(idk if I mentioned this before but most of this story is a flashback)
Demi POV
The contract that was handed to us after we were all selected for the tour was thick in my hands and I knew I was crinkling it as I rushed down the squeaky clean halls of Cedars Sinai. It wasn't the thickest contract I've ever been given. That had been the contract for touring with Beyoncé and participating in her secret self titled album. Then again, Trey Songz definitely wasn't as much as a perfectionist as Beyoncé. I don't think anyone in the music industry is as much as a perfectionist as Beyoncé. Maybe Michael Jackson. But I would never get the honor of dancing for him.I didn't think the auditions would take so long. I also didn't expect them to be so easy either. The choreography was mostly acro and jazz stuff. The consensus seemed to be if you were sexy, could spread your legs, and move your hips then you were selected for tour. I hope it's not a waste of time. It's a paycheck, something I desperately need, but I wanted to be challenged. Maybe that's why I kept going back and auditioning for Beyoncé. I was challenged when I danced for her. Everything else just seemed way too easy in comparison.
I stopped at room 314 but before I went in I zipped my hoodie up and smoothed my hair away from my face. Dianna still loathes my crop tops even though I practically live in them and had been living in them since I knew what a crop top was. I opened the door and placed a weary smile on my face as I saw the woman who raised me connected to more wires than she had been the other day when I had come to see her. I tried to come every day but since she transferred hospitals she was further away from where I lived.
"Is that my Demi?" She questioned in her sweet voice. It sounded like honey. I don't know how to describe it but she speaks to me as if I'm the most important thing to her in this entire world. I know I'm not, but Dianna just has a way of making you feel like that.
"Yeah. I wanted to make sure you ate since I know dad won't be here for a while," I said, placing the brown paper bag from Panera on top of her table and moving it towards her.
She was sitting up but she was half asleep. It was all of the medicine they had her on that they claimed was helping her pain, but I'm just not sure if it is.
"Demi, I told you about spending your money on me," my mom tsked as I entered her hospital room.
Well, it was like my second home. Considering a hospital room your second home was rather sad, but my mom was fighting an awful and aggressive cancer, so for the past six years she had been in and out of the hospital. For the past few months, she's had to take a permanent residency there because of how severe her condition was.
"You need to eat, mom. I know you don't like the chemo and what it does to your body, but it's keeping the cancer at bay. And when you're healthy again, you'll need your strength so you need to eat," I explained as I took the cheddar broccoli soup from Panera out of the brown bag and poured it into the bread bowl.
"Darling, I eat. The nurses here do feed me," she reminded me but I just shook my head.
"No, they try to feed you but you hate hospital food. Mama, please just eat, okay?" I said, holding the spoon out for her.
At 5'2 and 115 pounds with her bald head and sunken in cheek bones, my mother doesn't exactly look like the vision of perfect health. Even though the doctors said that the cancer was spreading and she probably wouldn't make it to the end of the year, I tried to keep her spirits high and her faith up. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know my mom just isn't going to get better, but I'm not ready to let the woman who raised me go. Not yet.