Demi Lovato Imagines

Say It

The first time, it was eveningtime. Demi had driven me home after the cinema where we'd sat at the back. Neither of us able to remember one plot point of the film. And so, when she pulled up at the end of my drive, her words punctured the silence that had swelled in the twenty minute drive.  

"I love you."

My fingers curled around the car door, stopping it from slamming shut. 

"Pardon?"

She smiled and looked down. But not in embarrassment. In knowing. In satisfaction. I strained my ears, blocking out the noise of the encroaching night. 

"I love you," she repeated. 

I stood for seconds longer, feeling unable to take a breath. Eventually, the only sound that left my lips was a weak, non-committal hum. She laughed, revving the engine. 

"See you tomorrow?" she asked, the corner of her mouth still edging northwards. Dumb, I nodded and closed the door. I stood on that slab of sidewalk long after her brakelights had disappeared from view. 

The second time was when she had started to sleep over at mine. It would be better, she said, because her house was filled with her family. I had my small place to myself and had done for years. I loved the way she would come in and immediately fit into place, sitting on the sofa as if she had always sat there. Her toothbrush on the sill of the bathroom as if it come as part of the furnishings. Lying in my bed as if she were an extension of me. To be truthful, that was how it felt. Like Demi was part of me, not a separate entity that, someday, I would be able to live without. 

That morning, I'd awoken to her in my arms already awake. As I rose to consciousness, I could see her eyes trained on me, roaming over my arms, my neck, my face. She startled a little when she saw she'd been caught. But, again, no blush pigmented her cheeks. No stuttering out of an excuse. She grinned, wide, and sank deeper into my eyes. The bed suddenly felt more comfortable than it had ever done before. 

We lay in each other's embrace until the alarm went off, her smile pinching only for a moment before tangling my hair through her fingers and promising to be home early. 

"Don't worry about it," I'd said, rolling onto my back as she pulled on a pair of jeans, twisting her hair up into a bun. "I don't want you to rush."

"No?" she laughed, spinning around to face me, one eyebrow hitched. I shook my head. 

"You know what I mean. Don't drive dangerously. I want you home in one piece, whenever that might be. I'll wait up."

She swiped a lick of lipstick on, checking herself only briefly in the mirror. 

"Well, if it looks like it's going to be late, I'll message you. Don't force yourself to stay up if you're tired."

"It's fine."

"Please," she said, turning towards me again. But this time, she had that look that I could not resist. 

"Okay," I conceded, "I won't."

She unplugged her phone from its charger before crossing the room towards me. She leant forwards, pressing her lips to my forehead. I breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume. 

"I love you," she said. Her hand remained combed through my hair. I felt my chest bubble, the tips of my toes fizz. She stayed low down, waiting. 

"Me too," I said. Her hand disappeared. She left the room without looking back again. 

The third time was when she was called in for a last minute press day. I can't remember exactly what it was about but her manager told her over the phone that she 'really must be there otherwise there's a chance the drop date would be pushed back'. I watched as she listened to him, my back against the kitchen counter, spatula in hand. A glob of pancake mix slid down the handle onto my wrist, forming a new skin.