Chapter 56： (2/2)

The chaos of this night ended at dawn, but the rapidly exacerbating spouse was only beginning to take shape.

From this day on, Zheng Feiyu never woke up in his bed.

He woke up in various street corners, sometimes urban areas, sometimes deserted suburbs, always surrounded by cheap rental houses.

Jiang Qi once reminded him that the "he" who lost his rationality might do whatever he could to find Omega, so before going to bed every night, he would pull out the SIM card and lock it into the drawer to prevent people who should not be disturbed. But even if all outlets were blocked, spousal seeking behavior did not stop.

"He", who was slow to receive pheromone comfort, began to follow a very simple and absurd logic:

Every time I had **** with He An, it was in a cheap rental house, so He An must be hiding in a similar place, waiting for "he" to find it. One day can't work for two days, one year can't work for two years, until you go through all the rental houses.

Ridiculous, but stubborn enough.

Whenever he suddenly regained consciousness at the corner of the street, Zheng Feiyan felt a kind of impervious despair, like something that stuck his neck tightly, chest tightness, shortness of breath, and life and death.

He finally realized that in essence he was fighting against himself, just how tough he was, and how tough the other was. The difference is that he wants too much, and the other party does nothing except Omega, regardless of gains and losses, not pros and cons, straight to the end.

More than paranoid, he is the doomed loser.

Even more frightening is that spouse seeking emotions have a very long inertia. Sometimes it is clear that he has regained his sobriety, but his intense passion has not been able to spread. The extreme emptiness of that kind of desperation can be contaminated just a little, just like an old smoker has an addiction, and itches all the way into the bones.

He is not a saint.

He has desire.

Especially when a person is clearly pretended to be in the heart, the desire for purpose is like a torrent rushing to the sole vent, which is out of control.

One time when he woke up on the street corner, Zheng Feiyu remembered the dew marriage again.

He looked wearily at the heavy snow under the street lamp, and suddenly felt that his little nightingale should be suitable for sweaters and scarves: beige, pure cashmere, wrapped in a handsome face, his cheeks stained with a touch of crimson, half of them were The shy heart is half the shadow of the red umbrella falling above his head.

He would turn to the corner of the street and walk towards himself, and Xue Xue was willing to shatter for him, turning into a series of captivating footprints. Lightly, like the sound of a bud opening.

Zheng Feiyu climbed the steering wheel and waited intently. Suddenly and patiently, he opened the door and got off, striding towards the street corner.

But the corner was empty.