Demi Lovato Imagines

I'll be pt.3

TW - self-harm (**)

2 weeks later...

"Oh my God, will you just tell me what's up with you?!"

John snaps his fingers in front of your face, trying to bring you out of your trance back to the mats on the floor of the gym. But you can hear him fine. You were never 'out of it'. It's just that the 'here and now' sucks, and, for almost fourteen days now, you've felt it.

"What?" you mumble quietly, knowing full well what he's going to say. 

"Why have you been so down lately? You barely even speak to me anymore."

"Hm," you hum, listlessly staring at the blank wall.

"Hm? What does 'hm' mean?"

You slowly turn your head to look at him, his damp hair plastered to his forehead. You didn't even break a sweat today. Working out just doesn't seem worth it anymore. 

"It means..." you sigh, repeating the only thing that has been mindlessly cycling around your head "...that I don't feel like it."

"Don't feel like what?" 

You shrug, relaxing your eyes out of focus, blurring the bumpy pattern on the floor. 

"Life."

Instantly, you feel John's hand rest on your knee. 

"Y/n? Why are you saying that? What's happened?"

His face is panicked and you immediately feel guilty for bothering him with your problems. It's not like he can do anything about it anyway. 

"Y/n?" he says again, demanding answers. 

"Nothing," you shake your head, "Nothing's happened. Forget I said anything."

"Hey! No, no, no, that's not what we're gonna do. No way. I care about you and I don't want to see you upset. So..." he says, wrapping his hands around your ankles and twisting you to the side so you're facing him, "...You're going to tell me exactly what's gone on."

You stare at him, unsure of how to get out of this. Maybe you should just tell him? But about what? Demi or your mum? Even you can't tell which one is causing you the most grief. It's like two equally weighted sand-bags attached to each arm. They don't tip you either way, just drag you further into the ground until you can't see the sunlight anymore. The soil is packed around your neck, constricting your windpipe and there's no way out. Not that you can see anyway. Because looking around the room, you still don't spot her. Not that that surprises you. Demi hasn't set foot in the gym since that day two weeks ago when you walked her home. And, well, you know the rest of what happened that day. John doesn't though. His eyes are still burning with anticipation, ready to listen to your sob story and tell you that everything's going to be okay. So you decide on the former. You're not ready to open the 'can-of-worms-that-is-your-mother' just yet. 

"Woah," he exhales when you finally get to the end of your story about the whole event last weekend. 

"Yeah," you agree, trapping your fingers underneath your trainers, cutting off the circulation. Retelling everything has just reminded you of your shitty situation. You need something to distract you. 

"And what did you say when you saw her again?"

You snap your head up, frowning at his question. 

"What do you mean? She hasn't been back here...?"

Maybe John knows something you don't? Maybe he comes here without you and saw her here?

"No, but--...you mean, you haven't heard from her since that day?"