A Feigned Companion

At first glance I found him handsome and blessed to say the least. Not many males surpass further standard of blonde hair and blue eyes; some two genetic factors that spark the interest of so many women. He was around my height, not too tall nor too short, and something about his countenance--in that square, masculine jaw--preserved a subtle pride, a general confidence that in actuality seemed misplaced, or more vaguely: there for the sake of being there. In his speech he showed it too, and frequently I became the audience for his boastful accomplishments. I suppose, reader, that my jealousy stemmed from there; my hidden, insecure jealousy that began as nothing but grew to something looming and unavoidable. 

As I called his name he turned to look at me, and his eyes flickered up to meet mine; a familiar uneasiness crept in. It felt as if his eyes were placing every insecurity of mine in front for his viewing; it was not a cold, hard stare but rather one of fixated judgment where I could not penetrate the stare to perceive its thoughts. 

The End

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