Demi Lovato Imagines

One Year

TW - self-harm

Just a few more steps, just a few more steps. 

You round the corner of your street, seeing the end of your drive up ahead. 

Hold it together. Walk. One, two, three, four.

You pass your mom's car, reaching for the front door. The handle is cold inside your clammy palm. The cool air conditioning blows onto your face as you stumble inside, closing the door behind you and leaning back on it. Your chest feels locked as if bound by unbreakable chains. Your throat feels tight and rigid like a steel pipe, getting increasingly clogged with muck. You hiss out through clenched teeth. 

You're home. You're fine. Let it out. 

The tears start, hot and fat, running down your cheeks, under your chin. You don't wipe them away. You keep your hands behind your back, feeling the bumps of the door as you slide down to sitting, school bag dumped at your side. 

Jamie's words slip in and out of your head, knife piercing meat, until you can't help but pay attention to them. I just don't get you, you know? He was a dick. You always complained about him.

I know, you shake your head, alone in the vestibule. Don't you think I realise that?

You love Jamie. You really do. He's got a car, the only one in your year. He plays football. He did that whole promposal on Valentine's Day in front of the whole canteen. You love the way he answers your texts and comes round to your house and helps you with your calculus homework even though he doesn't really know the answer either. 

You just don't love the way he talks about your dad. And, today, you finally broke and said something. 

Are you going to be in this mood the rest of the day?

So what if I am?

Because it's a bit of a downer if you want me to be honest. 

Maybe I don't.

Don't what?

Want you to be honest.

Fine, so I'll just keep pretending that your dad was some great guy who never lay a hand on you or your mom. I'll go around shouting so everyone knows. Hey, everyone! Y/n's dad wasn't the asshole we all thought he was! 

Jamie, stop. 

It was all a joke! He was actually this sweet, caring man--!

Jamie! 

Then explain to me why you're getting all depressed over him? 

See? Come on. Practice starts in five.

I think I just want to go home.

Why?

I just do.

So you can sit at home and cry? You know no one's going to give you attention for that. 

I'm going home. 

Y/n. Come on, you always watch my practices. 

Yeah, well, today I'm not. 

 Y/n.

You remember wrenching your wrist out of his grip, pacing down the hallway. You remember the sharp lash of his tongue as he shouted after you. You'll regret this, he said. Like he does most times you don't do as he says. Who else have you got?

Your cat slinks downstairs, her soft feet padding along the wooden flooring until she's standing on your toes. You stroke her head, exhaling. You knew it would be worse today. You're not even sure why you marked it in your calendar, as if it would somehow make it easier to deal with? A countdown? Preparation? Deep breath, here we go. But when you woke up this morning, you could just tell it was going to be a shitty day, as all you can think about is how shitty it was this time last year. Coming home from school. Dad dumping his last bag in the trunk of his car. Mom screaming out the front door. The next day there was a rumour going around your science class that someone's mom called the police, saying there was a domestic. But that was just a rumour because no one turned up. No one cared. And, just like that, everyone moved on with their lives while yours felt bolted to the ground. Even your mom. Especially your mom.