Demi Lovato Imagines

Unrequited pt.2

🙏

5 months later...

Your fingers tap continuously on the keyboard, letter after letter appearing on the screen as you secure another deal for the firm. Your heart pumps excitedly. Your palms are slightly tacky. You feel Jan looking over your shoulder. 

"Sounds good," she smiles, patting you on the shoulder. You smile too. You did a good job. You give the email one more read over before hitting send and leaning back in your chair. 

"Phew...I'm exhausted now," you laugh, reaching to refresh your inbox in case there are any last notices you need to take care off before you clock out for the day. 

"Not too exhausted to abandon me tonight, I hope?" Jan asks in a serious tone that you take to be simultaneously light-hearted. 

"No, of course not," you wink, turning over your shoulder to look at her.

You had been going to that 'dating in the dark' night with Jan every Friday. It was just a bit of a laugh. You never let yourself think that maybe something would happen, maybe someone would knock you off your feet. Because - come on - if someone (not naming names) is willing to screw you over when they know exactly what you look like and have known you for years...some randomer who has only spoken to you in pitch-blackness won't hesitate to do it too. You figure that's why you got cold feet two weeks ago. One guy was adamant about giving you his number, scrawling it on a scrap of paper and pressing it into your hands outside the community centre. And you had liked him. Really. What wasn't there to like? He was kind and tall and handsome. And so you had taken his number and entered it into your phone. You even messaged him later that night and the two of you set up a date for the next weekend. Jan was so excited. "It's like you're finally getting back to your old self," she slipped out, "The Y/n who wasn't too scared to dip more than the tips of her toes in the water". Because it's true. Since that day...the one with the texts and the argument and the damn dogs...you felt threatened by every little human interaction that came your way. For fear that the same humiliation would happen. Jan practically had to drag you from your bed to your desk at the office after that weekend, telling you over and over that you had to not let it affect the rest of your life. "This is just a blip, Y/n. I'll help you get back on your feet, I promise."

You guess that's why you didn't turn up to that date with that guy. Sitting on your bed, make-up done, best dress zipped up, you couldn't move. You couldn't force your body to enter into a potentially dangerous situation where you could be squashed down and laughed at and ordered to wipe the restaurant floors with your own misery, wrung like a rag as you pick up everyone else's mess, absorbing it all into your flesh and made to wear it on you for the rest of your life. People would see; he would see. You can see it yourself, in the mirror, that dusty film of embarrassment that coats your entire frame. It was especially obvious when you texted to apologise and say you couldn't make it. 

"Sorry to hear that. Hope you feel better soon. Maybe some other time? x"

You bet he was relieved. You bet he's secretly hoping you never text back so he doesn't need to find his own excuse not to turn up next time. So you didn't reply. And if Jan hadn't persuaded you otherwise, you would have deleted his number altogether. 

"Ready to go?" Jan's friendly voice cuts back into your consciousness. She's standing by the exit, bag in hand. It only takes you a minute to log out and join her, walking out into the evening air together and heading towards your weekly jaunt.

"Hope that old guy is back tonight. He always has funny stories," Jan says wistfully. 

"I think he just does this to get out the house, to be honest. The way he was speaking the first week he turned up, I thought he was a widower."