Demi Lovato Imagines

Unrequited

"Demi?"

"Demi, please say something?"

"...I-...I have to go..."

"No, please, Demi. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have said anything, I-...please don't leave!"

"I can't, Y/n, I need to...go somewhere-"

"But, Demi, I didn't mean to make you--"

"This can't happen, Y/n, I don't--...please let go of my arm-"

"But, please, I--"

"JUST STOP!" she shouts, making you jump back in fright. Your hands let go of her sleeve, clasping together in front of your chest as you try to stop yourself from falling apart.

She backs away a little more, towards the door. She looks sorry. Or maybe it's pitiful. Whatever it is, it makes you want to wither into a dead leaf, ready to get stamped into the ground under someone's heavy boot.

"Just...stop..." she breathes, rubbing her temples with her fingers. She's angry. You angered her.

"I'm sorry, Demi," you mumble in a shaky voice, barely audible even to you.

She doesn't look at you. She looks to your feet, calculating what to say next. You wish you could see her scribbled sums so you know what to expect. Because you know what she's going to say. You just don't know how she's going to say it. And there's a high likelihood it's going to break your heart.

You wait for what feels like hours before your heels start to ache from being pressed into the floor so hard. You shuffle a little, switching your weight from one foot to the other, before deciding to just rip the plaster off yourself.

"Listen, Demi, I--"

"Why did you have to say that?" she mutters, still not looking at your face.

You pause. You don't know. Or, you do know, actually. You had been planning it for weeks. You had invited her round for this purpose. It was supposed to be perfect. You were supposed to seamlessly go from best friends to...well...I don't know what you were expecting exactly. Best friends to something closer to a relationship, anyway? Because that's what happens in movies when one character confesses their love for the other.

"I don't know..." you start, hoping you would find the rest of the sentence somewhere, "...I guess I just wanted to be honest...and I guess I hoped-..." you fight the lump in your throat, "...that you might-..."

"No," she interjects, shaking her head, "I don't."

"O-okay."

Your voice quivers like a taut bowstring. And you already know that nothing is going to hit the target.

"I'm just going to head off...I don't think I should stay here tonight," she murmurs, her eyes momentarily flicking to yours before returning to the hardwood floor.

"...ok-ay..."

"I'll see you around then," she nods, picking up her bag from her feet and shuffling towards the exit. By the time you can even get you last word out, she's already outside, quickly pulling the front door closed behind her with a click.

"...'kay..."

The silence is deafening. Your eardrums feel like they are stretching with every breath. Like when you're descending in an aeroplane and noiseless noise cuts in and out.

You go upstairs.

She said she would see you around though. That's something, I guess. You would hate to think that you would never see her again after all these years of being friends.