I was a vampire, and she had the sweetest blood I’d smelled in eighty years.
Her existence alone was excuse enough to justify the creation of the entire world.
Like a stalker. An obsessed stalker. An obsessed, vampire stalker
There was no reason for Bella Swan to cross paths with me. She would be avoided like the plague she was.
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.
How old are you? she asked.My answer was automatic and ingrained. Seventeen.And how long have you been seventeen?
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...
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.
She’s just a little faint, I reassured Mrs. Hammond. They’re blood typing in biology.
My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?