Demi Lovato Imagines

Found

"Two slices, one veg, one plain!" Tommy shouts. 

"Boxed?"

"Nah, just plates!"

"Got it!" you yell back, over the sound of the thrumming oven. The heat blows in your face, the smell of crispy toppings rushing out of the stone vent. You slice the order quickly, sending two paper plates to the front within half a minute. 

"Cheers," Tommy winks, handing the slices over to the customers and giving one a receipt. The chime of the door goes and the shop is quiet again. 

"Is Wilmer coming today?" you ask, wiping your hands on your apron and leaning against the counter. Tommy clears the slips of orders from the pin board. 

"Don't think so," he shrugs, "I heard he had something on today. Something with his fiance, no doubt."

You swallow, looking to the black and white chequered floor, tracing where the shattered tiles have been swelled with Polyfilla. 

"Her name's Demi," you mumble, not raising your eyes. But you know Tommy is rolling his eyes at your words. He doesn't get it like you do. He doesn't get how it feels to have no one in the world who cares for you or even knows who you are and for someone to suddenly come in and save you. He doesn't know how it feels to be threatened with a life on the street until that someone sorts you out with a job and keeps you afloat. He doesn't know how it feels to be handed over to social services days after being born, abandoned by your mother. 

"He'll be here next week, I'm sure," Tommy sighs, holding his hands out as if to say he's sorry. You manage to smile even though it sticks to your teeth and stretches into more of a straight line than a grin. Seconds later, Paula comes in from the back to start her shift and it's your turn to roll your eyes. 

"Hey guys, what's up?"

"Y/n was just asking if Wilmer was gonna be in today," Tommy replies, ducking under the counter and going over to the one table in the place, wiping it down with a cloth. 

"Ugh, you're not still going on about that are you?" Paula whines and you turn your back, "He's engaged, Y/n! It's never gonna happen!" 

You spin back around, facing her straight on.

"I don't fancy him, Paula, so keep your nose out!"

She laughs, sarcastically stepping away as if blown back by your fury, "Woah, okay! Okay! If you say so!"

You clamp your mouth shut, gritting your teeth and thanking the Lord when you hear the door chime again and another customer enters the shop. You tighten the strings of your apron, stomping back into the kitchen before Paula can say something else to set you off. 

Some time later, after what feels like another twenty pies have been baked and sold, you hear his voice trickling in through the half-cut swinging door that leads to the front of house. You put down the cutter and stop moving, straining your ears to hear what he's saying. 

"You need to tell Y/n you're taken," Paula laughs, her gruff voice making your hackles rise as she speaks, "Otherwise she's gonna keep going! She's gonna be like one of those crazy girls who stalks your every move and tries to kill your wife and dog to get with you!"

She laughs again. But what hurts more is the sound of Wilmer's laugh, a sound you would relish to hear until he turned it on you. Until he laughed at you. You wonder if maybe, once you're gone, remembering it in this way might mean it doesn't ache so bad. 

"She in the back?" he asks with an audible chuckle. You don't hear Paula reply but she must have nodded her head as seconds later, the door swings on its hinges and you pick up the cutter again, trying to look busy.