The rest of the ride home is a blur.

Niall insisted that he drove so he could take me to the hospital, but I refused.

I drop him off at his place, and finally after 15 minutes of arguing in the car, he gets out and I head over to my apartment.

The short drive feels like forever. My mind can't seem to wrap around today's events.

I'm not sure what scares me most.
The fact that I almost smashed between a Honda Civic and a brick wall, or that someone knew it was going to happen.

Don't get me wrong, I am definitely not complaining about the anonymous warning.

If anything I owe that person my life.

But I can't help but wonder how they knew, and why they chose to save me.

My brain fried by the time I reach my door, unlocking it I step inside.

Home sweet home.

A loud sigh escapes my lip as I breathe in, the cold air filling my lungs.

I will admit I'm not a huge fan of living alone, it gets.... lonely.

The walls are all bare, the furniture is plain, and the all around atmosphere drips with depression.

I've never been good at the whole 'home decorating' things. Well I haven't ever really tried... but I'm sure I'm terrible at it.

My mother is a different story.

She could be in one of those Better Homes & Garden magazines.

My home back in London was always decorated to a T. You always knew what holiday was coming up by walking through the front door.

She always had her favorite banana nut bread candle burning, the scent spreading throughout the house within minutes.

And my personal favorite. Her cooking.
That woman has a gift. I have always been a traveler, which means I have tried a large variety of delicacies.
Don't get me wrong they were delicious, but they don't even compare to my mothers Thanksgiving dinner.

My mother reminds me time after time that I could just live with her, and that there is nothing wrong with being 22 and still living with your mother.

It's complete rubbish. In my opinion nothing could be more humiliating. But I admire her for trying.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with water and chugging it down faster than I probably should have. I curse myself when I begin to hiccup.

I am startled when I notice something moving in my window, I walk over and freeze in my place.

Out on my windowsill sits the same compact mirror from this morning.
But this time there is a bright pink handkerchief closed inside of it.

I cautiously open my window and stick my head and torso out the window to retrieve it.

Once it's in my grasp, I look around trying to find the person that left it.

But there isn't a single soul anywhere to be found.

Once inside I look over the small mirror, and it is in fact the same one from the accident today.

I open the mirror, taking the pink silk handkerchief in between my fingers, rubbing it softly.

Then I notice a piece of white folded paper, and my heart stops beating for a moment.

I delicately open it, canning the black ink.


You have to be more careful.

There are something's I know, things that I can't tell you. But I need you to trust me.

Today could've ended so horribly, and if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself.

Please don't be angry with my, maybe I can explain in time.

Yours truly.

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