Demi Lovato Imagines

Torn pt.2

"She's fine!"

"She's a child."

"Don't you think I know that?! Look at her! She probably won't even notice!"

You yank your fingers down but your Barbie's yellow hair doesn't separate, a bigger knot jamming up inside your sweaty palm. Her blue eyes stare up at you, bright pink lips smiling. Her smile makes you angrier.

"She'll notice that her mom's not here. That girl needs at least one parent to be there for her."

Grandma's voice is smooth and doesn't get louder or quieter like your mom's does. Swinging your legs back and forth, you pick at the knot with your nails. The paint's all chipped but you know where you can find the bottle.

"She's got you! She loves you, mom! Come on, I need this."

You stick out your tongue, pretending to concentrate on your dolly's hairstyle but, really, straining your ears to listen to what grandma will say. Holding the stiff plastic legs between your fingers, you press the heels of your hands together and pray, begging God not to let her go. Begging Him to tell grandma to tell mom that she has to stay.

"For how long?"

"Just a week."

You twist your eyeballs so that you can see into the kitchen from the corner of your eyes but not letting mom and grandma know you're looking. Grandma sighs, one of those big ones where her shoulders huff up and down. Mom's leaning back against the counter, one leg crossed in front of the other.

"I want to see the information. Before you go, I want you to show me the booking information, the flight details, everything. You're not leaving her here herself for one day longer."

Mom's frown flips and she smiles brightly, the kind she used to give you but not anymore. She claps her hands.

"Demi?"

"Yes! Definitely, I will! Yay, okay, I'm going to go message Matt and Sirah--"

She rushes towards the stairs.

"I mean it," grandma calls after her, wiping her hands roughly on the dishtowel. "Just a week!"

But mom's already upstairs and so you don't know if she doesn't reply because she doesn't want to or because she doesn't hear. The knot comes apart in your hot, sticky fingers and Barbie's hair looks more like a birds nest. You look up from her face to grandma's. She's smiling at you, a sad smile she wears a lot since you came to move in. Like when the corners of her mouth point up but the corners of her eyes turn down. You get a funny feeling in your tummy every time she does it.

"You okay, honey-bun?"

You nod but because you're lying on your front on the carpet, your neck strains and is sore to move. You flip onto your back making Barbie walk up and down your chest, wobbling along your ribs.

"Cheesy pasta for dinner?"

She already asked you this this morning and you can even smell it cooking in the oven. But grandma's been doing this a lot lately, asking you things over and over as if you forget things as quickly as grandpa used to. You don't bring it up though because then you would have to bring up grandpa as well and then grandma will get upset and mom will tell you off about it when she puts you to bed. She tells you off a lot a lot since you moved out of your old house and into grandma's. You don't know how to tell her you don't like it when she does.

"Will I put on Alice?"

Grandma's now standing in front of the TV, pointing the remote at it. Eventually, the screen flicks to life with some programme about trees. You didn't even notice her cross the room.