Demi Lovato Imagines

The Flatshare pt.2

TW - (mention of) domestic abuse

You let out a loud curse as the pile of papers went flying across the floor, the torn plastic folder flapping jeeringly in your hand. Getting down on your hands and knees, you collected them back up, trying your best to put them in the order you remembered from the night before when you stayed up until eleven putting the finishing touches on your presentation. When finally sorted, you pause by the door of the kitchen, catching your breath. You were fine. The presentation was going to be fine. Everything you've worked for for the past year was not going to disappear right from beneath your fingers after one wrong move.

Leaning back, letting your back hit the wall, you glanced towards the window. The morning was beautiful, right at the moment where the twilight blue of night was being pushed back by the golden glow of the rising sun. As if in a storybook, a bird was perched lightly on the sill, its body still and rigid, ready to fly at a moments notice. You copied it, slowing your breathing down until it was almost non-existent. A bubble of pressure expanded inside your chest as if you were underwater, face towards the surface but no real desire to rise up and greet it. Underneath was quiet, and slow, and felt like nothing too disastrous could happen without you having some way to stop it, or change it, or, at least, avert your eyes. You blew a steady stream of air out through your lips, distributing your weight equally between your feet.

A loud knock on the door.

The bird flew.

Spinning on the spot, you tried to keep from slipping as you quickly skidded towards the front door in your tights, using your fingers to frantically smooth down the fly-away hairs around the crown of your head. The sound of your feet drumming on the floor echoed inside your head, the presentation popping back to the forefront of your mind and the sudden panic that you had no idea what you were supposed to say first. You reached for the door knob.

"Hello?"

The bubble rose to your head which immediately felt too light and too swolen all at the same time.

"Hey."

Demi's face had barely rearranged itself from a look of unsuredness before she had uttered that single syllable, reminding you of the voice you had spent so long trying to erase from your memory. You remembered the mornings, waking with a start with the ghost of her humming dancing in your ears. Her laugh as you two watched stupid rom-coms late into the night. Her yelling as you came clean about what you really thought.

"Hi," you said.

"Can I come in?"

She was already moving one foot inside but you moved your body so that it took up the whole doorframe.

"Actually, I'm just leaving."

Her foot stopped, but didn't move back.

"Yeah," you continued, sliding your own feet into your black patent shoes and lunging back to grab your bag from the hallway, "I've got to get to work. So..."

So? So, yes, you'll need to come back another time. You'll need to schedule a lunchbreak into my already overflowing timetable. You'll need to be knocked back, and ignored, and refused, just like I was when it was my turn to try and speak to you. You haven't seen this woman for over a year. And, just like that, she thought she could walk right back into your life.

You pushed past her, descending the stairs one by one lest you look like you were running away. You heard her own footsteps following you down.

"Can't I just talk to you for a second?"

"No. Sorry. I'm really in a rush."

The truth was that you'd left at least an extra ten minutes to get to the office that morning to eliminate any chances for things to go wrong. And now you were leaving at least five minutes before that which meant you were most likely going to have to sit in the cafeteria on the seventh floor, reading andre-reading the words you'd been revising for the past week until you could convince yourself it was close enough to perfect that you wouldn't throw up right then and there on the linoleum floor.