Demi Lovato Imagines

Enough pt.3

Her scream jolts you from your daze. You look to the stairs in alarm. 

She screams again. 

Leaping off of the sofa, you sprint out the living room and up the staircase, two-by-two. Demi's room is at the far end, after the guest bedroom you've been staying in for the past week. Your head is spinning by the time you reach it. 

"Demi?" 

She's lying in the middle of her bed, tossing and turning wildly. Her arms and legs kick out erratically as she continues to scream painfully. 

"Demi..." you say again, moving cautiously towards her. Not again, is all you can think. 

You crawl onto the mattress, edging forward on your hands and knees. You don't want to get a fist in your face like last time. You don't want Demi to be crying from guilt for the next twenty-four hours like last time. 

"Shhh...Dems, it's alright...shhh...it's just a nightmare..." you coo over her cries, moving up to her head that twists left and right. Her eyes are screwed shut and her eyebrows are knotted in the centre of her forehead. You stroke her damp hair back from her face but as soon as your fingers touch her scalp, she yelps, rotating her whole body round to your direction and reaching out with her hands. 

"Hey, hey...Demi, wake up...I'm here, it's just me...it's just me..."

She grips your clothes, straining the material as she pulls you towards her. Shuffling forward more, you slide one arm underneath her neck and prop her up so that you're holding her tight. Even so, she doesn't stop clawing at you, attaching herself to your body with her nails.

"Demi, what's wrong?" you exclaim, suddenly feeling very panicked at her appearance. What is going on? What is playing out in her head that is so terrifying?

She yelps again, burying her head into your stomach. All you can do is comb your fingers through her hair.

"...Demi, please," you beg, hoping for...something, anything. Her eyes blink open, you know she's awake. Or, at least, half-way there. You know it can take her long minutes before she is really 'present'. That's how she described it the first time. She said she feels like her nightmares live long after she's woken up. You listened, and promised her you would never let her feel unsafe. 

You need to stop making promises. 

 "What's going on?" you ask, stroking at her face to ground her in her bed, with you, in your protected embrace. Not in the world her mind has concocted. 

"They--...They're coming for--...coming to get m-me...I--"

A car horn honks from outside. She shrieks, pressing her nose even further into your shirt. 

"It's okay, it's okay...no one's here, it's just me...just breathe, okay...I've got you..."

She pants heavily, refusing to let go of you. 

"Who's coming?" you ask warily, "...Who's coming to get you?"

She just shakes her head, mumbling incoherently. 

"Dem?" you prod.

"L-Lauren...she's--...and Kelsey...I can't-...they won't stop..." she stutters, her words muffled by your clothes. 

"No one's here, I promise you. Hey, listen...it's just me. Just me and you, sweetheart. I swear. I'm not going to let anyone come and hurt you."

You rock back and forth, waiting for her to stop crying. 

"They won't stop what, sweetheart?"

"Chasing m-me..." she sobs, "...I can see them...they're in my room-m all the t-time..."