EVERYTHING I DESERVE{CURRENTLY REWRITING}

ABSQUATULATE

Absquatulate(v.) To leave without saying goodbye

Natalie POV

I wake to sunlight beaming through my curtains. I force my limbs up and face my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I start my morning routine. I can't stop myself from replaying the events of last night.

"You're so beautiful, Natalie," Lorenzo says in a hushed tone. I wrap my legs around his waist in an attempt to bring him closer to me, but he doesn't budge. "Patience, cariño." He chuckles when I huff out of frustration. His touch leaves me breathless and his speed leaves me bothered. He drags his hands underneath my skirt and caresses my bare skin. I can't hold back a moan when his hands inch closer to the place I need him the most. And just when I think he will give in to my wishes, he traces the hem of my underwear.

He makes me meet his eye, staring at my lips– silently asking for permission. Nodding, I bring him closer and meet him halfway. My lips crash against his, my mouth opens, granting Lorenzo's tongue access to mine. His grunts make my hips rise, bucking against him without thought. "Fuck, Natalie." He bites my lip, only causing me to repeat the previous action. My common sense is malfunctioning. I don't hear him calling my name through my heavy panting. I have done several things without thinking, but this takes the cake. Am I really going to have–potentially unprotected–sex with a man I have barely known for a couple of months? "Natalie, we should stop." Instantly I'm slapped out of my thoughts. My previous questions seemingly answered.

And now we're here. As if nothing happened.

I walk to my kitchen and nearly freezing from shock. Lorenzo is half naked, cooking, and humming along to the music playing on his phone. My mouth waters at the sight of pancakes, bacon, and fried eggs.

How long was I asleep for? Why is he here? Did he ever leave?

He speaks as if he's just noticing my presence. "Good morning, Natalie." His morning voice sends shivers down my back. Choosing to ignore them, I simply nod and grab the orange juice from the fridge.

Like why did he stop? Did I come on too strong? Was I too desperate? God, I probably looked pathetic, begging for something he never intended on giving me in the first place.

He flips the last pancake while humming, like this is just another Saturday. Like we didn't cross a line that I don't even know how to come back from. He stops me from pouring the last of his juice. He stares at me with an unreadable look, and I feel exposed, like he's seeing a part of me I didn't mean to show.

"About last ni--" he starts, but I pull my hand away before he can finish. He opens his mouth like he's going to explain, maybe even apologize. For a second, I consider letting him. But the silence between us already feels like an answer. "It's okay," I interrupt. "It's probably for the best anyway, right?" I create some distance, pretending to focus on grabbing plates from the cabinet.

We eat in an uncomfortable silence. Nothing in the air but utensils hitting the plate. I can feel him watching me. His staring kills my appetite, honestly.

"Got anything planned today?" His voice was sharp enough to cut through the silence around us.

"I plan on running errands." I lie. Truthfully, I want him gone. Maybe if I say I have a busy day, he'll leave. The longer he stays, the more I burn with embarrassment. His stare paralyzes me, he doesn't seem to believe me, yet he doesn't question my fabrication. Thankfully, a ping from his phone turns his attention away from me. He reads whatever notification appears, and his jaw visibly tightens. He only glances at me for a second, if that, before he takes a deep breath,

There has to be scientific reasoning to why men look so sexy when mad. Has to be.

He abruptly gets out of his chair, starts to gather his belongings. My confusion is only met with silence.

Say something. Anything. But he doesn't. When I finally manage to speak, the door answers for him. He left without saying goodbye. Just like Anthony. Just like everyone else I let get too close. There's a word for that, absquatulate. I looked it up this morning. I wish I hadn't.

Lorenzo's POV

I left Natalie's building with my blood boiling. Not just from the message on my phone, not just from the mess waiting for me, but from her. I wanted to tell her I stopped because I respected her. Because I didn't want to be just another bad decision in her story. But I couldn't, not when she looked at me like she regretted everything, like she thought I didn't want her. Like I didn't crave her more than my next breath.

If it's not one thing it's another. Mariana getting locked up, again. Natalie. My parents breathing down my neck to settle down. My upcoming match. The company's issues. Matteo's fuckups. And now Natalie's brother. I need to calm down, the worst decisions are made out of anger. I probably should've fucked Natalie. Maybe I'd be calmer than I am. I take a breath and call Matteo.

"What the fuck happened, Matteo?" I say, slamming the car door behind me and gripping the steering wheel like it did something to me.

"I didn't mean for it to go sideways-–"

"Shut the fuck up and tell me what you did."

I listened to Matteo ramble on about miscommunication and how he thought the deal was clean.

Thought. That's always the word before everything goes to shit.

My head throbs. Matteo doesn't realize how much this comes back to me. To my name. To everything I've built. And now thanks to him, Anthony Stewart's name resurfaces like a ghost I never planned to see again.

Anthony. A name I haven't heard in years. Not since he left, like a coward. Cutting ties, leaving behind everything and everyone. Including her. I didn't know Natalie was his sister. Not at first. Her last name didn't click until I saw an old picture in her apartment, the day we took her to the hospital. I stared at it longer than I should've. I couldn't believe the man who used to have my back was the same one who betrayed me. And now I'm messing around with his little sister.

How fucked up is that?

I let Matteo's voice fade into the background as my thoughts spiral. Natalie doesn't know about Anthony. About the past. About me. The longer I stay around her, the worse it'll be for us when she finds out that I'm the reason he disappeared in the first place.

And if she ever finds out the truth– about me–about Anthony–she'll hate me. And this time, I might deserve it.

No. I will deserve this.