Hurtful touch
Jo sat at the corner of her room on the rug. Her hand held a warm cup of soup. Chicken soup precisely. She couldn't remember when she'd last had chicken soup, let alone enjoy it. It was something she'd read somewhere, readers digest maybe? That chicken soup is good for your soul. It helps wave off the blues of life, which can be overbearing for some. And for Jo, blues never trickled on her soul, they poured in torrents. Heavy, dark and unrelenting emotional storm torrents. The weather was rainy, cold, and grey. She was home for a couple of days on leave, and had decided to take things slow. The wind blew softly as her curtains gently swayed, belieing the waves of emotions she felt. somehow, she couldn't shake Jimmy's fingers of her mind, and the soft falling rain in the evening only kept the memories refreshed like the smell of rain on earth permeating her flat. Jimmy had touched her. It wasn't anything dramatic or overt. He'd simply brushed himself aga