Even Heroes Have Scars (Revised)

[4] This Is Our Song

Note: I am attempting to keep this as similar and realistic to Demi's life at the time as possible. Demi has come out as non-binary in real life, but up until the chronological point in the story where Demi discovers this about themselves, Demi's pronouns will remain as she/her unless one of you readers asks me to change that.

"This Is Our Song" - Chapter Title based on Demi Lovato's song with that title from Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam.

Demi's P.O.V.

I was tired of going to Wilmer's. Tired of seeing him. I honestly didn't want to go at all. But when I ended up on his doorstep, fishing my key out of my purse, I knew, deep down, that there was a guilt-based reason that led me here, and Ansley probably had something to do with it.

"Niña, what a surprise. Come here," he invited from his seat on the couch upon me entering the house.

Doing as he said, I relaxed onto the couch beside him, my head on his shoulder as he flipped channels on his television. He kissed me every now and then. Before I knew it, he had me on my back on the couch as he climbed on top of me. He had his way with me, accomplishing his goal but not mine. I faked it well enough for his ego, though.

"I can tell you've been working out lately," he commented as he pulled his shirt back on. "You look good."

I forced a smile as I tugged my underwear back on and slipped my dress back over my head. As soon as I was done, he reached over and placed a hand on my knee, staring into my eyes. I kept thinking about what he said, about how maybe that meant he thought I didn't look good unless I wasn't working out.

"You're so beautiful," he insisted, leaning forward to kiss me.

I reciprocated the kiss for a brief moment, then stood up from the couch, running my hands through my hair. Man, I was missing my longer hair and heavily regretting shaving half of my head. I wanted to hide behind my hair in this moment. He followed me, hauling me closer as his hand lingered on my ass.

"I love you," he told me, genuinely so.

With another false grin, I replied, "I love you, too."

It wasn't completely insincere. I did love him. He usually treated me well, and he never tried to hurt me. Him calling me beautiful felt truthful, like he actually believed it with every fiber of his being and wanted to let me see myself the way he saw me. He even helped me a lot in my eating disorder and mental health stuff in the past year as I coped with my biological father's death. And he took care of me even before that, as I struggled coming back into the world after my first stint in rehab. Even when I spent my days drunk or high on any substances I could get my hands on. He was there for me when most people weren't. I was indebted to him.

That's why I was with him. He felt safe. He would take care of me forever, and it was imperative that I didn't let him go. Good men were hard to come by, and I needed to be with a good man. One who wouldn't leave me. One who knew my family and promised my dad, Eddie, that he'd do anything, anything, to make me happy. I was lucky, honestly. I mean, how many people found such a caring man so early in their life?

So why wasn't I in love with him? Words couldn't say. There was something deep within me that knew I needed to be with him, but it wasn't out of love or lust or romance. To be quite frank, I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. I didn't think I'd ever been in love with anyone before. 'Cause if you're not sure you've been in love before, then you haven't been. It's something you know only if you have been. So, the only thing I did know was that I didn't deserve him. He should've had someone that loved him the way he loved me. I would never tell him, though. He couldn't know.