Demi Lovato Imagines

The Window Seat pt. 2

2 months later

It's spring now. All the cold weather has thawed out leaving shiny new leaves in its place, painting every landscape with a wash of green. This is your favourite time of year. Apart from looming exams, that is. 

You've also come to think of this time as a new beginning. Original, right? Spring being the worldwide time of renewal and all that. But you had made a pact with yourself to use this time to let go of all the turbulence you experienced during the frigid months, namely the whole thing with the girl in the window seat - Demi. 

You hadn't seen her again since that time where she admitted to her being in an abusive relationship. And you had made yourself sick with worry for weeks afterwards. Your friend Eliza eventually told you to forget it - that it wasn't your problem and that it wasn't worth getting yourself worked up about.

You only have her first name, for God's sake! How on earth do you think you are going to find her?! Stop beating yourself up about it, Y/n, you need to worry about this paper on Early Modernism if you even stand a chance of passing this year. 

So that's what you are doing now. Sitting in Eliza's flat trying to work on your essay. With your laptop sitting on your knees, you finally have enough distraction to keep you from thinking about Demi's broken face. Let's just say Early Modernism is not your strong suit. And a 2,000-word essay on it is the perfect way to get you to totally immerse yourself in something other than facebook stalking everyone with the first name of any variant of Demi: Demetria, Demisire, Damilola. Nothing. Everything leads to nothing. You just need to let it go. 

So anyway, Eliza's flat is pretty cool. It's not student accommodation like where you live, it's a proper adult flat. Takes you about half an hour to walk there but you could say it is worth it when you get to spread out in a room that isn't about nine square metres of floor space. Not that you had been over that often, this was only your second visit. 

The both of you had been typing away for a couple of hours when you heard a crash from downstairs. As in the downstairs flat. Frowning, you cast your gaze up to Eliza who hasn't seemed to notice. Or at least, you thought she hadn't. Lifting her eyesight to yours, she explains, 

"It's just the couple downstairs. They're always fighting over something."

"Really?" you say. That crash sounded pretty serious. Like something being broken against a wall. Or against a person...

"Yeah. Never met them though. Not both of them at least. I've seen the guy come in and out only a couple of times. Seems nice enough. Always complaining about his girlfriend though. I'm like TMI, dude, I didn't ask about your love life."

You let out a snicker at your friend's funny sense of humour. It's one of her best traits. She can always make you laugh even as you stare at a half-completed essay of utter garbage.  

"That's not good though, to be fighting all the time," you think out-loud. 

"Guess not," Eliza agrees, typing something more on her keyboard. Probably her conclusion, you think. Eliza is pretty well-read on 20th-century texts...unlike you. 

Neither of you say anything after that. And you don't do much either. You can't concentrate with the infrequent bangs and shouts from downstairs that penetrate your eardrums, knocking you from your train of thought every time you think of a new argument. 

"I think I'm gonna take off," you sigh, closing your laptop and stretching out.

"You done?" Eliza asks.

"No. I just can't work with all this noise. How do you keep going?"

"Used to it, I suppose. Sorry about that, Y/n. Maybe we can work together at your place next time."