Demi Lovato Imagines

Red Light

The last thing I remember before it all went dark was seeing my Mom sat in the driver's seat, happily singing along to the cheesy pop songs on the radio. The sound of her soft singing voice filling my ears, the same voice that she used to sing me to sleep with every night as a baby. Her hand holding mine as we'd drive back from Taco Bell, our favourite place to spend time together. She would always have her hand in mine while driving home, it gave us both a sense of security and reminded eachother of the love we shared. She would always look into my eyes and tell me how much she loved me or how proud of me she was when we stopped at a red light, with a huge smile on her face. I'd always look back at her with so much adoration and answer her with how much I loved her back or how proud I was of her too. We'd argue over who loved who the most or who was more proud and when we got back to my grandparent's house, my grandma would always scold us both for arguing over something so ridiculous. I always knew deep down that her feelings were stronger than mine, not intentionally of course. She'd always bear hug me and place a kiss on my forehead before she told me how proud she was just over me having a good report card. Even though she never understood what half of my homework meant, she'd always try and help me with it then get frustrated and remind me every time that she was homeschooled and we'd laugh about it until our sides ached. She may not have been a perfect Mom or a perfect person, but I loved her like she was.

Little did I know that it'd all be taken away from me in one second. She'd be holding my hand but it was slowly getting colder and colder in my grip. I couldn't look at her face, knowing what I'd see if I did. Blood. Lots of it. Her eyes closed as her head hung in front of her chest, lifeless.
A guy in a tin can of a car, ran a red light at the junction of one of the busy streets of LA. It was something I'd heard of on the news more times than I can count but never did I think that one day, it'd happen to me. That it'd take away my world. My Mom. A hit and run. Was it intentional? Unintentional? Planned? Not planned? Was the guy under an influence? I didn't care. Nothing could bring her back. No amount of wires that any doctor could put into her body, would bring her back. No amount of CPR or oxygen could get the heart that once used to calm me, to start beating again. I won't get to hear her sing to me whenever I have a nightmare anymore or argue with her about how I'm a teenager and I don't need her to baby me about it. No more hearing her infectious cackle of a laugh when grandpa would tell us all a really bad joke. She's gone.

AN// Stay strong 💛