Nightfall, a Twilight parody - Part 5: Blood type

The one where Bella swoons - and I almost do because of my pathetic hemophobia - and Edward stalks her yet again.

♪Blood on the dance floor...♪

Unnecesary whining: 20.

Bad foreshadowing: 4.

General bitchiness: 6.

Mary Sue tendencies: 5.

Mineral eyes: 1.

Velvet voice of doom: 2.

Random misused words: 2.

Do I dazzle you?: 2.

Chagrin: 1.

I arrived late for my English class.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Goose," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I flushed and hurried to my seat. Hehe. Flushed. Right word, wrong context.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. Wow, what an observant girl you are. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. That's the advantage of being a Mary Sue, I guess. 
Mary Sue tendencies: 6.
Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; I found everything pathetic in Spoons.
Unnecesary whining: 21.

I continued to obsess about Edmund. Jesus Christ, shut up! I came in the cafeteria with Jessica. She was talking about the dance, but, of course, I didn't bother trying to listen to her.
General bitchiness: 7.

Oh no! Edmund wasn't there! I lost my appetite. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

Are you serious? Are you telling me that you lost your appetite over some creepy guy you don't even know? And why does Bella always have to use childish words such as 'sulk' or 'pout'?

But then, Jessica let me know that Edmund was sitting by himself. He invited me to come with him. OH EM GEE!
Does he mean you?" Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice. Let's see, Bella... Edward doesn't like anybody. It's not insulting that Jessica is astonished.

Sarcasm is my only way to keep reading.

We had a really awkward conversation. The conversation must be quoted to be believed.

"This is different," I finally managed.
"Well…" He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."
I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by.
"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.
"I know." He smiled again, [Will you stop laughing at her?!] and then he changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you." Stealing. I don't like that word. He's treating her like an object.
"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back.
"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

CREEPER ALERT!

I gulped.
He laughed. "You look worried." Oh, look, I scared the weak woman thing!
"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"
"I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.
"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.
"Yes — giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.
"You lost me again."
The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared. Oh, poor, weak woman thing! She's trying to think!
"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the problems."
"Don't worry — I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.
"I'm counting on that."
"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"
"Friends…" he mused, dubious.
"Or not," I muttered.
He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.
"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even.
"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."
"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." My eyes narrowed.
He smiled apologetically.
"So, as long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.
"That sounds about right." Women are sexier when they don't try to think like they're people!
I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.
"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously. This could be cute in other circumstances, but we know that he asks this because he's a mind reader and can't stand being unaware of anyone's thoughts.
I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.
Mineral eyes: 2.Do I dazzle you?: 3.
"I'm trying to figure out what you are."
His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.
"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.
"Not too much," I admitted.
He chuckled. He laughs AT HER. AGAIN. "What are your theories?"
I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.
"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile. What a manipulative bitch.
I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."
"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained. Why? Because you've spent five chapters confusing her and she doesn't want to tell you what she's thinking?
"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"
He grimaced. He finds it FUNNY. "Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating." I like sassy Bella. Too bad she won't last.
"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" He mocks her when she makes a legitimate point.
"I don't like double standards."
We stared at each other, unsmiling. And this is romantic.
He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.
"What?"
"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.
"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."
"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."
"Except me, of course."
"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."
I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.
"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. Please kill me. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.
"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression — it looked like he was enjoying some private joke. See, I got that. He wants to OM-NOM-NOM you. Not that funny. Stop the bad foreshadowing, it's not working.
Bad foreshadowing: 5.
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.
He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."
"It's not much," I assured him.
He waited, guarded but curious.
"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.
"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up. That's not funny.
"Thanks."
"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.
"One."
"Tell me one theory."
Whoops. "Not that one."
"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.
"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.
"Just one theory — I won't laugh."
"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.
He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.
"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.
I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?
"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.
Do I dazzle you?: 4.
"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.
"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?
"That's not very creative," he scoffed.
"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.
"You're not even close," he teased.
"No spiders?"
"Nope."
"And no radioactivity?"
"None."
"Dang," I sighed.
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled. You promised not to laugh!
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"
He struggled to compose his face.
"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.
"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.
"Because… ?"
"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.
"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."

He's been telling you he's dangerous since day 1.

"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd accidentally said too much.
"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words.
He was dangerous. He'd been trying to tell me that all along.
He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.
"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that you're bad."
"You're wrong."
Edmund said he was going to ditch class. He did.

In class, the teacher said he wanted us to know our blood types, and he pricked Mike's finger without permission. He was bleeding. Ew ew ew ew ew. That did not just happen. Gross. I agree with Bella. Ew ew ew ew ew. Gross. I'm picturing it and I don't like it. And doesn't the teacher need a permission to do that? I turned as white as Michael Jackson's ghost.

"Linda, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be my stalker, Mike, who volunteered. Then Edmund came and took me to the nursery.

I told Edmund I could smell blood. Edmund said people can't smell blood. Okay, Mr. I Have A Medical Degree And I Don't Know That People Can Smell Blood. Yes they can, you idiot. It smells like iron. That's what grosses me out the most about it.

Fun fact! The smell of iron actually results from a metal induced oxidation of skin lipids so it is surprisingly a type of human body odor. The compounds people smell are actually aldehydes and ketones, and not any iron containing compounds. That's why it smells like blood.

Read more at: http://phys.org/news82229855.html#jCp

Edmund offered to take me home. I invited him to La Push, but he didn't want to go.

Edmund started to be abusive. He didn't let me drive my own car. Though, to be fair, this was the only time he had a decent excuse.