Demi's POV: (Mother)
The way she just collapsed onto the floor, crying for me to hold her, it broke me.
My baby girl is falling apart right in front of me and I can't even move.
She stripped down to her underwear, showing me all her cuts, begging me to be proud of her.
Tugging her beautiful, long brown hair out her head.
She just completely lost it.
Her hip bones, ribs, collar bones; it all stuck out, so unnaturally.
That's my baby.
I let her get to this point because I was so busy with myself.
Whilst she was helping me, supporting me and leading me to the road of recovery, she was falling down the same deep, dark hole I was climbing from.
People were right, I shouldn't of had a child.
I'm too fucked up to take care of myself, whatsoever another person.
"Momma, you're proud of me, right?" She whispers, swaying back and forth on the ground, her knees covering her chest.
I couldn't say a thing.
Not a word.
Yes, I am proud of her.
She's still alive.
Breathing.
Shakily, I get off my bed and shuffle towards her figure.
"B-baby, come here." I whimper, reaching out to her.
She instantly jumps into my embrace, sobbing her broken little heart out.
"Why baby girl, w-why did you do t-this to yourself?" I softly cried, trying to stay strong.
"I-I'm so sorry." She choked. "I d-don't know."
"You d-don't know?- I- Oh my God." I couldn't hold it in.
Sobs ripped through my body no matter how hard I tried holding them in.
My poor baby girl.
She hurt so much.
So fucking much.
Her precious, porcelain skin was now littered with injuries she caused herself.
Purple, green, yellow and blue bruises painted her body, mostly her ribs and legs.
Red, purple and white lines drawn on her hips, thighs and wrists.
They look so careless.
Was I careless?
I didn't notice them and many seem so old.
It all just stabbed me in the back.
So suddenly.
"You need help, baby, you need help." I trembled, mouth wide open but no sound escaped my lisp apart from choked up gasps for air.
The guilt strangled me.
"NO! No! Get away from me!" She screeched, digging her nails in my arm, prying me off of her as she jumped up and ran out of my room.
As quickly as I could, I ran after her.
"YOU SAID YOU WERE PROUD OF ME MUM!" She sobbed, standing before me, physically crumbling to pieces. "Why aren't you proud of me?" She whispers. "I-I don't need help."
She seemed to be changing the subject as seconds passed, going from one topic to the other.
"I promise I d-don't need help. Momma, I know I-I look bad, I know, but I have a book! I-I pretend like I'm talking to y-you. I've done it ever since you w-went to get better! I really did attempt to get better with you, mummy, I did. I wrote you everyday, I-I even got over urges sometimes when I wrote to you, but- I-I don't want help. I just want you, momma, I just want you." She admitted, her sad expression begging for me to do something, make her better with a click of my fingers.
If only it was that easy.
"Y-Y/N, baby girl, I am proud of you. Yes- what you're d-doing to you-yourself is not okay." I pause, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. "But I'm so incredibly proud you're trying. You're trying to stop, do you even understand how amazing that is? I-I left you alone, you had the f-freedom to everything and a-anything, and you chose t-to fight. You chose to fight the battle many lost. You chose to fight alone. I can't even begin how proud I am of you for fighting, for holding on."
"I'm sorry Mum, I'm so sorry." She runs to me and wraps her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest.
"Don't apologise, there's nothing to apologise for. Y-you're my warrior, my strong warrior."
—😈•••😈—
So, if you haven't read my message I posted, I'm finishing this story on Chapter 40. Also, this is shit as always.
Two more imagines to go! ☹️
