Demi Lovato Imagines

Torn

The red crayon is really bad. The paper wrapper keeps smearing the colour of your dress as you fill it in. But you don't want to ask your mom to make it sharper again. If you ask too many times she goes in a bad mood and you don't want that to happen. At least your dad's shoes are next. You're going to make them black and there are two black crayons in the pot. And they're both really pointy. 

"You alright, sweetheart?" your mom calls through from the front room. She's on her laptop doing something that involves a lot of writing because you can hear the tip-taps of her fingers even from the kitchen table. You used to be allowed to colour on the living room floor. But then you spilt the paint pot. Now you're only allowed to colour at the table. And you're not allowed paint. 

"Uh-huh."

You can't wait for your dad to get home. He loves it when you draw pictures for him and he always says he'll take them to his office and put it up beside his desk. You think this is your best one, though. Better than all your other ones. Your other ones were all little kid things like rainbows and bunnies and faeries. But this one is serious. This one has got your dad on the left side of the page - you know because you use your fingers to double check which side is which - then you in the middle, then your mom on the right. You've drawn your dad with the bag he takes to work. And you've drawn your mom with a microphone. You, in the middle, have got your favourite dress on, even if the colour is smeared. 

Sometimes you wish your dad was the one who stayed home during the day and your mom go to work. But you'd never say that out loud. The times when you think it, usually when your mom is annoyed with you for getting in her way or being too noisy upstairs, you bite your tongue hard until your mouth tastes sour and the soreness distracts you from what you wanted to say in the first place. It's not that you like your dad better, just different. Your dad isn't as strict as your mom. 

You hear a knock on the door and your mom's footsteps as she walks through to the front of the house. Using the same black that you used for your dad's shoes, you start colouring in her hair. You've seen pictures when she used to have different coloured hair. There was a pink one, a blue one. When you see them you don't think it looks like your mom at all. All before you were born, she always says, rubbing your head. You can't think of your mom being a not-mom before you though. 

You hear her voice from the front door, louder than she usually speaks. Twisting your head around, you stare down the hallway to look. The door is wide open and there's a woman on the other side, talking to your mom. You've never seen her before. She's tall and skinny, like Sarah's mom at school. And her hair is light brown and wavy. She has big sunglasses on even though it's not that sunny. 

"I'm not telling you what you should or shouldn't do," she says. You put down the crayon, scooting over a bit and dropping onto the tiles of the kitchen. Your feet are bare and the floor is cold. You shuffle quickly out the room and towards your mom. 

"You're lying!" your mom screams. The only other time you've heard her scream like that was the time you ran out onto the road. You weren't allowed dessert for two weeks. The strange woman doesn't start crying like you did though. Her lips are a straight line and her arms hang down by her side. Even from behind her sunglasses, you see her head dip to the side as she notices you over your mom's shoulder. 

"All I'm saying is, I think you should think of your daughter," she sighs. Your mom lets out a laugh that's not one you would use when you think something is funny. 

"Think of my daughter? Seriously?" she snaps. "Leave my daughter out of this, you bitch. You don't know anything about our family!"

You know your mom just said a bad word but you don't think it's the time to point it out with a gasp and point at her like you usually do. Because you don't think, this time, that she'll quickly slap her hand over her mouth with wide eyes and hush you to secrecy, winking and elbowing you in the side to stop you from telling daddy. This time, she seems too angry.