Demi Lovato Imagines

11pm

"Are you almost ready? Come on, we're gonna be late!"

You quickly scan over your papers spread out on the bed, making sure they're all present and correct. Your boss will freak if something's missing in the morning and it's not like you can afford to slip up. He already wrote a grumbling email last time you had to take an extended holiday to go join your girlfriend on her tour. You doubt he's going to be so lenient if you turn up tomorrow without his requested spreadsheets you've been working on all afternoon.

"Yeah! Coming!" you shout down, hurriedly filing everything into your bag. You'll double check in the morning, sure. But you know you're probably going to hit snooze a couple times first so it's just to be on the safe side. Grabbing your purse, you zip out the bedroom door and down the stairs, seeing your girlfriend waiting impatiently at the bottom.

"Ready, babe?" she asks, giving you a quick peck.

"Yup," you breathe, "let's go."

You don't even want to go to this party. You wish Demi had never gotten you invited.

"We'll head off around eleven, right?" you ask casually in the car, keeping your eyes firmly gazed out the window so as to not look too uptight about it.

"Eh...yeah. Something like that, yeah," Demi answers, running her hands over the steering wheel.

There's silence. But not the comfortable kind you usually find between couples who have been together for years. The kind that waits to be filled with each other's heated words that have been bottled up since eight am this morning.

"Just 'cause I have this presentation tomorrow, that's all," you shrug, your calm appearance juxtaposing your dire need to get Demi to cooperate. You don't want to spoil her fun. But you can't afford to mess up at the office.

"Yes, Y/n, I know," she replies again, a slight bite in her tone. You wonder when it all changed. You used to feel like you were able to tell her anything, especially when you were both a lot younger and you were on high alert for any concerning behaviour. You used to have the balls to confront her and stand your ground. I guess the difference, this time, is that it's not for her sake that you want to leave the party early. It's yours. And for some reason, it makes you feel guilty for even suggesting it.

After a few minutes, she pulls the car into the already packed driveway, hopping out quickly and dashing up to the front door. The house throbs with music, lights blinking in the windows. By the time you've reached the precipice, Demi is nowhere in sight. You head for the kitchen up ahead and grab yourself a drink. There are a couple of familiar faces around but for the sole reason that you know that Demi knows them. Not you. Maybe you should just get yourself drunk enough that you can ignore the awkward glances. You look at the table filled with booze. No, you remind yourself. It will make it worse for you in the morning.

A few hours pass with you sitting in the living room with a bunch of girls. You didn't know them before. In all honesty, you don't really know them now. But they were nice enough to invite you to sit with them while they bitch about that music producer they've all had to work under. You found their comments hilarious. And, in some ways, it kind of made you glad you weren't part of that dark, lucrative world your girlfriend works in. Maybe accounting isn't so bad after all, even though it does mean overtime on the weekends. You check your watch. 11:13. Shit. Standing up quickly from the sofa, you walk out the living room towards the back door. It's open, leading out into the frenzied garden filled with laughing women and yelling men. Ahead, someone cannonballs into the pool fully dressed.

"Demi!" you call out, picking your way across the grass towards your girlfriend who's sitting on James' knee. You know James. Demi invites him over a lot.