IMAGINE... d.l.

You Can't Bandage The Damage

(in which you and Demi meet in the mental institution, Timberline Knolls)

You sit in the cafeteria of this hell hole, hopelessly eating your chicken in slow, deliberate bites. You've been in this hell hole for nearly three weeks and you feel like you're slowly dying.

Your parents decided to put you in Timberline Knolls, a mental institution, for you to get "help" and for you to get "better". You really just thought they wanted to out of their lives for a while. You're supposed to be here for a year which is stupid. It should only be a few months. You're in here for your "problem" with cutting and your eating disorder. You do not have a "problem". You were doing just fine. You hadn't cut in over two weeks and had eaten half of my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It used to be worse. You used to cut every chance you got - when you got home, at school during lunch or bathroom breaks, etc. - and you used to not eat all day. Sometimes for more than two weeks.

But then everything crashed.

When you found out your parents were sending you here, they had called you downstairs and told you right on the spot. They told you they knew about your eating problem and your cutting. Your mom said she had seen your scars before. You said you didn't want to go, scream and cried even. When you didn't get through to them, you went into your room, grabbed the razor you tucked into a tin box underneath your bed, and cut your wrists so deep, you thought you cut veins. The last thing you remember is waking up in the hospital, your wrists cleaned and wrapped, and your head hurting. About four weeks of being in the hospital and eating the hospital food, forcing yourself not to go into the tiny bathroom in the room and vomit, you were sent here.

So far, it's been the worst three weeks of your life. You take therapy four days a week for one hour and barely have any time for yourself. You can't do anything without the nurses and guards breathing down your neck. You usually stay in your room and watch TV, read, and play on your laptop. You haven't called your parents at all. And if they call you, you ust ignore it.

You're bringing a baby carrot to your lips when you hear the sound of the cafeteria doors slamming open and someone screaming, "I don't need to eat! I need to get the fuck out of here!" You turn around and notice a girl with long brown hair and curvy yet skinny structure, wearing a long-sleeved black shirt under a denim vest that stops at her chest and buttons there, denim skinny jeans, and combat boots with a fedora topping it off. She wears golden choker around her neck with gold glittering earrings.

It takes you a moment to realize that it's Demi Lovato. And when you do, you freak out on the inside. Demi Lovato is your idol. Your savior from your horrible life. What in the hell is she doing in here?

You watch as the nurse she grasps her arm, pulls her close, and whispers into her ear. Demi's eyes trail to yours and her face softens. You swallow, looking away towards the wall and then back at her. You watch her as she yanks her arm away from the nurse and walks over to the lunch line, grabbing a tray and a bottle of water. You watch as she makes her way to your table, the heels to her boots clicking. Your heart starts beating faster. 'Is she coming to sit with me?' you ask yourself. You get your answer when she suddenly sits next to you, plopping down onto the bench with a heavy sigh. You overlook her and sense anger and misery coming from her. When she looks at you, you quickly look down at your food, pushing it around and putting it into your mouth, biting it and fighting not to cringe.

Demi makes a repulsed sound next to you. "How can you eat this stuff?"

You look at her and smile slightly. "Have to. If you don't eat, they send you to your therapist, and if they send you to your therapist, you don't leave."

"How long have you been here exactly?" Demi asks, opening her water bottle. You can't believe you're actually talking! Not the kind of conversation you thought you'd have or the place you thought you would talk in, but it's better than nothing.

"Three weeks," you say. "My name is Y/N. And I know who you are. Demi Lovato, singer, actress, pop sensation, Disney Channel icon, etc., etc." You smile at her, letting her know you're kidding.

She laughs a bit at this. "Well, I wouldn't say all that."

"Let me just say, I love your music," you say. "It helps me get through a lot. And you're such a huge star. What are you doing in a place like this?" Is she in here for the same reasons as you?

She sighs, takes off her hat, and scratches her scalp before looking back at you. "This is really hard to talk about. Even though it was just posted around the internet last week."

Last week?! What the hell?! You were on the internet most of last week! Why haven't you heard of this?! "Well, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's fine," she says, waving it off as if it's nothing. "I'm in here for cutting and an eating disorder."

Your eyes widen at this. She's in here for the same reason as me? Her?

Demi smiles slightly at your reaction. "Don't look so surprised. Being a celebrity isn't all glitter and glam. I just had so much pressure on me to become the perfect icon, the perfect idol. I wanted to be pretty."

'But you are pretty,' you want to say, but don't. You just listen.

"I kept getting tweets about me being fat and ugly, death threats and such. I wanted to die right then and there. So I turned to cutting. And not eating. And alcohol and drug use. This went on for a while before my parents finally sent me here. This is my first day here. I'm supposed to be here for about a year."

"Guess you're gonna be stuck with me," you say, trying to light the mood.

She smiles slightly. "I guess I am." She looks down at her food and swallows hard. She's staring at it like it's about to jump out and kill her. You understand how she feels.

You move closer to her and lean your elbow on the table, your chin in your palm. "Hey, how about after this, I show you around the building?" you suggest. "There's a beautiful garden outside and a music room just down the hallway. They've got all these instruments and everything. I know you play piano and guitar. Maybe you can sing me a little song?"

She smiles at this, her eyes slightly brighter. "Yeah. That sounds pretty good."

And that's how you and Demi Lovato - miraculously - became friends.