeling in her stomach felt like it was about to surge out of her, and she rushed over to the sink, vomiting into it. Pulling strands out of her hair, she dry-heaved and coughed for a bit, tears stinging corners of her eyes. She stood back up, taking a cup from the drying rack and filled it to the brim with water from the faucet, shakily holding it to her lips and drinking out of it. She swished some in her mouth, spitting back into the sink and letting the tap water wash away her unfortunate dinner. Closing her eyes, she breathed in, wishing the gut instinct would just leave her alone all-together.

Regaining focus, she pulled the blinds down in an attempt to calm herself down. The feeling went away slightly, and she could finally carry herself to the living room.

Maeve wondered why she had thrown up this time. She'd had the flu a handful of times, but none of it could compare to the pulling in her stomach. At this point, she was concerned fully for her father. He'd been working the same job for years off and on, why was it that tonight had been the one where she was feeling sick?

She kept a tab in her mind for every time she had that feeling. When she told Asa not to go to the party, she thought she heard coughing, and connected that quickly to his asthma and the fire. When she had taken the bus rather than walking, she thought she heard the sound of a dog growling. While she was on the bus taking the ride back to her house, they turned a few blocks and she could see two stray mutts mauling each other aggressively out her window.

It all seemed coincidental, and she had brushed off every time. The coughing could've been a teacher, and the dogs could've been closer than they were when she took the bus.

However, now that she was thinking about it, the sound of glass breaking had rung harshly in her ears when her father mentioned the night shift.

Would there be a robbery at the pizza place? Someone breaking into his car when he delivered their food? A delivery to the wrong place and a freak accident on the road?

The thoughts raced around her mind, tailing each other like hounds on a rabbit. The paranoia surrounding these thoughts swamped her imagination, and she wished that everything would go away.

Following the advice her father had given her, she reached for the remote, turning on the TV. Law & Order: SVU was on, and she fell back into the couch, doing breathing exercises to occupy her mind, feeling drowsy.

It was exactly twelve o'clock when she woke back up from the pain in her stomach, and she frowned, cursing it. The TV was at a low volume, and she turned it off, going to grab her phone to check the time. As soon as she did so, the feeling in her stomach died down a little bit, and she heard familiar crunching from the driveway's gravel.

Her dad had only been at work for about an hour and a half. She wondered why he had come home so early, but relieved nonetheless. As soon as she went to stand up, the sound of the doorknob twisting furiously filled the silence, and she froze when she realized the garage door had never opened for her dad to park the car.

Dread filled her body entirely, and she felt completely numb, sinking back into the couch. She was indefinitely screwed, and she knew it.

As quiet as possible, Maeve slowly slid off of the couch, remembering what her dad had told her- if there had ever been an intruder, go to his closet, lock herself in there, and call the police.

The closet didn't seem like a very safe place. In order to go to his room, she had to go down the hallway, where she was clear as day. Turning her head towards his room, her stomach clenched, and she doubled over, holding it. She stilled her movements as the doorknob stopped, and saw the entry to the basement. Her stomach let off a bit, and she decided that was the safest place to go.

Clutching her phone in one hand, she crawled as quietly as possible over to the door leading downstairs, and waited for any sound to overlap its creaking. She willed something to happen, and the sound of glass shattering from the kitchen window sounded, and she opened the door swiftly, closing it behind her.

The glass breaking, her stomach being her guide- it all felt like such a fever dream. She walked down the creaky stairs hurriedly, hoping that the intruder wouldn't hear her and get suspicious. Whatever they had intended by coming to this specific house, she knew that it was because it seemed deserted with no close neighbors, and they were most likely armed for good measure.

Swinging her leg down the last few steps, she crouched, making her way to the open storage room and hiding behind a few cardboard boxes. All phobias of spiders and mice abandoned her mind, and she curled herself into a tight ball, cupping her hand over her mouth to prevent hyperventilating.

In the sense of her stomach, she felt only anxious. Her hand cramped, and she looked down to realize that she had her phone still. She opened it, turning the ringer off and the brightness down, and dialed 911.

After a hushed conversation with the station and a stuttering mess that was her address, she felt almost lighter than air, and it was then that she knew she'd be safe. Her eyes focused in the dark, and she could see with the help of moonlight from the basement window a stack of old comics in one of the boxes.

Her father was obsessed with comics as a child and had read a few to her as she grew up. Every now and then, she'd pick one up just to start a conversation with him.

Her eyes traveled down the vibrant colors, and she saw The Flash. It had been a personal favorite for a while, and as soon as she touched it, there was a buzzing sensation in her stomach that was a lot more pleasant than the pulling and queasiness.

She frowned, thinking about the comic, and immediately the super villain flashed in her mind. She thought about what his powers were, and while she went through them, there was a small voice in her mind that was screaming at her, but she couldn't exactly make out what it

(Abra Kadabra! Abra Kadabra!)

was. She knew that he could foresee the future, and as soon as she thought that, she thought that the police sirens nearing from down the road were the sound of a light bulb dinging.

She waited a few minutes after the basement door opened, dependent on her gut to tell her what to do next. She went to stand up, and feeling completely fine, she did.

As police neared the basement door, making their way down the stairs with flashlights, she wondered if all the coincidental gut instincts had been her superpower.

That's silly, she told herself as they found her, and she let out a breath of relief. But, as soon as she doubted it, Maeve could've sworn that she heard the sound of someone thanking her, their voice desperate and relieved.

When her father came to her that night, apologizing profusely for leaving her alone and thanking the police, she asked him about the feeling in his gut when he felt in danger.

"What?" he said, bewildered at the sudden question.

"Sometimes, I feel like Abra Kadabra from The Flash," she told him. In that same moment, there was a look in his eye that she couldn't exactly place, but it was familiar all the same.

If saving her own life shed light on coming to terms with who she was, then she planned on paying it forward. Even if no one else could understand it.