AN: mkay, I love reviews, very much, but not reviews that say "your grammar is dreadful" and nothing else. Yea, I don't use apostrophes and capitol letters but at least say something about my story; you can criticize me but at least say something! It's so frustrating! Mind you this only happened once when (I shall not say! You will never get it out of me!) Said "your grammar is dreadful".

Yea, thanks a lot buddy, gave me some good tips there!

It's silly, especially when your profile is dedicated as to how not to write a fanfic (like wtf?), which I think is hypocritical when you haven't even written any stories on this website yourself. I mean the first thing written on this persons profile is "Honestly, is it so hard to write correctly?" I mean dude, stop sounding like someone who has an ocd.

This sounds like a total bitch about people who criticize my story, but it's not that at all. I have gotten criticism and it actually helps me to make a better story for people who read it, my audience, to whom I write this for.

And it truly does help. Like I never wanted to do any of this story in EPOV but a reader asked for it, which is the reason I'm doing this in EPOV.

ANYWHO!

Sorry about that, just had to get it out.

Oh, and can I just say, people Nestea ice tea is trying to take over the world. I cannot express this enough but DO NOT GIVE IN! STAY STRONG! Drink Lipton ice tea:)

Oh, and the music here, they are really good songs. So if you're looking for something new to listen to, get those songs.

Oh, and to jasper. obsession umm, Bella is now 16 and Edward is you know 17. Bella's dad died when she was 8 and has been going on the show since she was 4 years old, she used to go on with her dad and that. I know it's a long time for a show… but it's a really good show! But as to whether he's a vampire or not for Jess Loves Twilight, you ill find out in this chapter.

Peace!

Chapter 3

EPOV

"When are we going to take our seat?" I asked my mother Esme.

"Ohh soon dear. Stop being so impatient. Seriously, for someone who has lived for a century you would think you would have more patience." And with that she turned around and started walking off the set.

I looked around the set of the show called "Olivia", which is coincidently hosted by someone called Olivia. Surprising isn't it? The curtain had come down during the show so now, in the ad break, before the show starts again. Esme had to fix it.

My mother, Esme, is an interior designer and does the set for this talk show. Its pretty cool, I mean we get backstage passes to all the shows and I love seeing Esme work. I see the joy in her eyes when she is surrounded by fabric from a curtain or holding up rolls of material, wondering what colour to use for the cushions she loves to make. So much creativity stored into her mind, if only I could grasp that and put it into music and play. Sure I write songs, but it's not as if anyone would like them. With Esme's creativity, everyone likes it. She can create a room for anyone's style.

"Edward!" someone yelled, in a surprisingly sweet voice. I knew it was Esme, but it always surprise's me how her voice still sound's so sweet, so caring even when she raises it.

I turned my head, and sure enough, Esme was there with a disapproving look on her round face. I had unconsciously started to touch her curtains she had just been working on. Quickly I snapped my hand away from it, a little too fast I guessing as Esme's usually wrinkleless forehead just frowned more.

"Edward." She whispered in a disapproving voice then sighed. "Let's take our seat."

I followed Esme out into a dark hallway and towards the noises. Oh, the noises, so many, so loud! I just have to tune them out. Being able to read people's minds aren't always good. Double voice, double the noise.

Seeing as Olivia was really popular there were a lot of people and a lot of appetizing smells. My shoulder was touching someone else's, not that it bothered me. I'm perfectly fine now, but Esme still clutched onto my arm, just in case I slipped up again.

We walked across the set and up the aisle towards our seats. I hadn't really paid attention to the show so far, I just like reading people. But now I looked at the front as the lights dimmed down. I could feel the buss from everyone and I was guessing there was going to be a performance from the guest being interviewed.

The song started with a bit of a riff from the electric guitar, the pitch was high, which fit perfectly with the singer's voice, a deep voice but sweet, incredibly sweet. I looked at the singer and knew instantly who it was. Isabella Swan. A Goddess to the everyday male.

Even from here I could see her famous big, deep eyes. Not just your average brown, they had green around the iris and then they started going brown, from the green to a yellow, to a deep brown. These eyes had a soul themselves. They had their own life, their own story.

As she sung, I saw her thin body move, she was totally out of it, in the zone of the music, and I could tell it took her to a place that she loved. Even if it is a place of horror from the story to the song, but it looks like a place no one can take away from her unless she gave it up.

Suddenly, she looked up at me, and with that I caught her scent. Ouch! It hurt, but not so much, I've had worse. Her smell, it reminds me… freesias. No, it's wrong. There can't be 1 scent's the same can there? And then I looked into her eyes, looking for something else, not her emotions, but her blood. Yes, it was there. But it can't be.

I hurt her, I shouldn't have done it, I know that, and I don't regret it either. She hurt me, more then I ever could have, portrayed me, she hurt my feelings, I hurt her. But it was years ago. A good 16 years ago.

And with that I was gone. I got up as she looked away, as soon as her eyes were torn away from me I knew I had to get out. It wasn't the smell that bothered me, it was her. Just her.

I went into some room; I have no idea why this room, but I felt drawn to it. I just needed a place to breathe. I looked around and realised it was her's. Everything thing about her drew me in, closer and closer, until it becomes to much for her, well, that was what she said anyway.

I walked over to the mirror and realised then that the room was practically bare. It was her smell that told me whose room it was. I was still in shock; the emotion was still in me. How much are they a like? How could she be alive? Questions ran through my head, questions that are impossible for me to answer on my own, but I have to try.

I looked down next to the lounge; there was a big, black canvas bag. Curiosity burned inside me and I knew that this was where I was to start.

I picked it up and out it on the lounge, next to me. Carefully I emptied its contents, making myself remember what goes where, just in case little Bella would notice. I pulled out a little, black velvet drawstring bag. I opened it and tipped it upside down onto my palm, they were crystals, amethyst, silver-sheen obsidian, clear-rose quartz and a little silver pentagram. It looked like it belonged on someone's neck. Crystals and pentagrams? What has little Bella been up to. I also pulled out put a phone (I'll check later for a schedule), an i-pod, purse, makeup bag, perfume and chap stick (very sensible).

I took the phone and looked through her schedule for the next week. I copied the details into my own phone.

I heard a lot of clapping and people's foot steps coming down the hall. I have to go. I put all of her belongings back into the bag where I found them and rushed out of the room, down the hallway at human speed. BAM! I crashed into someone.

Oops! It was Bella, yes, the smell was definitely the same. I decided to act as if I were a normal guy and look all confuse. But then again, I was. I couldn't read her mind. Surely it wasn't passed down through genes was it?