Demi Lovato Imagines

Positive

TW - rape

"Shit-shit-shit-shit..."

You drop your arm down, slapping your hand over your eyes and scrunching them closed. A second later you look at the stick again. Nothing's changed. 

"Y/n? Everything okay?"

You hear Demi's footsteps as she climbs the stairs and whip your head around the bathroom at all the mess. The box and all its paper contents are strewn on the tiles alongside strips of toilet paper, all blotted with your mascara. Kneeling down to try and gather fistfuls to throw in the trash, the door begins to open as Demi gently knocks on the door. Leaping across the room, you slam it shut again, leaning your body weight onto the wood as a fresh wave of tears cascade down your cheeks. 

"Y/n/n? What's the matter, babe?"

Her voice is soft and worried, like some sort of auditory manifestation of a pomeranian. You press your hand across your mouth so that your sobs don't come out so loudly. 

"Y/n? What is it? You're making me worried now!"

She knocks again on the door as if to make sure you still know she's there. But there's no way you'd ever forget. Demi's always been there for you. Always. And now she's going to realise that that was a mistake. 

Running our of air, you're forced to suck in a choking breath, which only leads you to completely dissolve, eyes and nose streaming, hands shaking. Buckling under your own weight, you slide down the door, legs folding awkwardly beneath you. The plastic is hot, held tight inside your sweating palm, but you don't want to uncurl your fingers to see it again. The two pink lines. The very real symptom of your late period. 

"Come on, Y/n? Please?"

She knocks again. But you can't force yourself to move. All you can think about is how much you regret it. The networking event, the invite to drinks in the evening. The glass of wine you had with Stacy, the second one she treated you to later. Looking when she nudged you, telling you about the guy across the room who had been watching you all evening. Smiling when he came over and put his hand on the small of your back, not moving away. Not saying no when he took you upstairs to your room, or thinking about Demi when he hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door outside. Not shouting out. Not pushing him off. 

"Y/N!!"

Demi hammers on the door with her fist, the vibrations knocking against your skull that falls heavily against the wood. Tiredly, you shuffle away from the edge of the room and, almost immediately, she pushes in. Kneeling down in front of you, she strokes her hand across your cheek, angling your face up to look at her. 

"What is it?" she asks. "What's wrong?"

You can't look into her fearful eyes for more than a second at a time before you have to look down again, at the grey grout that snakes between all the tiles. Some patches of it are darker than others, where your tears have fallen in pools beneath you. The image of Alice, drowning in her sea of tears, rises in your mind. Her feeling of being minuscule. Her feeling of just wanting to go home, out of Wonderland, to where everything was back to normal. Her feeling of wanting to cry so much she caused a natural disaster. 

"Please talk to me? You're-...you're scaring me now..."

Demi wrings her hands, sitting back on her heels and looking around her as if trying to fit together the story like some sort of jigsaw. But you're holding the final piece tight in your hand, in the form of a positive pregnancy test. 

"Is...is it work? Is it your parents? Tell me and I can help you! We can sort it out together!" 

She keeps talking, telling you how she can take time off from the studio, how she can get her dad to come over to talk to you about insurance, how she can pay for a flight for you to go home to New York for however long you need.