Raison D'être

Losing You

Lorenzo came up from the basement to an empty living room. To say the kiss wasn't replaying in his mind would be a lie. He found himself looking for her, the kitchen, the living room, all of it empty. He didn't want to seem too enthralled with Anastasia, but he was. He wasn't used to being a love sick man. If anything, it made him feel like the little boy his mother babied. Walking up the stairs, he remembers seeing Anastasia at the foot of his door, when she got a good look at him. The way he found her eyes scanning over him, he enjoyed it. He was very much used to the attention, but her attention was all he found himself wanting. He couldn't help but smile like a jackass. Taking a shower, the warm water cascading down his body relieves his tense and aching muscles, as his mind wanders to the kiss for the millionth time. The way their tongues collided, exploring each other's mouths. The way his tongue asked for permission and she let him in. He didn't want permission to come in, he wanted the key to her home. To her heart. To her body. To her mind. He wanted everything she had to offer. She was a new drug that only he was prescribed. The side effects were his mind wandering over to what the future with her would look like. Her small hands running down his torso, him inside her. He wanted to see her writhing under him, her moans. Just remembering the little moan she let out during the kiss was enough to make him switch the shower to cold quickly. Grunting at the thought of her small body under his, the way her eyes would close at such pleasure that he only wanted to give her.

The lust was soon replaced with an admiration for Anastasia, as the cold water got to him. Her vulnerability, how she shed her tears in front of him and spoke words that he never wanted to hear come out of her mouth.  She opened up about one of the worst moments in her life, and the slight comfort that she was the strongest woman he knew confused her. The way her eyes looked up at him, pure confusion and question as to whether his words were true was enough to make his heart shatter. The feeling of lust soon washed away, as he found himself enraged. He would make Will Vega pay. Pay for the pain inflicted on Anastasia, the feelings she felt. He knew nothing of this man, but enough to want him dead. Getting out of he shower and quickly slipping on briefs and sweats he speeds over to his office researching Anastasia's orphanage to find the known contents of Will.

And soon enough, with his own digging he was able to find where Will was placed. A nice home, with loving parents at the late age of 17, while Anastasia never got to experience those things, a family, people who cared for her. She had to look out for herself. He was blinded by so much rage he spent hours late in the night to find out where exactly Will was, and sent men to retrieve him. But Lorenzo blinded by rage and pure hatred for Will Vega, had yet to realize that he also had what Anastasia never had. He too knew what it felt like to be loved, to be cared for, to never have to worry of anything life threw at him. He didn't realize this until he was downstairs eating the meal Anastasia had prepared for him. He soon started to hate himself. He was never like this, so impulsive on decisions that didn't pertain to the mafia. That was all he ever cared about, until now. As his appetite diminished he found himself wanting to see her, even if she was in her sleeping form. He wanted to hear her, to feel her, to hold her and protect her from everything the world threw her way. But she was strong enough, she's made it this far in the world, but he didn't want her to rely on herself anymore. He wanted her to rely on him just as much as he relied on her. He hadn't even realized how much he needed her. Just seeing her, remembering her was enough to make his heart swell and breathing uneven.

Opening the door to her room, her bed was made as if she had never walked in. Panic ensued as he found himself knocking on the bathroom door, nothing. Opening it, empty. He is quick to rush out and walk upstairs, no one on the couch. No one in the small room. Running down the stairs, hand running through his hair out of agitation, he looks out facing the light the moon and reflection of the pool offer. And there he sees her. Running outside, he sees her lying near the pool, hair sprawled behind her as her breathing is even. Relief floods him that she is okay. Picking her up, he is thankful that the night isn't a cold one as she rests her head against his bare chest. He finds himself in an utter state of peace as she leans on him, giving a small thanks to God that she is here. That he is with her.

Putting her on the bed careful not to wake her, she stirs before finally settling on her side. He pushes stray strands of hair behind her face, as her lips part letting out a breath. He smiles at the sight taking her in, until he sees them. The dry trails of tears that are splayed out on her cheek. Bliss is soon enumerated with questions as to why she would be crying. He begs to God that it wasn't him that inflicted the tears. He stays for hours, watching her sleep. The way her body rises and falls with each breath. The way she is curled up, protecting herself from whatever she dreams of. The way her eyebrows tense and relax to the slight hums she makes in her sleep, is enough to entertain him for ages. Sighing, he realizes the time, 4:30 am, she'll be up in half an hour and he wouldn't want her seeing him. She would think he is crazy and run, which is the last thing he wants. Her away from him. The thought of her away from him, just the thought that she was missing a few hours ago was the most afraid he's ever been. Never had he found himself fearing for another the way he feared the worst when it came to her. Placing a kiss on her forehead and a last look at her, he sighs heavily realizing that losing her would be the death of him.

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