Demi Lovato Imagines

What Mothers Do

"Oh my God would you just stop already?!" you yell while storming into the house, throwing your jacket on the ground before making a beeline for the stairs.

"No I won't stop Y/N, and don't think you can speak to me that way" your mom yells back, grabbing your arm in the process.

"Quit it, that hurts" you state while pulling your arm out of her grasp. She looks at you with anger yet almost defeated eyes and you have to try your hardest not to break down.

"What the hell has gotten into you Y/N?" she asks quietly, her eyes now looking at you softly.

"Nothing has gotten into me mom, I'm fine" you reply before heading back up to your room, slamming the door.

You don't know why you feel so angry. She just won't get off your back, asking you day in and day out what the matter is. You're tired of her pestering you. Sometimes you hate that youe mom is Demi Lovato, only because you feel as if you have to confide in her over every little thing. Some things are just too difficult to talk about.

There's a soft knock on your door, and you already know that it's your mom. You mutter a soft 'come in' and watch as your door slowly opens, revealing your mom with two cups of hot chocolate.

"I thought I'd make you your favourite, hot chocolate with the full works" she says with a hesitant smile, obviously trying to gauge your body language.

"Thanks" you reply, taking the mug from her and smiling slightly at the effort she went to. She even got the chocolate sauce on top.

You feel your bed dip slightly and watch as your mom sits her cup on your bedside table. You decide to keep yours in your hands, giving you something to focus on.

"Look Y/N, I-"

"Mom please, don't" you interrupt while trying to fight back tears.

"No Y/N, I'm sorry but we need to have this talk" your mom explains, and soon enough the warm cup in your hands is taken away, your mom sitting it next to hers. You feel her hands grabbing yours as she shuffles closer to you, making you look up at her. "I need you to talk to me baby girl, we can't keep doing this. The yelling and the screaming matches, it isn't good for anyone; not for you, for me, or for your dad. Tell me, what's going on?"

The soft and caring tone in your mom's voice only causes a lump to form in your throat. God, even after all the bullshit you've put her through these last few months, she still treats you like you could do no wrong, and that makes you feel so incredibly guilty.

"I'm sorry momma" you whimper while looking up at your mom, who looks as if she could cry any moment too. "I don't mean to be such a bitch."

"Oh sweetheart, I know" she replies while pulling you in, your head resting on her chest. You use your free hands to play with her fingers; something you would always do as a kid when you felt nervous. "Just talk to me, whatever it is it'll be okay. I promise baby girl."

You trust her, but it doesn't make it any easier to talk about. You've never been one to share how you feel, even though you grew up being raised by a woman who stands by being honest with how we feel. It's just not that easy.

"I don't know how to even say it though" you croak out, feeling yourself choke back on sobs. "I don't want you to be disappointed."

Mom pulls you in closer while rocking you back and forth. "There is nothing in this world you could say that would make me disappointed in you Y/N. It's okay to tell me."