Demi Lovato Imagines

Could have been

You can tell she's pissed just by looking at her. As soon as you heard the front door slam when she got home, you just knew this evening wasn't going to follow that nice, romantic plan you had been going over in your head since this morning. No candlelit dinner. No Netflix and chill.

At least you had kind of been expecting it.

When she left the house to go to the studio, you could tell it wasn't a good idea letting her walk off after she snapped at you for getting that text message. You should have grabbed her hand and spun her around, looked her dead in the eye and told her it was nothing. Lindsey' was just being nice, it means nothing! I'm not getting back together with her, Demi! And if she scoffed in your face and told you she didn't believe you then you should have pressed her hand to your lips, kissing her knuckles and told her that she's your everything and more. She's your sun and moon, and all the stars in between. You should have held her there until she believed you and gave you the usual peck on the lips before getting into her car and driving to work.

But you were mad. Mad that she even thought you would cheat on her. With your ex, of all people! So you let her go, turning away from the window as her engine revved and her mind simmered in hot diesel. Six hours later, she's still hot to the touch. And you wish you did all those things you should have done.

"Hey, love!" you smile as she walks in through the house. You tidied the whole place - hoover and all - to make the most of your day off. But she doesn't even acknowledge it. She doesn't even acknowledge you.

"D'you have any preference for dinner? 'Cause I can go out and get something special if you want? Will we aim to eat around seven?"

You try to keep your voice light and bright, not giving away the fact your chest feels clogged with coal, blackening your lungs with its residue. You can't stand it when Demi's annoyed at you. The thought of it makes you squirm.

She walks straight through to the kitchen, dropping her bag on the counter and sitting on one of the bar stools. Without lifting her eyes in your direction, she unlocks her phone and starts scrolling.

You're not willing to sink to her level. You're not willing to drag this out to the bitter end. Getting up from the sofa, you pad over to her. Reaching your hand out, you rest it flat on her back.

"Hey, Dems? I--"

As soon as she feels your touch, she leaps from the seat, wriggling herself away from you.

"Get away from me," she mutters with hooded eyes, "I don't want to deal with you right now."

Her words sting with venom. You can feel the burning run down your arms and legs.

"But I just wanted to let you kno--"

"I said no. I'm not doing this with you," she says, still refusing to lift her eyes from her phone screen. But she's never acted like this before. Never so cold. And so you grip on, desperate not to let this be the end of your relationship.

"Please, Demi, I'm really sorry I wasn't thinking--" you plead, walking over to her. Immediately, she turns her back, heading for the stairs. You trail in her wake.

"But that text was nothing! I promise you, I haven't spoken to Lindsey in over two years!" you continue, trying to keep up. Her strides are long and angry. And your nervousness is making your trip over your own feet. She walks straight into the bedroom.

"Can we please just talk about this? So we can move on? Come on, Demi, this is stupid--"

"Oh, so now I'm stupid, am I?" she snaps, spinning around and facing you off in the middle of the room. She didn't turn the lamp on so the only light is coming through the window, long grey streaks from the evening dusk.