Demi Lovato Imagines

Second Chances

So, multiply by the denominator to give you...yeah, then add the numerator and put it over...'kay, now...what was it she did next?...oh, multiply by a quarter so...that times that is...okay, and that times that is...right, now just change back to a mixed number so--

Your textbook slams closed with a bang, narrowly missing your fingers as your pencil flies across the table and onto the floor. 

"What the fuck was that all about, huh?" your mother hisses into your ear from behind. Her hot breath makes the skin on your neck sticky, causing you to want to contract away. Her vice-like grip on your arm stops you, though. So you keep your gaze forward, not willing to give her the benefit of actually looking at her. 

"What?" you say in a low voice, holding your spine stiff. 

"What are you doing down here? You're supposed to be in your room when I tell you Wilmer's coming round. You're supposed to be out of sight."

You remember how shocked he looked when you opened the door. Like when you see a ghost, or perhaps when you see the thirteen-year-old kid of your girlfriend's who you didn't even know had a kid. That's on her, though, not you. It's not your job to tell him your mother has an illicit past. 

"So what if he saw me?" you question, taunting, "He had to find out sooner or later."

She slams her fist onto the shut textbook again making you jump uncontrollably. Wilmer is still in the living room waiting, probably wondering what all the noise is about. He's been sitting there for the past fifteen minutes as your mom tried to decide on an outfit.  

"On my own terms!" she whisper-shouts, "Not yours! You don't get to ruin this part of my life as well!"

You've heard this all before. And not just from her. You've heard it through closed doors and private conversations since you were five. You've heard it from Maddie when she used to tease you about not actually being her sister, but her niece. You've heard it from Dallas who told you that your mom just thought that leaving you to be raised by grandma Dianna was for the best 'cause then your mom can still work and not need to worry about you, Y/n. Does that make sense? This means she doesn't need to sacrifice her career.

Dallas smiled when she said this. The kind of smile that you use when you're trying to get the other person to shut up and not make a scene. The kind of smile you use when an eight-year-old kid has just found out that two of her 'sisters' are in fact her aunts. And the one left over, well, that's her mom. 

"You ruined your own life, mom! You're the one who got knocked up at sixteen!! How exactly is that my fault?!"

"Shut your selfish little mouth," she snarls closer to your ear, triggering you to turn around and finally face her, standing up from the chair. 

"Why? 'Cause your precious boyfriend might hear? 'Cause he might find out the truth about what it's like to be around you? 'Cause he might find out how you were a huge whore who slept around and doesn't even know who my father is?!"

Your mom's hand flashes in front of your eyes, striking you across your face with a crack. You stagger back, eyes and nose stinging as you clutch your cheek. Her eyes burn with fury, matching the fire you feel on your purpling skin.  

"M-Mom-?"

"You've ruined my life! Everything! You get in the way of everything I've ever wanted to do!" she screams, obviously not caring about Wilmer hearing any more. You don't either.

"Yeah?! Well, that's rich considering you've never treated me like I'm even your kid! My own mother has always pawned me off as some sort of forgotten sister that no one ever needs to think about! I've done nothing to your life apart from existing! What more do you want from me?!"