Demi Lovato Imagines

I'll be pt.2

She only invited you in for tea. You end up staying the night. 

"Just tell me if there's anything I can get for you," she mumbles at the door of the guest bedroom, holding herself in as small a space as possible so that even her silhouette looks shrunken. You could tell something was still off. Even over your steaming mugs of tea, the singer seemed resistant to giving any more away concerning what she said outside. She answered only in single words or sought to change the topic completely every time you tried to reassure her that she isn't alone. Her discomfort was palpable, and it soon felt like you were standing knee-deep in a puddle of water instead of sitting on her plush, expensive sofa. So, when you decided to excuse yourself to give her some breathing room, her reaction was anything but what you were expecting.

"No-!...I mean, no...please don't go...you-...you can stay over if you want? I've got plenty of space in here..."

She picked at her cuticles as she spoke.

"Eh, that's okay," you shake your head, figuring she was only offering the invite to be nice, "I'm sure you have better things to do than hang around with me. I'll see you around though?"

She shifted side to side on her seat.

"Please, Y/n? I really want you to stay...I hate--"

She cut herself off before finishing, but you didn't have the bottle to ask her to explain. All you managed to do was nod, accepting her olive branch as she led you up the stairs and into the room you would be sleeping in. 

"Um, no, I'm fine just now...thanks," you answer, feeling too scared to move inside the unfamiliar room, in this unfamiliar house, belonging to this unfamiliar person. 

"Okay," she replies, "I'm just down the hall if you change your mind."

Her small frame gets even smaller as she disappears down the corridor, leaving you perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. Her soft silk sheets beckon you to lie down and take the weight of your wobbly legs, but for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that this is all just a misunderstanding. Like, you know why you want to be there...but why on earth does Demi? She could have anyone come and entertain her - someone famous or someone interesting - so why is she settling for you? Lying back on the mattress, the fear that she is just using you as some sort of painkiller for her isolation inflates between your ears. You're emotionless company, a voice inside your head laugh, you mean nothing to her. Which you had figured already, sure. But, as you lie in her multimillion-dollar penthouse in the middle of the Hollywood Hills, a small part of you held out hope that that wasn't it. That wasn't the long and short of it. 

It was a very small part of you, though. The part that also begs you to try and rekindle your relationship with your mum. 

***

Her cries are unmistakable.  They wake you from your dreamless sleep.

Tip-toeing along the landing, you follow the sound until you reach the top of the stairs. Soft, golden light glows from downstairs and you try your best not to make a sound as you descend, placing only the ball of each foot on the staircase. 

"Demi?" you whisper. Her cries sound muffled by something, as if they are so strong and reckless, she can't bear to let them run free. You turn the corner into the living room the two of you had sat in earlier. 

She's sitting on the sofa, legs crossed up underneath herself, torso bent forward, hands over her face. Wracking sobs shake her body as she screws her eyes tightly shut, the dim side-lamp illuminating the streaks of tears that run down her cheeks.