Demi Lovato Imagines

Visiting

"No, Eddie! There's no way in hell I'm allowing you back into her life!"

"Because I said so, that's why!"

"You made the decision to leave me high and dry so I don't know why you think you should get to choose now!"

"No! I said no...How did you even get this number in the first place?! Delete it, please!"

You stand outside the kitchen door, ear pressed to the flaking wood. It scratches at your cheek and reminds you of the time you told your mum you would repaint it for her birthday. You never did. Paint isn't cheap. And you knew your mum would be more mad at you for wasting money on a pot of varnish instead of buying food for the week. 

There's silence, now, on the other side of the door, and you're half tempted to push it open and go and ask what that phone call was all about. You decide against it though. Whenever Eddie calls, it's never good. If anything, your mum just moans about having to change her contact number again so that he doesn't bother her for another few months. You kind of want her to give you the phone so you can tell him to piss off yourself. 

Finally, the door opens and you stumble back, trying not to make it look like you were eavesdropping. You don't know why you bother, though. It's not like your mum was trying to be secretive and keep her voice down in there. So when she gives you a half-hearted smile, you just raise your eyebrows, encouraging her to spill. 

"That was your father...again," she sighs, throwing the phone down on the threadbare sofa to her right. 

"What does he want?" you ask, not really sure what the answer might be. Your dad left before you were even born. Didn't want to meet you and didn't want to have anything to do with you. Your mum says he was already engaged to his new wife by the time your due date arrived. He had already promised himself to his new life with his new step-kids when you came screaming into the world. And she had no choice but to move back to her home in the UK and forget about the brief fling she had with the American businessman. 

It wasn't love, she said whenever you asked. You're pretty sure she was lying. 

You're pretty sure she resents it too because, whenever the topic arises, she can't bear to look in your eyes. She looks to the stains on the second-hand rug, thinking about the American Dream she could have had if she hadn't got pregnant. 

He wasn't ready for kids, she would shrug, At least not kids of his own.

And you realise it's not 'it' she resents. It's you.

"He wants to meet you," she mutters, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. They rub you back to the present moment.

"What?"

"Your dad," she says, "He wants to meet you. He wants you to go over and see him."

"No," you say quickly, shaking your head.

"Y/n, I--"

"No, mum. I'm not going to see him. What the hell?"

"I already told him you would."

"...Mum...?" you squeak, your voice breaking. 

"He deserves to see you, I realise that now--"

"No, he doesn't!! He doesn't deserve anything after leaving you like that! Do you even care, mum? Do you even care that he's been out there, living the life, while we can't even get enough money to buy food every week?!"

"Of course I do, Y/n," she says, her voice calm compared to yours, "That's why I-..."

"That's why you what, mum? What were you thinking?! Why are you so willing to give him favours?!"