Fiction He’s supposed to be my friend, after all. But he isn’t, not really, because we had sex once. It was in his office, drunk on champagne after we sold our first book. We were supposed to be celebrating, but it was angry sex, drawing blood and curses. What were we were so angry about? I remember how Ravi’s fingers left bruises all over me that stayed for weeks; I kept pressing them to make them hurt again. 6 January 201022 May 2015 joannemerriam Read “A Rose is Rose” by Georgina Bruce. Read More