Demi Lovato Imagines

Dancer pt.3

It's been about two months since it all came to a head. And two months since she left.

Demi stayed with you that night after watching you on stage, gushing about how amazing you were and how happy she was to have been able to watch you. And you felt...happy. Which was strange considering you didn't think you could feel anything other than awkward around her. Your mind kept telling you not to let your guard down - that one slip and your whole life will all come crashing down. And you get why you think that. Anyone would after being sabotaged by a stranger and being kicked out of your job and onto the streets of the US. You don't need a therapist to tell you what you already know. You don't need to pay one either.

So, the next day, Demi headed off to her own hotel telling you about how much she had enjoyed spending time with you (and you tried your best to believe her) and told you to let her know the next time you were in LA.

Which would be never, let's face it. When will you ever have a reason to pack up and leave the boards in New York. You can barely afford to ride the Subway. But that's fine, I mean, who cares if you ever see her again, right? It's not like you are actively pushing aside the memories of her firing you from her tour cast every day because she thinks you exposed her darkest insecurities. It's not like you feel your heart twinge every time you recall her face after she listened to that tape. And when you think about her words that day the guy got arrested, you don't let yourself believe - truly - that she could have ever really forgiven you. Because that's too much for you to wish for. Thinking that way will only lead to disappointment. 

Getting your hopes up and all that jazz. 

Now that she was gone, and you had very little chance of running into her again - not that the whole scenario two months ago was anything to go by - you felt the best way to live your life was to block it all out.

Block. Dance. Sleep. Repeat.

Block. Dance. Sleep. Repeat.

Block. Dance. Stress about the entire thing for hours on end so it makes you feel sick and not want to get out of bed to perform that night in front of hundreds of people even though it is your dream life with the dream people and you wouldn't want to give it up for anything...

Sleep.

Repeat. 

Who are you kidding?

You figure that's why you've been waking up in the middle of the night. This is the second night in a row that you've done this: jolt awake and lie staring into the darkness, trying to get yourself to doze off by smothering the thoughts of Demi being mad at you with a metaphorical pillow. 

And tonight you know you need to do something proactive. Just find out the truth about what Demi actually knows and confront her about it. Like ripping off a band-aid. You can't live the rest of your life worrying about whether one of the biggest pop-stars in the world thinks you are really some cruel and insensitive person who doesn't care if she bitches about other people behind their backs. Because that's not who you are. And it bothers you more than it should to think that Demi might think that of you. This whole thing has been a bit of a mind-fuck, really. But, hey - Demi would understand that. But you're not going to go into it. Not making that mistake again. 

Rolling over on your bed, feeling your tears of frustration absorb instantaneously into your bedding as you press your face flat into the mattress, you reach across and unplug your phone from its charger. 

About to do something you vowed would never happen. 

Not even bearing to look at the screen, you manage to unlock the phone and tap into contacts. It's not until this moment that you summon the courage to look at the list of names, scrolling down with bated breath until Demi's number comes up. Not giving yourself time to think twice, you twist yourself around again so you are lying flat on your back and press the call button.