The feeling of insecurity and worry the Militia induced always began in his belly. It introduced itself as a sudden breathtaking blow to the stomach. The pain grew tendrils, branching down to his thighs, up into his chest, finally taking residence in his brain, where it poisoned him with negative, obsessive thoughts.
Once he took the initial hit to his abdomen, the thoughts were quick to follow. David was perfect for her. She couldn’t love me, but she could love David. In that moment, he hated David. He wanted to destroy him, bruise his handsome face and pollute his pleasant personality. He detested his rugged but kind features, his humbly toned body, and his genuine empathy for others. Charles had none of these things. He spotted his image in the reflection of a store window; his dark hair, thick eyeglasses, and thin lips curled in an enduring snarl. He rubbed his 35-year old face in a subconscious attempt to cast it into another form, or at the very least, bring some color to his cheeks. He sighed with effort to break the tension in his chest. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about David, and how flawless he was. He shook his head to begin anew. He walked with determination down the street, his apartment complex straight ahead. He entered through a side door, climbed the stairs and walked down his hallway.
“Unhand me,” he heard from his next-door neighbor, Joe. “Unhand me. Release me from your grip. Release me from your grip.”
Joe was an aspiring actor, whose undaunted and naïve drive for thespian pursuits kept him practicing his lines day and night, much to Charles’ chagrin.
As he turned the lock in the door, he heard samples from the next scene. “Do you think you’re better than me? Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re better than me?” Charles sighed and wondered what scripts Joe was reading from. “I’ve seen better writing on the back of cereal boxes,” he muttered to himself as he entered his apartment. Once Charles shut the door behind him, he found a sense of ease inside the four quiet walls. The small amount of street noise was a perfect complement to the still air of his nicely furnished, upscale flat. He took his wallet out of his front pocket and set it on the table by the door. He walked into the living room and sat down on his red couch, twisting backwards to look aimlessly through the window behind it. He replayed the girl’s beauty, words, and scent over and over in his head. He vacillated between excitement and fear. First he fantasized that his hand was romantically caressing her cheek. He felt blissful imagining her head tilting and eyes softly closing. This relaxation was short lived, for he was suddenly besieged by a vision of her lovely body sitting in David’s lap, giggling gleefully. He rested his head in his hand and tried to simply meditate on nothing, hoping a solid plan would inspire him.