The sound of my cell phone ringing persistently and waking me up. I frown at the intrusion of the shrill sound and look upon it as something unwelcome because it has interrupted my precious sleep, which I have lost lately. I sigh and finally pick it up.

"Hey, Marinell, I was asleep," I answer with difficulty.

"Reva, we don't talk lately as we used to talk. We don't hang out anymore. That's what I miss," she begins again to recount all her grievances, and with an ease of words, makes a sermon on the friendship that I am not in the mood to hear anymore.

I must have a conversation with her, and I hope it's the last one. I need to know what her intentions were regarding Dorian. I need to listen to her own words and what she thinks.

I have a way of understanding what she feels by just looking into her eyes.

"Well, come to my house in an hour or so," I say to her, although I am in no mood to see anyone.

"Do you want to go out for coffee?" she says to me in her familiar cheerful mood.

"No, I don't want to go out tonight. If you want, come here and have a chat," I answer, rubbing my forehead.

"Ok, I'll talk to Ridge, and then I'll come over," she says cheerfully, and the call ends up.

If I were in her shoes, I wouldn't be happy at all.

It doesn't take long, and I get a message on my cell phone. Suddenly my breath becomes heavy and my heart starts to beat irregularly.

It's like I'm a little kid who doesn't know how to manage a situation and waits for an older person to solve the problem.

It's Dorian.

*Dorian: How are you doing?*

I let two minutes pass, and I send him an answer.

*Reva: Hello, Dorian. I'm fine. You?*

*Dorian: When do you have free time?*

He didn't even answer me whether he was good or not, even formally. It reminds me of that 'Dorian' I met for the first time. The one who, if he wanted to, would answer you. If he didn't want to, he would be indifferent to the harshest way of expression, often irritating.

But this is Dorian, and he won't change.

*Reva: Why are you asking me?*

*Dorian: in the evening at 21: 00 I will be at your house.*

And as always, he just decided what would happen and when. He wants to come and see me. On the one hand, I'm so happy to see him again.

What makes you happy? Is it because you missed him and are you ready to accept him and hug him? Or is it because he was indifferent and now that he has sent you a message, your ego is calming down and healing? My inner voice raises the most serious questions regarding Dorian.

I love him, I still love him.

What am I doing now? Am I trying to convince myself?

No, no, I love him. I miss him unbearably. I lost sleep because of him; I don't eat because of him; what does that mean?!

Is it just wounded selfishness? Isn't that love? Isn't that Cupid?

I rub my temples in circles with the tips of my fingers, trying to avoid a headache that has been visiting me often lately.

Dorian said he'd be here at 21: 00 a.m., and under no means do I want him to see Marinell here. It's not that I'm afraid of anything, but mostly I don't want Marinell to know I'm going to see him.

I don't trust her anymore like I used to. Especially after what happened last time in Dorian's office, I don't want anyone to know what I'm doing.

When unwanted revelations are made by close friends, I usually shut myself up and don't talk to anyone. It's a way to preserve my thoughts and protect myself until things are clear.

I text Marinell and tell her that we should meet at the cafe near her house. We used to drink coffee there very often. Something keeps telling me that I won't go back there after the meeting we're about to have.

She immediately replies to my message and tells me that she agrees to meet me there. She accepted it with pleasure, I may say.

Shortly before 9 p.m., I will be back home to see Dorian.

                                                                                  ***

I get in the car and head to the cafe where I have an appointment with Marinell.

I leave the car in the parking lot and look at the time on my cell phone. It's 18:20. It's pretty early, and I think we'll have a lot of time to talk.

I walk into the cafe and scan the space to find a table. I already see Marinell in the corner of the shop sitting and staring out of the big glass at the city traffic.

I walk toward her, and she turns her head towards me smiling. She has the juice straw in her mouth and gives me a nod with her hand.

"Are you here early?" I ask her, and I sit in the chair opposite her.

"Oh, no. I just didn't have what to do, and I thought to come," she replies with a 'tightened' comfort in her expression.

I can tell she's faking. Her smile isn't real; it's done by force. She pretends to be cheerful and kind, but her gaze is sharp, and she tries to observe my tone, my thoughts, and if possible, what I feel.

I order a coffee and take out of my bag the pack of cigarettes. I light one and focus my attention on Marinell opposite me. The moment is awkward between us after that day in Dorian's office.

In all the years we've been friends, it's the first time I've felt that way with her. Always when I saw her, I felt like I was facing my 'mirror'. I mean, I had her more than my friend. I never held my word with her. I've always done what they often say, 'soul deposit'.

Besides, for me, that's the whole point of friendship. When you see your best friend, don't be afraid to say what you feel. You don't have to think about your words for fear that a friend will judge you.

I don't feel that with Marinell anymore, and it hurts me terribly. When I see my best friend, whoever he is from now on, I don't want to think about what I'm going to say, I want to say what I'm thinking.

"Well, we have to say certain things," she begins to speak first.

She always dared to take the floor and break the silence even if it was her fault.

Before I can speak, the waiter brings my coffee. I notice Marinell ogling him. The young waiter smiles sheepishly at us and walks away.

"You'll never be serious, will you?" I ask her with hypocritical mirth.

But I can't pretend that nothing's wrong much longer. Marinell knows that much better than anyone.

"Why should I be serious? Will it change something? As they do their game I do mine," she responds in a sly tone.

She was always spontaneous with new acquaintances and had no inhibitions with men.

"It's about how many people we play with," I tell her with an emphasis on the words 'how many.'

"With all of them!" she answers directly and laughs. "All men are the same. All they have in mind is sex. So why should I worry about it?" she continues confidently in her words.

Sometimes I wished I had that strong handling of her with men; that 'sure thing' that doesn't let anyone play with her feelings.

It's not that she hasn't been hurt in her life. I have seen her cry days and nights when she quarreled with Alfred.

But he always made sure to reciprocate with 'score-settling'. She made sure she met another man and had a good time with him, even for one night.

Marinell has always been a fan of a saying that says, 'Love passes with another love'. She's totally unlike me.

For me, a breakup could keep me in the abyss of grief for weeks.

It's horrible, isn't it?

But I can't help it. My reaction is spontaneous, and all the efforts I made to intervene to change that, fell into the void without difficulty. I found myself again in the same sad state with more wounds.

It was as if the wound itself had avenged me. While I was fighting it to keep it from whipping me, it would open up still more and pour the poison of despair into my soul.