How old are you? she asked.My answer was automatic and ingrained. Seventeen.And how long have you been seventeen?
Her existence alone was excuse enough to justify the creation of the entire world.
I was a vampire, and she had the sweetest blood I’d smelled in eighty years.
There was no reason for Bella Swan to cross paths with me. She would be avoided like the plague she was.
Like a stalker. An obsessed stalker. An obsessed, vampire stalker
A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella's limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car.
Whoa, whoa! Hold up, there, kid. She lives in Forks, remember? So she gets rained on.
Her scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant she was alive. As long as I burned, she was safe.
Bite me.
I watched her, waiting.She smiled. Her lips curved up and the edges, and her chocolate eyes warmed.I’d just admitted to stalking her, and she was smiling.
I think you're talking shit. You think we don't all feel like that? Like we're crazy, like we're not a real person, like we don't exist? Everyone feels that way sometimes. I can remember talking to yo...