Demi Lovato Imagines

Christmas Market

Your car seat rocks like a see-saw going over another one of those bumpy things on the road. You had asked mommy about it a while ago - you can't quite remember how long exactly - and she said it was something about making sure everyone doesn't go too fast. 

"You okay back there, honey?" she asks, looking in the rear-view mirror. You nod your head wordlessly, picking at the stitching of the chair. Mommy's been in this good mood all day but you still feel angry. Or, not so much angry...but a feeling you can't quite describe. Like it's on one of the toy shelves that's too tall and so you have to call mommy to come and get your truck down. You can't ask her for help with this though. Because you know she's the reason you're in a bad mood. 

She was supposed to be back at ten. That's what she said. That's what she promised you when she kissed you goodbye and told you to be a good girl for the babysitter. You hated that babysitter. She wouldn't let you phone mommy when you spilt your dinner down your pyjamas. 

"Your mom's busy just now, Y/n. It's okay, I can get you a clean pair."

She didn't understand. Mommy had to know. She always knew when you made a mess of yourself and she always made it better. But the babysitter wouldn't let you use the phone sitting in the living room. She sent you to bed and then sat downstairs watching TV.

Mommy didn't come home at ten, either. You checked the clock at ten. The one in the hallway upstairs. You counted around the circle - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. You knew you were right. You knew what o'clock it was. But mommy wasn't home and your eyes were tired. The next thing you knew, the sun was peaking through your curtains and it was morningtime. Mommy was cooking breakfast downstairs and gave you a big smile when you walked in the kitchen. She smelled different though. And she had a mark under her ear that looked like one of the bruises on your knee. 

"I spilt my food, mommy," you whined once she put you down on the cold tiles again. 

"That's alright, honey, Maya told me. Were you well behaved last night?"

You were mad she didn't say sorry for being late. And you were mad that she wasn't angry at Maya for not letting you phone her. 

"The person I went to the restaurant with last night might be coming over this weekend to meet you. Would that be okay?"

You're still mad now. You want her to know. 

"Almost here, princess," she beams, pulling into the parking lot. You can see the rainbow lights glittering through the window. The same colours as the ones on the tree at school. 

"All ready to go?"

Mommy's opened your door and is unbuckling your seat belt. You know how to do this yourself but you keep your arms crossed tightly in front of your chest, lips pursed. 

"What's up?" mommy asks, dipping her head into the car and looking you straight in the eye. She's got your favourite lipstick on and put her usual earings back in. But you can still see the bruise and you still remember her promise. 

"Ghm," you huff, twisting your neck around so you're looking as far away from her as you can. From your left ear, you hear her sigh, before tucking her hands under your armpits and lifting you out, setting you down on the tarmac. It's been raining and the little puddles on the ground have the same colours as the ones in the sky. You don't know why but you want to cry. 

Without another word, mommy grabs you by the hand and leads you through the entrance. There's a sign with two long words on it but you can't read them. You guess they have something to do with the Christmas market you're about to walk into.