On leaving that house in Montbello where Dorian took me, I felt at once the emptiness of his loss. On the way, he was perfectly silent, and until he left me at my house, he had not said a single word.

He had no specific expression on his face, and that made it hard to figure out what he felt. But I don't think I need to understand much.

His silence after we left that room answered many things. His tense reaction to my choice was enough for me to understand that he does not want to dispose of himself.

He doesn't love you, Reva. He has never felt as you feel, the voice within me cries out, and my entire inner world leans its head toward it because it frightens me that it may be true.

As much as I feel Dorian moving away from me, actually, he's closer to me than ever. I never miss his attention and interest. I always have a message waiting for me on my cell phone and enough phone calls in the day to hear my voice.

Everything seems to be going well in this relationship. Even my inner voice ceased to surprise me with words that seemed to have truth in them, but in Dorian's case, they were weakened.

This intimate feeling I feel with him gives me the confidence that it got my life back on track, and his love has balanced me both as a person and as a character.

The struggles of my soul, the mute tears, and the denial of the truth that stubbornly seemed to refuse the beautiful choice with him; all became another chapter of my experience.

When you have gained the desired result in a situation, you almost forget what you went through and how bad it was until you achieved it.

I don't remember those feelings anymore.

It has taken root in me the gratification of my desire, as a song sticks in the mind and thought becomes a melody.

Everywhere I look, I see Dorian.

Don't rush to call me a cliché.

But how else to explain this strange power that the gaze has when it stares anywhere and creates worlds on the theme of my love?

Every part of the creation that is visible to the eyes, hosts a large bouquet of emotions because souls have passed from there and have felt.

Every glance that will fall on that particular spot, will be attracted by the beauty of feeling as if it understands what preceded there, even though it doesn't know what happened.

How many looks and thoughts of lovers have not passed through all the creations of the Earth?

I'd say countless, and all have left the memory of their feelings. Either they are beautiful or they are bad.

The mystery about love is just that. It is not influenced by ages or various conditions to rule souls. It's always the same. Its arrows always have the same essence of captivity.

Although you grow older and think more timidly, always having the firm belief that you now know what you want, love will land you clumsy. This will make you change the chapter of your experience, no matter how many years have passed.

So I conclude to add to the chapter of my experience that in love if you look like, you don't impress. You don't have to look like it. This is a way for you to be able to play its game on your terms and get past its pitfalls.

Besides, every love is different.

But when you differ from love, you don't suffer. It's the safe choice to get out of those 'battles' you have to fight to win the person you love.

The point is, how much strength do you dispose of to fight?

If you are heartbroken, you lock the heart, close the door to Love permanently, and move to your fringe safely and away from pain.

When you live for a long time in this way, and suddenly someone shows up and tells you the words you always wanted to hear, you have already opened the door to love, and you haven't understood it.

It's like being drunk, and in the middle of the night, a thief in the shape of a sheep knocks on your door, and in your dizziness, you open it without even asking who it is.

And when you feel the first arrows of the poison, you yearn and beg your soul to become as it was before. You beg to get back into that safe emotional atmosphere where you might not have been in love, but at least you weren't feeling pain from it.

I think it isn't convenient at all when emotions don't agree with logical thinking. And that's exactly where the internal battle takes place.

The voice of reason and the voice of desire. The ex officio defense protection of the soul and the need to cover the lack of emotions.

One of the two will save you. Whatever that is. The other one will drag you like a waif here and there.

I don't remember ever whining to Dorian while we are together.

There were times when I was boiling inside me, and I wanted to open my mouth and tell him what was spoiling me. I didn't do that.

I borrowed patience and kept my temper towards him. This helped me a lot so things took a pleasant turn.

I smile to myself through the mirror and straighten my dress a little.

It is Sunday afternoon, and I have arranged to go to Dorian's house. I don't know what we're gonna do yet, but I don't care anyway.

It's enough for me to be with Dorian.

"Elva, this will be the last. You've got to go, I've got work to do later," I say to the slut who has drained me for so long.

She can't get enough of fucking. I gotta get her some asshole to fuck her day and night.

"I want you all the time, Dorian," she says, and she's getting my boner back.

I grab her by the hips and throw her abruptly onto the bed. I spread her legs wide open, and she bites her lower lip. She looks at me with a look that says she can't get enough of getting fucked.

I grab her by the hair with one hand and make her suck my dick. She roars with pleasure and turns me on again. I pull her head away before I'm done in her fucking face.

I throw her back on the bed and fuck her so wildly that I take her breath away. She screams from her hottie, and I fuck her even faster.

I get out of her and turn her the other way with a flick. I have a view of her ass while she breathes with difficulty. I grab her by the hips and tear her violently until she screams my name.

She screams in pain, but I don't give a damn. She's such a cunt, she can't get enough. I'm ratting her on a few times and finishing on her butt-cheeks.

She's stuck like a fool on all fours trying to catch her breath.

"Get dressed and go," I say to her sternly, so that she may take the message and obey.

I dump her and go to the bathroom. I let the water run over me for several minutes. I want the feeling of her body to get off me.

I hope the whore's gone by now because I'm expecting Reva any minute now.