The Jerk by Ana Diaz

Warning:A bit icky

Under the lonely street lamps of the promenade, he took out the handkerchief. ‘How many more times…?’, Elias wondered on the way to the station. His cheek was dry to the touch, but, when not touching it, it felt covered with some pus, oozing from who knows where, which felt certainly unpleasant. Warm. The attack...

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