Demi Lovato Imagines

All Good, I Hope

TW - (mention of) self-harm

"Why didn't you call me last night?"

You run your hand down the back of the door, feeling the cold metal lock cut into your palm. Still in your pyjamas, the cold breeze from outside raises goosebumps on your legs. 

Demi crosses her hands across her chest, waiting for an answer. She's never looked this cross with you before. Or maybe not cross, exactly. Stubborn is a better word. With one eyebrow turned upwards, it takes everything in you not to just come out with the first excuse you can think of. No, you need something believable. Something that will mean she's not still on at you about it on Tuesday when you see her at 'Lisa's Coffee'. 

That's where you two met, funnily enough. One day, when you were knee-deep in e-mails that needed replying to for your manager's new internship scheme, she came in through the door, got her drink, and sat down just along the same bench. As you scrambled to collect all the papers you had absentmindedly spread across the whole table, she placed her hand on top of yours, reassuring you that it was fine, you don't need to move them. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah! Sorry, I didn't want to intrude on your work. It's just...there's nowhere else free at the moment..."

You both looked around the cafe which, you now realise, is packed. Typical Tuesday rush hour, you think, checking the time in the corner of your laptop screen. Usually, at this point, you'd plug in your earphones and block it all out. But the woman attached to the hand that's still on yours keeps talking. 

"You come here often?"

"Ehh...yeah. I do, actually, it's a nice place just to get out the house for a bit...if you know what I mean..."

"Of course," she replied, taking a sip from the quaint hand-painted mugs they use at Lisa's, "So you live near here?"

"Kinda, yeah. Greene Street?"

She shrugged with an amused smile. "Sorry, I'm not familiar. I'm pretty new to the area."

You nodded, not really sure what to say to that. 

"...I'm Demi, by the way."

"Y/n."

"Well it's lovely to meet you. Sorry, I'll let you get back on with your work," she said, pointing towards the fan of papers and shuffling an inch or two away to the other side of the bench. All of a sudden, the initial awkwardness at this stranger talking it you disappeared. 

"No, you're fine!" you exclaimed, closing the lid of your laptop. "I'd love to stay and chat. If...you're not in a rush anywhere...?"

She looked back as if unsure. But when you picked up your own mug, which was pretty much empty but still evidently effective, she twisted back to face you, asking about your job; your family; your childhood pet. By the time you'd noticed it was evening outside, you realised you'd hardly learned anything about her. 

"See you around?" she asked, sliding out from the table and picking up her bag. And that was it. This woman, who you were sure you'd never see again, walked out the cafe, hair bouncing in her assured step, disappearing down the road. Yet, the next week, same day, same place, there she was, appearing beside you, this time with a fresh coffee for you set down beside hers.  

And so it went on. Through the entire spring, the two of you would meet at Lisa's every Tuesday afternoon, chatting about everything and nothing. Demi, it turned out, was largely private about her job but otherwise willing to divulge about her upbringing, her move up north from Texas, the amazing smoothie she had the night before. Even about the boy she recently went out with who, according to her, had the most amazing eyes but marginally unkempt beard which might or might not have broken the camel's back.