He had an immediate air of confidence and walked with a subtle arrogance – as if his ego was a light that he didn’t know whether to flick on or off. He ordered drinks without asking for my preference because he had that sense of the world that made him think he was right about everything. When the waitress handed me a glass of white wine, I figured maybe he was.
He talked about his job because he was proud of his position. He liked the feeling of power that came with a fruitful career and enjoyed the idea of wealth. He was heavily opinionated, but had the experience to back it up. He only spoke of countries that he had been to, because he thought it was stupid to talk about those that he hadn’t. Like a virgin talking about sex, he thought the pleasure of life came only through first-hand experience and as such he had travelled extensively.
He had achieved a lot in his twenty-four years and I was surprised at myself when I realised I wasn’t any more impressed. There was an emptiness that I couldn’t understand and he seemed like one big contradiction. Underneath his suit was a sleeve of tattoos and I couldn’t work out which side of him was the lie, as if two people were wound up in the one body, arguing over who got to wear the face tonight. I felt myself watching the words roll out of his mouth with instant cynicism and I kept sipping at wine so as to keep my mouth closed. I wanted to scream ‘cut the bullshit, sweetheart’ but I thought of all the girls who would gladly take up my chair and told myself that maybe I was just too damned shallow.
Always listen to your gut. And if something seems like it’s too good to be true, it usually is.
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