Demi Lovato Imagines

Reunited pt.2

You cherish the sound of the coffee makes hissing and whirring beside you as you drop a teaspoonful of sugar into your mug. It's been so long since you've been around anything so luxurious, your bare feet warm against the heated floors of Demi's kitchen, and you vow never to take it for granted. You've just noticed that shower has stopped running upstairs so you figure she's probably in the bedroom getting dressed. Maybe I should get a mug out for her too?  - you think, a wide grin spreading uncontrollably across your face. Because the bedroom Demi's getting dressed in is the same bedroom the two of you slept in together last night. 

From behind, the doorbell chimes. 

"Y/n? Can you get that? It'll just be the post," Demi shouts from the landing making your chest flutter in love-sickness. 

"Yeah!" you shout back, moving away from the coffee maker and ambling through the house. You don't know what it is that makes you suddenly feel so comfortable here. Is it the new decor - the fact that the entire building is unrecognisable from before? Is it the new relationship with Demi? Or, just maybe, is it the fact that now you don't have to worry about Mrs De La Garza kicking about, ready to scrutinise you because of your parents? 

The doorbell chimes again.

"Coming?" you call, approaching the web of locks and chains with a degree of trepidation. How the fuck am I supposed to open this? - is the overwhelming thought as you fiddle with twisting knobs and keyhole connectors. Maybe it's just you being five years older: more mature, less naive; a better perception of the world?

The bottom bolt slides across as you twist the final latch, swinging the door open. And you realise that your earlier assumption was more accurate. 

"Y/n," Mrs De La Garza states flatly, her face void of emotion. 

"I--Oh, I--..uh..--Mrs--..." you stutter pathetically, unable to pull yourself out of the rut of the past. 

"Please. Call me Dianna," she says pursing her lips displeasingly as she scans you up and down. Hey, at least you're dressed. Things could have really gone from zero-to-a-hundred had she rocked up half an hour ago. 

"I-...uh...okay...Hi, Dianna," you say, more like a question as you beg for Demi to come down and save you. 

"I see my daughter didn't come to her senses last night? I thought that would be the case," she cocks her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. With one hand, you fiddle with one of the locks on the back of the door, unsure of what she wants you to say. 

"L-last night? I-...I don't know what you mean?"

"Of course you do, dear, I wasn't born yesterday. I bet you were the one pushing my Demi to talk back to me the way she did on the phone. She was never as petulant as this when she wasn't around you,"  she vents, toe-to-toe with you across the door jam. 

You inhale shakily, trying not to break down and revert to a time where Mrs De La Garza's comments made you cry yourself to sleep at night. 

"Dianna..." you say softly, "...I had nothing to do with that phone call. I didn't tell Demi to say any of those things. Honest. And I didn't make her offer me a bed for the night. She made those decisions on her own--"

"Oh give me a break. Do you seriously expect me to believe that? This is what your family have done for as long as I can remember! The lot of you! You all lie, and scheme, and worm your way in to get what you want! You don't care about who you hurt! You don't care that you could be putting someone at risk because of your toxic behav--"

"Mom?"

Demi's hand appears on your shoulder, squeezing it gently, sucking out huge gulps of the tension that had built up from Dianna's words.