Demi Lovato Imagines

Caught

People think your life is easy. They think that because you have famous parents and relatives that you have this amazing and glorious life, never having to worry about anything. You wish it was that simple. Being the child of parents like yours adds pressure; pressure you never asked for.

When you were little, your mom would always talk to you about how you're feeling and would always tell you how beautiful you were and to ignore what the paparazzi and people on social media say, and back then you would. What little kid needs social media? You didn't. But now that you're older, you have those things now. You have Instagram, Twitter, Facebook. At first you got it because all your friends at school did and you wanted to fit in and be 'normal' so to speak. That didn't happen for you though. Having the famous last name of Lovato-Valderrama hardly makes your life normal.

Having tens of thousands of people following you on social media makes you feel anxious, especially when you tweet or post pictures. No matter how many nice comments you get, there's always others than tear you apart inside and destroy you bit by bit. Your mom and dad have seen a few of the mean things people say, but they tell you to ignore them and that it isn't true. But, it must be true when the people at school started saying it too.

Maybe you are fat, maybe you are ugly.

And the worst part is, it's turned you into your mom when she was your age. You have this hidden secret that only you know, and the thought of your mom or dad ever discovering it makes you panic and wish you could run away. There have actually been a few close calls when your grandma and everyone else are over for dinner, and aunt maddie wants to go in the pool but you refuse. Instead you just sit there with your hoodie on, clutching at the sleeves while your mom gives you a look as if she's trying to read what you're thinking.

Today's worse than all the others. You got beat up at school and no matter how much make up you put on, the bruise still shows through. You don't even know what to do. How are you supposed to cover this from your mom? She's supposed to be home from work any minute now, and you're sitting covered in bruises and cuts; cuts you've inflicted on yourself. God, if your mom knew that her precious Y/N has turned into everything she fought against exposing you to, I'm sure it would kill her.

You quickly clean up the bathroom floor and start a shower in hopes to get all the dried blood off your skin. The feeling of hot water running over your cuts brings some sort of sick pleasure. You love the feeling.

"Y/N! Baby, I'm home" your mom calls from the front door, and your heart instantly stops.

"Okay, I'm in a shower" you yell back before furiously scrubbing at your skin.

You wash your hair and face, wincing when your fingers run over your bruise. Did they really have to punch you in the face of all places? How much more obvious can it get?

After successfully managing to get the blood off your skin, you turn off the shower and wrap yourself in a towel before stepping out. Just when your foot hits the wet floor, you lose your balance and slip. Your head hits off the side of the sink, causing you to cry out in pain.

"Y/N! Open the door!" your mom yells in panic, but you don't respond. You need to cover yourself before she sees. "I'm not kidding, open the door. I heard you fall, baby let me in" she persists, and the pain in your head only intensifies to the point where black dots cloud your vision.

You're panicking, you can't see anything. It's all darkness. You scream out in an attempt to trigger your vision into returning or showing you something, but nothing.

"Baby!" your mom screams as you continue to cry out in pain.

"Mom I can't see anything!" you whimper while scrambling on your hands and knees to find the door, but it's no use. The last thing you hear is the sound of a door being broken before it all goes black.

-

Waking up, you realize you're fully dressed in pyjamas, your head resting on a pillow while a cool wet cloth sits on your forehead. Your eyes hurt, they both feel bruised now. Your entire body stings thanks to your infliction earlier, and that's when you remember what happened. You fell, you were naked, and now you're not. Someone dressed you. Oh God, oh God no, it can't be...

"Baby girl, why didn't you come to me?"

Fuck.

You slowly lift your gaze to meet the eyes of your mom. Her cheeks are stained red, she's been crying. You can't even find a word to tell her. You feel embarrassed, disgusting, ashamed. You've let her down.

"Y/N please talk to me. Don't shut me out more than you already have" your mom whispers while running her hands through your hair, making sure to avoid the bruises.

"I don't know what to say" you sigh, feeling a lump form in your throat. You've never liked heart to hearts.

"I wish you talked to me, I never wanted you to do this to yourself" your mom says, lifting your arm to reveal many cuts. You wince at the sudden contact, causing your mom's bottom lip to tremble. "I cleaned them all so they wouldn't get infected, that's why they hurt so much. Baby girl, why?"

You bite your bottom lip as tears form in your eyes. Do you tell her that the pressure's too much? That you didn't ask for a life like this? That people constantly verbally abuse you and now physically abuse you at school?

"It's just hard" you cry out, trying to keep your breathing under control while your mom squeezes your hand as a way of saying to keep going. "People at school, they're hurtful. They tell me that I don't deserve the life I have, that I'm a disappointment to you and Dad. It just got too much, I'm sorry."

Next thing you know, you're sitting in your mom's lap as she rocks you back and forth; just like she did when you were little. The feeling of her arms wrapped around your body brings comfort, only making you cry more.

"You are not a disappointment Y/N. Baby, you literally saved my life, you know that?" she asks you, pulling away so you make eye contact. You shake your head before she continues. "When your dad and I found out we were expecting you, I was struggling a lot. Hearing the news that you were coming, it made me get my shit together. If it hadn't have been for you, God knows what might have happened."

You don't know what to say. You parents never told you that story before. Still, it doesn't change the fact that you're ugly and fat, or a waste of space.

"Don't you ever call yourself those things" your mom says, interrupting your thoughts for you to realize that they weren't thoughts, you said them out loud. Shit.

"I'm sorry" you whimper, feeling completely embarrassed at your lack of control.

"Don't apologize Y/N, it's not your fault. Just please promise me that you'll talk to me from now on, cause baby if this continues I'm going to have to send you to therapy" your mom states, her tone serious yet shaking.

"I don't want to go to therapy" you cry out while tugging on your sleeves, not wanting mom to see your cuts any more.

"I know baby, so start talking to me. Remember, I've been through this and I got through it. I can help you through it too. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you Y/N" your mom says while pulling you in closer to her, kissing your forehead.

"I love you too, mom."

"Now, how about we go pick out a movie and make smores like when you were little?" your mom asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sounds good" you giggle, giving her one final hug before heading downstairs.