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Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.
When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.
Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.
No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.
Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.
I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.
“What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?”
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.
Iconic <3
“I’m absolutely ordinary—well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I’m almost disabled.
*eye roll*
“I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.”
“So what you’re saying is, I’m your brand of heroin?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. “Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.”
“You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.”
“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…,” he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word. “What a stupid lamb,” I sighed. “What a sick, masochistic lion.”
“I love you,” I whispered. “You are my life now,” he answered simply.
I ended up in my only skirt—long, khaki-colored, still casual. I put on the dark blue blouse he’d once complimented. A quick glance in the mirror told me my hair was entirely impossible, so I pulled it back into a ponytail.
WTF is this outfit??
“Wrong again,” he murmured in my ear. “You are utterly indecent—no one should look so tempting, it’s not fair.”
CRYING
