Demi Lovato Imagines

Research

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

You stand up from tying your shoelaces, raising your eyebrows at her. 

"'Cause I can just bring my book, you know? And sit somewhere else?" she says picking up the paperback from the table by the door. Its pages are curled at the corners, the cover faded from sitting in that sunny spot for so long.

"I told you I'm fine," you smile, doing your best not to let yourself think too much about what you're actually saying. She cautiously returns the book to its place before reaching for the door handle. 

"Alright then. But you've got your phone?"

"Yes, mom."

"And you know what to do if you ever feel unsafe?"

"Yes, mom."

She holds her hands up in surrender. When the cool air hits you from outside, you're glad you opted for jeans. 

"I'll be out in a sec," she says as you walk towards the car. You don't look back. But you know, during the eight seconds it takes her to run back through to the kitchen and grab her thermos of coffee, she keeps her eyes pinned on you for as long as possible. 

***

"Are you sure this is the place? I can come in and wait if you--"

"No!" you exclaim, then quickly cough to cover up the desperation in your voice. The truth is, you're not sure. It's the right name, the right street. But all these places seem foreign to you still. So much has changed. 'Brown's Coffee' certainly wasn't here before you left. 

"No..." you repeat, "I'm sure this is it. I'm just a bit early, that's all."

You swallow against the tremor in your voice, eyes darting across all the people passing by your window. You were confident you would be able to recognise her but now you're beginning to forget the details. Long, dark brown hair? Or was it short? You clasp your hands together on your lap. 

"Y/n?"

"Yes?"

Your mom's soft voice pulls you in like a hug and you blink furiously so as not to run your mascara. 

"It's okay to say you're not ready, you know," she says. You look into her eyes, through her glasses that are the same design as the ones she had seven years ago. You're almost grateful for it, for the sameness. 

"I'm ready," you say, perhaps more to convince yourself than anyone else. Your mom opens her mouth to say something else but your attention is grabbed by the person who has just pushed the door open into 'Brown's Coffee'. 

"There she is."

"Where?"

"She's just gone in," you say, patting your pockets to make sure you've got your phone, your purse, your panic alarm. Your mom strains her head over to your side of the car to try and see but the door is closed now and the large lettering embossed onto the window obscures the inside from view. 

"Okay, but will you--"

"Phone if something's wrong? Yep."

"And make sure you--"

"Don't leave by myself? Yes, I know."

You duck out the door, almost about to shut it behind you when you bend over again. Your mom's face is right there, hard and tense. You lean forward and kiss her cheek. 

"Love you," you say flippantly, although really, truly, meaning it.

"I love you too, sweetheart," she calls as you close the door, walking away and waving back at her. You know if you dawdle, if you take a minute to think, you're going to back out. So you grit your teeth, powering through, opening the door of the cafe and sidestepping to let a woman and her pram get out. The noise, although not terribly loud, is initially overwhelming. The sound of other people. The sound of conversation. You've only just got used to hearing the voices of your family around the house.