Demi Lovato Imagines

Shot

"Demi! Here's your ten-minute call!" Kelsey shouts as she pops her head into your mom's dressing room. 

You were sitting on the sofa behind her dressing table, watching as she gets her hair and make-up done, as you do every night. You could say you liked watching it...but God it got repetitive. Probably made worse by the fact that your mom never paid any attention to you during that time. And that would be fine, of course, if it weren't for the fact that she doesn't pay any attention to you during the day either. 

Let's just say - it wasn't your favourite when your mom was on tour. 

Watching her perform to thousands of people each night, you had started to think that maybe her fans have more of a relationship with her than her own daughter does. It wasn't hard to see. When she is on stage, she is smiling and laughing and waving and having a good time. When she is in the hotel room with you late at night, she is grumpy and mean and strict and annoying. You hate her.

Well, no you don't. But sometimes you think it would make things easier if you did. 

If you didn't crave her attention.

If you didn't want her to speak to you about things other than you getting in the way of her team.

Tonight was no different. Moments after Kelsey had called for your mom, she was getting out of her chair and heading towards the door as Avo quickly brushed out her long wig one more time. 

"Break a leg, mom," you called out to her, pretending like you had been looking at your phone the whole time instead of watching her every move. 

But she didn't respond. 

'Cause she didn't hear you...right?

From behind, Avo taps her on the shoulder, then points in your direction. Taking a second to register what he was doing, she points her focus at you. And you can't help but notice the small eye-roll she gives. 

"Huh? Oh, Y/n, I don't want a repeat of last night. You're to stay in here, okay? You can't be trusted to go wandering around."

Staring back at her, you can feel how pissed off your face looks. Last night was nothing! It's not your fault you got locked out in the cold. If she accepted the fact that she - you know - has a kid, maybe it wouldn't be so hard to convince security to let you back in the arena after you go out for a breath of fresh air. Maybe then, they wouldn't have to laugh in your face as you shiver uncontrollably in the biting wind, waiting for your own mother to confirm that - yes - you are her daughter, and - no - not a crazed fan trying to sneak in without a ticket. 

"Whatever," you scoff back, fed up with how everything is pinned on you.

"Excuse me?" she speaks slowly as Avo backs up behind her. Doesn't take a genius to recognise that this wouldn't end well. 

"Wasn't my fault that happened," you continue.

"Wasn't it? Because it wasn't anybody else who decided to leave where they were supposed to be and go galavanting around the place!"

"Well maybe if I wasn't shut in a tiny room for hours every night then I wouldn't feel the need to go without permission. I hate it here."

"Yeah, well I hate you being here too," she snaps, "so I guess we both just need to get on with it."

Silence.

Trying your hardest not to break your hard stare, you watch as her mouth opens slightly in shock at what she's just said. 

"...Y/n, I--"

"Leave it."

"What?"

"Leave it," you repeat, standing up from the sofa. Brushing past her, you head straight for the dressing room door. Before exiting, you turn back to look at your mother, tears threatening to spill down your face.