The Salvatore Mikaelson

3| Leave me

After thanking David for the information I leave grand central station and head for the subway.

I can't even begin to wrap my head around what David told me.
I mean I don't even know if he's telling the truth.

I think I would have known my own mother enough to know the truth.
Did I?
We were separated after living on our own for a year. I was six.
I guess I really didn't know her.

I walk into the underground and get on the subway swiping my metro card as I run into the train at the last second.

Just my luck there is one vacant seat. I contemplate on wether or not it would be a good idea to sit down, since there are two questionably unclean people on either side.
I give in. I can't possibly stand on the subway for half an hour.

I take a seat and just as I had suspected my instincts were right. The men were not clean. I plug my nose and breathe out of my mouth, as if it helped.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I hate the metro. You meet the most scetchy people.

The joys of London.

                                                                             ~

Its just ten to three when I arrive at the small station. I grab my bag and walk into the underground parking lot.

I feel a ping of relief when I spot my black Volkswagen Touareg.
I can finally drive home.

As I get into my car I smell something. Someone.
I feel as if I can sense someone's presence.

I'm being watched.

I step out of my car to look around.
Nothing.
That's strange, I swear someone was there.
I must have gone off my rocker.

I get back into my car and put on my seatbelt. Just as I shift the car in reverse I see something in the rearview camera. All I can see is a pair of brown boots and skinny jeans. I stop my car to take a closer look.

Nothing is there. I figure I must be halucinating. I must be going mad.

~

I finally park my car in the garage as I arrive home and pull my keys out of my bag as I'm walking up to the front door. I open my door and walk inside throwing all of my things at my coffee table and putting my phone on the kitchen island, throwing my shoes off.

I walk upstairs to my room and rumage through my drawer of papers to find my journal buried at the bottom.

I walk to my library and sit on my chair gazing out of the window.
There were a gajillion questions running through my head and I can't seem to focus on anything so I take out my journal.

Once I take out my journal i'm tapping my fingers on my desk, trying to collect my thoughts. I'm not sure what to write and for the first time, I don't know if I want to write. I always kept a journal to keep my memories documented and I used the journal as a way to deal with my emotions. This was a trick I had learned from my father.
I begin to write.

I've never felt so much confusion in my life, there are strange people coming into my life with startling information I'm not sure I'm better off with, or without.
I don't know if what David said was true, I don't, but for some reason I trust him. It may be the fact that he felt sorry for me or that this is the first lead on my family I've had in decades.
What did he think? That I could just drop my life and start another? Or that I would go out to seek my family?
I've been gone for 162 years, have they ever tried to find me?
No
If they would have been alive, they would have searched. I wouldn't even want them to search. I don't want to see them again. They won't want to see me.
Things are different now.
I won't drop my life for them, they don't even care.
Even if Stefan and Damon are alive, I don't want to know, or do I?