Demi Lovato Imagines

Psych Ward

"Don't listen to them," you said in a reassuring voice. 

You were sitting on an uncomfortable chair at the side of the cubicle - watching as Demi sat frigidly upright on the hospital bed. 

You could tell she was listening to the voices in her head - when her eyes would glaze over and she would look past you when you tried to speak to her.  You could always tell - and that was what was scaring you. It had been happening more and more, and there didn't seem to be anything you could do to stop them for her. 

Watching as she tensed up moments later, obviously hurt by whatever her demons had just told her, you sigh and pull yourself up to standing. Your legs were stiff after sitting so long in that chair and your eyes kept watering considering how tired you were. You had both been in the hospital for at least four hours, mostly just waiting for various doctors to come back in with news of another test they wanted to run. 

Walking over to Demi, it didn't even look like she was aware of where she was anymore. Her gaze was fixed at some random point on the blank wall and as you got closer, you could see the slight tremble of her body as she fought to contain herself in as small a ball as possible. Her arms were wrapped around her torso with her legs stretched out in front of her. Almost how a child would sit. But you didn't let yourself think about that notion for too long. You had lasted until...what time was it... 11:39 pm without crying. You weren't about to give up now. 

"Dems," you speak again, trying to break her out of her trance. It sounds awful, but you really couldn't be bothered with this again. Not in a mean way towards Demi - but - you were just fed up with seeing her dissolve into broken sobs as she fought to shake the awful voices from her conscious. It was a daily occurrence now. That's why you brought her in. 

You feel like the worst partner in the world. You tricked her, basically. After her most recent breakdown earlier in the day, you knew she would be worn out and too tired to do anything productive. So, without really thinking it through, you helped her out the house and into the car, reassuring her with intermittent white lies about where you were taking her, and drove her to the hospital. And when you realised that she was so spaced out that she didn't even realise where you had brought her...you knew in your gut that you had made the right decision. 

"N-no. Stop..." Demi stuttered out, breaking you from the flashback of events. You could see her hands beginning to tense around her forearms and squeeze tightly, her nails digging painfully into her own skin. 

"Hey, D, listen to me okay. I've got you. No one else is here, ignore what anyone else is saying to you, okay? Just listen to my voi-"

As you reach out your hands to try and pry her own fingers away from inflicting any more harm on herself, she immediately jumps and cowers away, as if burned by the slightest touch from you.

"No!" she squeaks, still not making eye contact with you. 

You know that she doesn't recognise you as...well you. This has happened before as well. When you first noticed her start slipping back into phases of psychosis, you would try and wrap your arms tightly around her and hope for the best. Now you know that that does nothing but worsen the situation. And you kick yourself for being so stupid. 

You can hear her breathing hitch as it starts coming out in short, panicked gasps. You swither on calling in one of the nurses to help, considering you've lost all confidence in being able to manage. I mean, who willingly takes their girlfriend into a hospital because you can't prevent her from getting upset? How feckless are you?!

Deciding against it, as you know more bodies in the small cubicle will only make Demi panic more, you take a deep breath and start again. 

"Shhh, Demi, shhh," you sooth, perching slightly on the edge of the bed and rubbing circles on her back. This time, she doesn't react so violently to the contact so you press a little harder, hoping to bring her back to reality.