Demi Lovato Imagines

Bully

God dammit, you huff, dropping the pair of eyelashes down on the desk and thumping your fists on the table. Sweat beads under your brows making the glue drip from your lashline in clumps. Just fucking forget it. 

It's not like you're going to meet anyone there anyway, you reason, taking a deep breath to try and dispel the true nervousness that's been bubbling ever since you ordered your ticket months ago. Now it's trying to froth from your mouth, squeezing out the corners as you clench your teeth together and vow to yourself not to bail. The sequins on the front of your shirt scratch at your skin and you consider changing. That's what you've always done though. Ever since high school. You've always taken the easy way out and you can't help but see the link between you wanting to opt for a soft cotton t-shirt and wanting to opt for Sadie so that she won't out you to the whole school. 

"You sure you don't want me to go tell everyone?"  you remember her sneering in your ear as you sat on the bleachers, hands tucked between your knees. 

"Please," you whined, "don't."

She jumps down to your level, the strong smell of Impulse filling your nostrils as she leans even closer, drowning out the smell of the canteen. 

"Why not? I'd be doin' you a favour."

"I don't fancy girls," you snap, cheeks flushing red at the thought of someone overhearing this conversation. Sadie smirks and snorts a little. 

"Sure. Go prove it then."

"Huh?"

"Go knock Demi's lunch tray over. Then you'll convince me."

Thinking back now, you realise this was all just a game to her. She never doubted your feelings and yet she made you jump through hoops in a futile attempt to convince her otherwise. 

"Why don't you just do it," you mumble, glancing over at the girl at the end of the lunch queue. She has her head down, like always, avoiding the swarms of other kids knocking about. 

"Hey, what's the big deal? Thought you said you didn't fancy her?" Sadie sings. 

"I don't-!"

"Then do it."

You rise to your feet just as one of the lunchroom assistants signal for your row to proceed to the line. Swerving away from everyone else, you stride straight for the tables, and for the girl just about to sit down. She's chosen an empty table, as she always does. One right at the edge of the hall away from everyone else. It won't look like an accident. It won't look like you inadvertently knocked her while trying to get to the bins or something. It'll look bad. And you know it. 

But you try not to think about it. As you approach, you try to think about the reprieve Sadie will give you once it's over. You try to think about the lucky escape you got from being publically humiliated in front of the whole school, from being called a dyke or something worse. As you tip her tray, toppling the glass of milk and bowl of soup all over the front of her shirt, you think about how you won't lose the ability to say that Sadie's your friend, your best friend. She's the one you can count on. Because if you don't, you will have to think about the way Demi's chin wobbles uncontrollably as the people around stop and stare, laughing and pointing at the mess that's been made. You will have to think about the glassiness of her eyes as she keeps flitting her gaze towards you, stepping back in case you do something more. You will have to spend the rest of lunch moping about how much of an awful person you are for being such a bitch to someone who you know has done nothing to deserve it. 

You don't want to sacrifice your lunch. So you don't think about any of that. You spin on your heel, skipping back over to the lunch queue where Sadie holds her hand out for a high-five, slapping you on the back and slotting you in front of her, completely cutting you into the line. No one says anything though. You've proven what you can do to them if they do. Your chest buzzes as if someone has pushed a live wire between your ribcage, electrifying your whole body in what feels like a good way. You've got power, a reputation. You've made it clear you're not what Sadie says you are and now no one will dare accuse you of it. Despite the shitty school lunch, life is great. You've got nothing to complain about.