What? Are you speaking to me again?

It doesn’t matter to me what you are.

How very inconvenient his little talent could be — when it wasn’t saving my life.

Stupid, unreliable vampire.

And how long have you been seventeen?

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen.

His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat. He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm — like I’d been burned, but didn’t feel the pain of it yet.

Could the Cullens be vampires? Well, they were something. Something outside the possibility of rational justification was taking place in front of my incredulous eyes. Whether it be Jacob’s cold ones or my own superhero theory, Edward Cullen was not… human. He was something more.

I felt silly, asking for clarification on make-believe.

Oh yes because a vampire sleepover is the penacle of saftey conceious behavior. - Bella Swan