Demi Lovato Imagines

The Flatshare

The smoke from the pan had started to float up above your head so you switched the extractor fan on, the low groan of it drowning out the podcast you had been listening to. With one hand shifting things around the non-stick surface, you used the other to reach over to your phone and turn it off. It was at that moment that you saw the door to the apartment swing open, Demi walking in from the outside. 

"I'm making fajitas!" you called through, a smile tugging on your lips as you knew this meal was one of her favourites. And you loved it when you would break this news, waiting for her usual rush towards you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and lifting your feet off the ground as she hugged you, hard kisses pecked into your cheeks. But, this time, she didn't run forwards. Instead, she toed her shoes off at the door and disappeared into the living room without a word. 

"Demi?"

Not sure if she just wasn't replying or that you couldn't hear her over the sound of the fan, you turned it off, moving the pan to a cold ring and leaving the dish towel on the side. Following in her wake, you stopped at the edge of the room as you took in her hunched form, elbows on knees as she sat down on the sofa. 

"Everything okay?"

She didn't lift her head, instead burrowing her face further into her phone. You almost asked who she was messaging before you remembered the last time you did. And how she snapped at you for not respecting her privacy. 

"Dem? Hey, what's up?"

You tried to keep your tone light. Jovial. Non-commital. As if it didn't really matter to you if you found out or not when, in fact, the opposite was true. It was only then that you noticed her eye, and the way the skin underneath was a dark purple colour. 

"Oh my God! What happened to your face?!"

Her eyes flicked towards you, only for a fraction of a second, before returning to her phone. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," you said, taking a step further into the room, "Why do you have a huge bruise?" Bending your knees so that you could examine it closer, she shirked back with a look of annoyance.  

"It's not huge," she muttered as if that was the most important detail. And, yet, any bruise you saw on her would be one too big. Not that you could ever say any of this out loud. 

"But how did you get it?" you persisted, ignoring the way her lips pinched together and nostrils flared slightly. She shrugged, eyes still anchored down at her phone but not really looking at it. When she didn't say anything more, you let out a whipping sigh, marching over to the wall to turn on the big light. Immediately, she twisted away from you, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Demi."

"Just leave it, Y/n. There's nothing to say."

"Doesn't look that way to me."

"Well, it's the truth. Take it or leave it."

"Just tell me what happened, Dem! Do you need ice?"

She let out a puff of exasperation that made your skin prickle in shame. 

"Of course I don't need ice," the said lowly. "It's not even sore."

There was silence as the two of you listened to the crack of peppers still charring in the hot pan. 

"It wasn't Ben," you eventually mumbled, barely daring yourself to properly say it, "Was it?"

Her eyes lashed at you, lips peeled daringly back from her teeth. 

"No! Jesus, Y/n, would you take a hint?! It's nothing! And I don't want to talk about it!"

As she stood up, going to storm past you, you thought about reaching out and grabbing her arm, stopping her in her tracks and telling her that that means two completely different things. Why not, if it's nothing? Why not just tell me? But then the image of your last argument zipped into your mind like a new email, flashing to get your attention. And you remembered how awful you felt and how long it took for the two of you to even start speaking again. It wasn't even that long ago, either, only a couple of months since her and Ben has started dating.  You couldn't help but blame yourself for letting the topic spiral out of control - how your intention to bring up the uneasy feeling he gave you when he came round escalated into an hour-long screaming match about how you were just jealous that you weren't in a relationship and how that didn't mean you could try and sabotage others'. She did apologise for saying that three nights later. But a large part of you realised that that was only because you accepted responsibility for the fight as a whole and, therefore, conceding that small point was, really, only a matter of courtesy.