I am not what you think.
I am so much more. You think I am a pretty little boy, one of your fragile species that can bruise like a dropped apple, has no more predatory instinct than said apple.
No. An animal, the latest jump on the evolutionary scale, that's what I am. Intended to draw you in with beauty, then slash you open with my razor sharp teeth. You study our teeth in biology, noting in a dog how the elongated canines are meant to rip their prey apart.
You have no idea.
And because Nature has no pity for the prey, some of us are given even more! Little extra abilities that make the hunt so much more enjoyable and so easy that even I sometimes wonder at the inequality.
Those of us who curb our instincts, survive on puny diets that barely sustain, are told we are better than others, that we are not wrong in merely existing, because we do no harm.
But we want to. I struggle least usually, as I have gained iron self control. But you, you have reduced that iron to pathetic bronze. Easily broken or bent.
I want to kill you.
Which is why I shall never speak to you, never sit next to you, never touch your hair.
Why I shall never know you Bella Swan.