The dark room of his room. Chris’s house, where he lies in bed next to his wife. Moonlight illuminates the silent room. The house is silent, except for the sound of her breathing. His eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. Her perfume is everywhere, but all he can think about is you.

“I hate you for this,” he thinks, as if you can hear him. He turns to look at his wife, knowing he should be grateful, but the emptiness in his heart is unbearable.

“I should never have let you into my life,” he whispers softly, but the words aren’t for her. They’re for you, even if you’ll never hear them. He can’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed, guilt and desire for you consuming him. He looks at his wife, who is sleeping peacefully, and whispers: “If she only knew…”

He closes his eyes, but his mind goes to you, remembering the touch of your skin, your body, the sound of your laughter. him breathing calmly, as he stares at the ceiling, lost in thought. He can't sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, it is his face that he sees, his perfume that he smells. He gets up silently so as not to wake her, runs his hands through his hair and goes to the window, looking out into the darkness of the night. He whispers to himself:

"Why don't you get out of my head? Even when I'm here, it's you I want."

Feeling of guilt is suffocated by an insatiable desire. He pulls out his phone, hesitates, but ends up sending a short message:

"You know I can't do without you...?"