You Can't Choose Your Family ➸ Demi Lovato

{Chapter 1}

a/n: internally cringing at the beginning of this story but I promise you it picks up & gets better!! -15/08/16

"Saskia we're gonna be so late!" Mom shouted from downstairs. I huffed in annoyance. I don't want to go to mom's half sisters house for Thanksgiving. I want to stay at home, in my bed listening to Paramore. It's 6 bloody thirty in the morning. It's an 11 hour drive away. And I've never even met any of the people I'm going to have to survive with for a whole fucking week.

I grabbed my duffel bag which I'd been forced to pack the night before and headed down the stairs, making sure to stomp as loudly and obnoxiously as possible in the hope that she might just let me go and stay with Kaitlin, my best friend instead.

"Can you grab Aubrey's bag?" Mom asked, pointing at my younger sisters overly large suitcase on the floor.

"Geez, how many toys does she need?" I groaned, picking up the heavy bag. I caught mom rolling her eyes at me.

Mom decided that Denley, my 3 year old brother would fight with Aubrey if they were in the backseat together so I had to sit in the back with him. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now I have to keep the annoying toddler of my brother entertained for 11 hours. Yay. Not.

Only two hours into the drive, Aubrey decided she needed to pee.

"Mom!" The five year old squealed, holding her crotch. Ew. "I need a peeeeee!"

The next gas station was in like 30 miles.

"Mommy!" Aubrey continued screeching.

At 10 miles left Denley decided to join in the screaming choir too.

"Saskia can you get his pacifier from my bag?" I was surprised I could even hear mom over the racket.

I obeyed. Anything to shut the fucking toddler up. I swear I am never having kids. Ever.

I reached over behind me to find that I'd conveniently placed Aubrey's bag on top of moms. I tried moving Aubrey's portable toy store but it's difficult with a seat belt on and your 5 ft 2. Yes I'm a fucking midget. I know you're internally laughing because I'm 14 and so small but no it's not funny so shut your mouth.

"Saskia! Please!" Mom begged, trying to keep her focus on the road ahead.

"It's stuck under Aubrey's shit!" I shouted back. Shouting was necessary with two young kids screaming their asses off.

"Language!" Mom warned, I caught her eye in the mirror. I rolled my eyes at her hard glare and slumped back into my seat.

The next 15 minutes were hell but finally we pulled up at a gas station. Mom rushed inside with Aubrey, leaving me with the wailing little brother.

I debated whether putting my headphones back on but mom would loose her shit if Denley was still crying. So being the nice older sister I am, I got out of the car and spent a full 3 minutes retrieving my brothers pacifier.

9 hours and about 7 loo and food breaks later it was 8pm and we were in Los Angeles. I've never been here before. If I could describe it in one word it would be 'dark'.

"Are we there yet?" Aubrey whined. Luckily she'd fallen asleep for the past 4 hours but now she was stirring and bound to kick up a fuss about one thing or another.

"Shh...don't wake up Den babe," mom whispered. Most sensible thing I've ever heard her say. Waking up Denley would be like walking into a Justin Bieber concert. Loud and highly unpleasant. "We're like half an hour away. Go back to sleep sweetie." Mom cooed.

Aubrey did as told and the car was quiet again, apart from The Fray playing softly in my ear.

"Saskia?" Mom whispered.

"What?" I shot back, more aggressive than expected. Mom rolled her eyes. If you haven't already gathered, my mom rolls her eyes at me a lot.

"Quit the attitude." She whisper-shouted, "when we're at my sister's you gotta pretend you're a polite teenager, okay?" Her voice was full of warning.

"What? I'm angelic." I smiled a sickly sweet smile back at her. She sighed.

"Oh and don't freak out when you meet my sister."

"I think I'll cope." I sarcastically replied. All I know is that mom's half-sisters are called Dallas and Demetria. And I'm not exactly excited to meet them. No chance of me freaking out. They're just people. Why the hell would I 'freak out'?

We stopped in front of two large metal gates. Mom rolled the window down.

"Hey it's Amber." She said into an inter-com. The gates opened automatically and I'm sure my jaw hit my lap. The house was fucking enormous. Rich pricks.

We drove down the short-ish drive and mom pulled up next to a Porsche 911. As I said, rich pricks.

Two women who couldn't have been more than 25 approached the car and mom jumped out into their embrace. They were giggling and jumping around like teenagers. Geez, I though I was the teen here?

Mom knocked on my window, gesturing for me to get out the car. I reluctantly took off my headphones and opened the door.

"Omg she's looks so much like you Dem!" The brunette woman blushed. I don't know who 'Dem' is. Bet it's their pet name for the mole hill in their yard. I'm as beautiful as a mole hill. Yeh I'm ugly as a piece of shit, okay?

"Saskia, you going to introduce yourself?" Mom elbowed me in the ribs. Ouch.

"You just did." I shot a fake smile at her. Mom sighed and most likely rolled her eyes again.

I heard someone giggle. I looked up to see the blonde woman laughing at mom's pissed off expression. Wait. I know this blonde chick. The laugh sounded familiar... but I thought she had blue hair? Eugh I'm thinking too hard for Thanksgiving vacation.

"Madison's been dying to meet you," the blonde grabbed my wrist.

"Ow!" I cried. She shot me a quizzical look but quickly covered it by a smile and took my hand instead and led me towards the house.

Yeh if you haven't guessed. I cut. Start calling me 'emo' and all that shit already. I'm used to it.

"So I'm Demi" ah it's clicked. Demi Lovato. Mom's name used to be Lovato. Wait. Stop. Demi fucking Lovato is my aunt? Wait why am I freaking out? Oh god, mom told me I'd freak out- I hate her being right. I hate Demi Lovato's sickly Disney movies and auto tuned albums. Why do I have to be related to a fucking Disney princess?

This week is going to be so much worse than I could ever have imagined.