Demi Lovato Imagines

Coming Home

TW - mentions of rape

"We're trying to get a hold of her now," the officer says, twisting around in the passenger seat, phone held up to his ear. The soft leather under your skin feels foreign. You haven't felt anything so smooth in-...

You stopped counting a long time ago. It must be years though. In the rearview mirror, the man driving keeps flicking his eyes to yours and then back to the road. Every so often, he looks straight out the back and you can just make out the blue flashing lights reflect inside his dark pupils. He took his cap off when he got in, placing it on the seat beside you in the back. The shiny badge barely glints as the sun fights to shine through the tinted windows. 'MONTGOMERY POLICE DEPARTMENT' is embellished around the crest. Alabama. Did you ever consider Alabama? You don't think you did. But then again, you stopped doing a lot of things when he shut you downstairs. 

"The lady at reception says she's getting a hold of her now," the first officer speaks again. You nod, digging the nails of your thumbs into the palm of the opposite hand. You feel lightheaded as if you've just come up for air after diving for hours. It feels good in a disorientating sort of way. 

Outside, acres of fields rush past you, huge expanses of green filling your vision. It's beautiful. Even the patches of brown scorched by the summer heat threaten to bring tears to your eyes. You wouldn't fight it if it did. You stopped crying after the downstairs as well. 

"Yes, ma'am, I've got her here," he speaks into his hand before reaching it out to you. You take the phone out of it, holding it up to your own ear. 

"...Mom?"

~*~

Dianna De La Garza doesn't even exert the energy to roll her eyes anymore when she hears two of her daughters bickering upstairs. She just continues to stir the reducing sauce in the crockpot until she can leave it to simmer. This is the reason she glances over to check the caller ID on the house phone before picking up. She's not about to dry this dinner out for some sales speech. But when she scans "Dallas County Sheriff's Department" across the screen, she drops the spatula and turns down the heat, biting her tongue so as to not scream at the two upstairs to shut up. 

"Hello?"

Through in the living room, her middle daughter Demi watches the TV screen lazily. Every few seconds, she switches the channel back and forth between the news and some cartoon she remembers being obsessed with at ten years old. Right before she turns back over to the stop-frame talking cat, her finger freezes and her heart drops. 

"Mom! Come here!"

She doesn't hear her mom's footsteps but she's not about to get up and look for her. She sits up straight, keeping her eyes fixed on the picture on the box. 

"Mom, quick!"

She watches as the house is panned around from the air and Y/n's image appears on the side of the screen, the one from all the posters. Thick saliva collects at the back of Demi's throat. The banner running along the bottom of the screen moves fast and she can't focus quick enough to read it properly. She lets out a pained sob as the image cuts to the news anchor, reading from a sheet of paper that was thrown to her only moments before. A man in Alabama. Arrested. Linked to the abduction of Y/n Y/l/n three years ago. They found her, Demi's head whispers, scared in case it's not true. 

"M-mom?! Please come!" she croaks. Finally, she hears hurried steps getting louder as Dianna moves through the house. 

"THEY FOUND HER!" Dianna shouts, holding the landline in one hand, pressing her other hand to her chest.