Demi Lovato Imagines

Stress

You couldn't sit in the library any longer. The sight of the night studiers arriving was killing you and every time you looked back at your screen, you felt your bottom lip wobble.

You needed a change of scenery. A breath of fresh air. Then you'll be able to finish this paper.

You're sure of it.

Internally, you curse when you see the light in the front room shining brightly through the window. It means Demi's home. And it means you will have to resist the urge to drop everything and just spend every waking minute with her on the one day she gets back from work early. It just had to be today, didn't it, you groan sarcastically, knowing there's no time for procrastination now the sun is almost set. This deadline is due at noon tomorrow and you're not happy with it. Actually, scratch that, you hate it. Every sentence you've written sounds like an elementary kid scrawled it on a sheet of coloured paper. Every argument you try to back up falls flat on its face, too weak and tired to get back up and make the essay work. You may as well throw this forty per cent in the bin, 'cause it sure ain't going on my diploma...

Traipsing through the door, you toe your shoes off and hang your jacket up on the empty peg. As soon as the warmth of the house hits you, you realise how tired you really are. Which isn't surprising, I mean, you've been on campus since seven this morning. It's well past six pm and you haven't even eaten yet. Your stomach grumbles. But you have no time to eat, you remind yourself, digging the growls into the floor as you walk through the house, you can eat once this essay's finished.

And God knows how long that's going to take.

"Hey, babe," Demi chirps through from on the sofa. You cast a quick look into the room to see her curled up with a mug of tea and a magazine. The TV plays softly in the background.

"Hey," you sigh, non-committal. Immediately, you walk away, heading for the stairs with your heavy bag on your back.

"Woah, where are you going?" she asks, laughing a little at the end. Even though you hate yourself for it, you can't help but roll your eyes at the sound of her voice. She's going to make this so much more difficult for you.

"Upstairs," you answer flatly, "I have work to finish."

"But I haven't seen you all day! Come on, just come and cuddle for a few before I start making us some dinner...my treat?"

Just the thought of it sounds so amazing and for a split-second, you can't think of anything else you would prioritise above it. But then you feel your phone buzz in your back pocket, giving you your alarm for your five-minute break you schedule for every hour, and your disaster of an essay swallows up your whole brain again.

"I can't. I have to get this done--"

Come on, just for a minute-!"

"I said no, Demi," you snap, not knowing where the attitude came from. As if your a ventriloquist's puppet and he's had a really rough day, too frustrated to hide it from the kids at his show. And as soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you had just clamped it shut when you see Demi's eyes start to shine and suddenly she can't look at you anymore.

"Oh...okay, um-mm..."

Her chin trembles and you feel like shit. But you don't have time to apologise. The only thing on your mind is this damn essay and you tell yourself, over and over, just get it done! Just get it done and then you are free to do whatever you want! Come on, loser, write it!

This voice isn't your own, either. It's a harsh voice that has crept up on you in your sleep, barking in your ear until you wake with a start, heart racing. You find yourself sweating in the middle of the day, overcome with a sudden sense of panic. Sometimes your head hurts so bad you want to drill a hole, right between your eyebrows, to relieve some of the pressure.