Demi Lovato Imagines

Kiss and Make up

"It wasn't even that late!"

"Easy for you to say!" she shouts back, words echoing through the hallway as you walk further away. You hear her kick her shoes off in anger, their soles thudding on the hardwood flooring you'd only just steamed that morning. "You weren't the one sitting there like a loner for forty-five minutes!"

You roll your eyes, taking a glass out from the cupboard and turning the tap on, waiting for the water to run cold. You mask the sound of her footsteps coming up behind you by dunking the glass under the stream and letting the gushing fill your ears. 

"Yeah...well...I told you I might have had to stay behind at work a bit later. I told you to push the reservation back."

"You could have at least texted, though!" 

You turn around, looking at her as you drink deeply. The skin around her eyes is black from where she's rubbed her mascara and she's taken her hair out of the nice twist she had pinned it in for the meal, now leaving it to graze her shoulders that keep hunching up to her ears. 

"I can't text you if I'm at work, Demi," you sigh. The whole evening is catching up with you now. You had tried to keep a brave face on, throughout the meal, knowing she was pissed at you but wanting to try and keep conversation afloat, change the subject, not create a scene in the middle of the upstate restaurant. But here, in the kitchen, you feel drained. And you don't want to have to deal with the argument you'd been evading through compliments to her appearance and the exquisite flavour of the main course. 

She shakes her head. "I know where you work," she says, straining her whole body forward in frustration, "I know your boss would let you send a tiny message to let your girlfriend know you still care about her and still want to have this dinner with her that she's been planning for weeks!"

You almost choke while swallowing another gulp of water, twisting round and thunking the glass on the countertop. 

"Seriously, Demi? That's where you're going with this? I was a bit late, for God's sake, doesn't mean I suddenly don't care about you anymore!" 

"But you didn't even--"

"Listen," you interrupt, holding one hand out. Your firmness shocks her and she snaps her mouth shut. "I'm tired. I've had a long day at work and I really don't want to have a big blow out at eleven-thirty in the middle of the kitchen. So I'm gonna head upstairs and if you're still pissed in the morning, have a go at me when I've had a few hours sleep."

Her stupified expression almost makes you laugh as you don't even wait for a reply, simply walking out the door and heading for the stairs. You've climbed at least half before you hear her start pacing up behind you. 

"Excuse me, but I don't see why this is all of a sudden my fault," she exclaims. And you know exactly what she's doing. Knowing those words never left your mouth, you ignore her, not taking the bait. You can't suppress the smirk when you hear her growl under her breath, her feet now stomping up the stairs behind you. You pick up your pace. 

"Don't run away from me," she shouts. When you reach the landing, you stride quickly towards the bathroom, pulling a towel off the shelf, and unzipping the side of your dress. In the mirror, you see her panting form appear at the door but keep your eyes down. 

"Hey," she says. You don't reply, slipping the straps off your shoulders and letting the silk drop to the floor in soft folds. You reach under the sink for a makeup wipe, gently swiping at your eyes. 

"Stop ignoring me."

Still taking most of your foundation off, you pull out the pins you have in your hair, piling them in a small corner of the dresser that sits beneath the open window.  The coolness of outside raises goosebumps on your skin.