by Elizabeth Rose

I just didn't understand why he had to touch me there. He could have brushed past me in any other way; it wouldn't have felt so intrusive. It sent shivers down my spine like some insipid sickness I can only just remember, taking me back to some unknown place and time. I want to scream at him and tell him how fucking rude he is but she looks at me with raised eyebrow over the top of her glass and I know I'm doing it again. I swallow my pride with my scotch and raise an eyebrow in return, feeling my eyes invert to glare at him still but in secret. Pride warms in my belly with my invisible two fingers to them both.


Elizabeth Rose is a special needs teacher from the UK, who after a stint in Jamaica is now residing in the south of Spain.

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