Demi Lovato Imagines

Ex-Boyfriend

"Demi Lovato is Craig's new girlfriend!"

You look up from the book you are reading, glasses sliding to the end of your nose. Bethany's red face wheezes in front of your eyes.

"Hmm?"

Bethany pants, holding her hand to her side to ease the stitch.

"Craig...his new girlfriend...is Demi - freaking - Lovato..." she manages to say between gasps. You close the book, keeping your thumb stuck inside to keep the page. You don't follow.

"What on earth are you on about?" you ask, even though you're pretty sure you heard her right the first time. But that can't be true, can it?

"It's on his Instagram...he just posted today - like - twenty minutes ago...I--"

She straightens up, putting her hands on top of her head to open her airways.

"...I ran all the way from class...I had to--...God, those stairs are a killer...I had to tell you as soon as I could..."

You're still reclining back on your desk chair, feet up on the end of your bed. From five floors up, your college room has one of the best views of campus. You say the only thing that holds any sort of reason in your head.

"And, uhh, why are you still following his Insta?"

Bethany rolls her eyes, dropping her hands to her side in frustration.

"Y/n?! Is that seriously what you're most concerned about right now?! Didn't you hear what I just said?!"

"I heard you," you shrug, opening the book again, "But I don't believe you. That dick always put fake-ass pictures on his Insta, I don't know why you're even believing it..."

You think about the time he posted that thing about his old childhood friend dying in some freak workplace accident. He used it to leave for the weekend and be 'out-of-contact' for at least seventy-two hours. It's amazing the lengths men will go to get away with cheating on you. You just don't know why he thought posting it on his public profile would be a good idea considering it only took a matter of days before comments started appearing under the caption calling bullshit on the whole thing. There never was a Billy Jones. Certainly not one Craig went to school with. And no one died from drowning in a vat of butter-fat. That's the part at which you kick yourself for being so gullible.

"But look at this, Y/n. Look!" Bethany pleads, holding her phone up to your face. You stare into her eyes for a good few seconds before finally giving in and glancing at the glaring photo.

It's blurry but you can easily make out your ex-boyfriend's tall, stocky figure. And unfortunately, it's also easy to make out the short woman tucked into his side. Her eyes are the same ones you see on the TV screen. Her lips the same as the ones that sang into that mic when she played here at The Forum in LA. There's no denying it's her and there's no denying the photo is real. Even talented artists couldn't photoshop something this seamlessly.

"I don't fucking believe this," you mumble, shaking your head. Bethany slides the phone back into her pocket, removing the evidence from your sight. Her eyes melt into something not too far from pity.

"I'm sorry, babe..."

"This is so unfair!" you cry, burying your head into your hands. Not even your best friend perching beside you and wrapping her arms around you can make you feel any better.

"I know--"

"No! This is a bunch of crap! How does he get to be happy after everything he's done!? How the fuck am I the one still paying for all of his shit when he's off living his life doing whatever the fuck he wants with no consequence?! How?! How is that right?!"