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In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds.
For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.
I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and Charlie’s unspoken concern caught me by surprise.
“I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”
“What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?”
The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves,
supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the Ark.”
Naturally, the screen was covered in pop-up ads. I sat in my hard folding chair and began closing all the little windows. Eventually I made it to my favorite search engine.
“No, Dad, but I’m helping them find dresses—you know, giving them constructive criticism.” I wouldn’t have to explain this to a woman.
About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him—and I didn’t know how potent that part might be—that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb . . .”
“Wait . . .” He paused. “Which one is Edwin?”
“You thought that would be a black tie occasion, did you?”