#if anyone would like access to my recordings of bgt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years

Text

Ruin My Life

A/N: One more fic, written for @tasteoflovato in response to a prompt about the song “Ruin My Life” by Zara Larsson, and, specifically, the music video. (If you haven’t seen it, do so, it’s a really good song). Sorry it took so long, I hope this is okay?

Part of her always wondered if he’d done it on purpose. If he was aware that, as brutally as it had ended, as completely as they’d tried to remove one another from their lives, he’d left her with access to his calendar.

She still remembered sitting with him on his dressing room floor, because they hadn’t quite made it to the couch, handing over her phone so he could sync their ever-changing schedules.

She wondered if he knew that every time he got an automated notification for his upcoming events, she got one too.

And Demi knew she could just go in and remove herself any time she wanted. She knew she was really just torturing herself, getting these little periodic reminders that Simon was off living his life without her--she especially hated the reminders that had ‘with Lauren’ marked in--but she could never bring herself to do it.

It was her last little link to him, the one remaining shred of proof that what they’d had was real, once, and she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t forget, couldn’t stop reopening those old wounds. Every time. And when the ‘with Lauren’s disappeared, when that relationship dissolved, she couldn’t decide if it hurt more or less.

And it reminded her how, in spite of how close they thought they’d been, there were still so many things she'd never known about him, so many thoughts and actions she couldn't hope to predict. Was this a deliberate action from the judge who could reduce contestants to tears, trying to hurt her just a little bit more? Or was this the man who could rarely be pried out of bed before noon without good reason, who forgot he wasn't supposed to call her "baby" in front of the cameras, not even realizing she could still see the schedule to his entire life any time she opened her phone?

Demi sighed, resolving not to pick up her phone as it chimed with another notification from the calendar app. Caving seconds later, she tilted the screen until she could read it, telling the guilty voice in the back of her brain to shut up. Meeting w/ BGT Producers, and a London address.

So he was out of the country. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel relieved at that, or inexplicably lonely. It wasn’t as if she was going to see him at any one of his properties here, but somehow the knowledge that he was there, that she could imagine him in the houses she knew so well, was comforting.

And sometimes she resented the way all of her furniture and decorations and fluffy comforters and even her dogs never felt like home the way his stupid fucking L.A. house did.

Mostly she didn’t have the strength to be mad; it was just an emptiness left in her heart, the permanent space of missing someone she wasn’t supposed to and could never get back.

Demi sighed, playing with her phone absently in her hands, lost in her thoughts. She was so tired. So tired of sleeping alone, wrapped up in blankets that weren’t ever warm enough. So tired of laughing at things alone and knowing that if he’d been there, he would have laughed with her. So tired of the nagging thoughts in the back of her head that he’d once erased and then put right back again when he chose Lauren--why am I never good enough?

She still remembered the night he took her home with him to that L.A. property and tossed her into his pool, under the stars, choking out protests when she pulled him in with her in retaliation. Laughing, pretending to be angry, until her giggles died and she was left staring at him, treading water and her white tank top soaked through, thinking rather suddenly that she didn’t care that he could see. That in that moment she was alive and happy and exactly where she wanted to be, and it didn’t matter if her now-transparent top clung to curves she was so critical of, and she trusted him not to find fault in her body. And that maybe she could love him, just a little bit.

She wanted to go back to that night, she wanted to go back to the water, she wanted to go back to him. That relationship would have ruined her life, probably, it pushed her to the edge in all the wrong ways as well as the right ones, and even now he still had a hold on her. She still wanted to go back.

It was a thought that lived in her head all too often these days, creeping in when she was alone at night with something on TV that didn’t hold her attention. And Demi wasn’t sure when it had turned from abstract longing to a very tangible and very bad idea, but all she could really think was that she still remembered the code to his front gate. And it wouldn’t be closure, she wasn’t going to kid herself. But it was as close as she could get. And maybe this would have to be the “rock bottom” of her journey in this relationship, and she could start actually letting him go. Or maybe that would never happen.

Before she could change her mind again, Demi stood up suddenly, swiping the keys to her car off of the kitchen table, glancing at her reflection just briefly in the hallway mirror before she slipped out the front door. Plain black t-shirt, leggings, no makeup. It didn’t matter, no one was even home. That was the point.

Making the drive to his house again felt strange, an empty imitation of all of the times she’d made the trip, butterflies in her stomach and a glance in the rearview just in case anyone saw her leave.

She pulled off of the road finally, carefully putting the car in park and pulling her keys out of the ignition. There, Demi hesitated for a long moment, her breath caught in her throat and her heart going too fast. What in the hell did she think she was doing?

She almost pulled away again. She was so close to turning around, driving right back to her apartment to hide and try to quiet her heartbeat, and then she remembered the cameras. She could get through the front gate, but she’d thrown his key back at him a long time ago. And the only way to turn them off was inside the house.

Unless she stooped to breaking windows--which she absolutely was not about to do--he would see her. He would see everything.

Demi bit her lower lip, wrestling for a moment in the darkened car with the truth she knew in her heart. She wanted him to see. Just for a moment, she wanted him to remember. She wanted to make him think about it again, just like she did, every day. I’m still here, she wanted to say, and you ruined everything and you fucked me up and you probably never think about me anymore but I’m still here. And I want you to do it again.

Her insides twisting with an entirely different kind of nervous butterflies, Demi scrambled out of the car, in a rush again before she could talk herself out of it. She keyed in the six-digit number she knew he always seemed to forget to change, swallowing the last of her apprehension when the lock clicked.

Maybe she was really just out of her mind. Maybe this would all end up on Page Six tomorrow, the crazy former addict star breaking and entering because she’s still hung up on Simon Cowell. Maybe she just didn’t care.

She made her way around his property quietly, slipping across the lawn in her slip-on sandals and feeling the grass tickle her toes. It was dark, yes, but the moonlight and the city lights gave off enough of a glow for her to see where she was going.

Demi paused at the edge of the concrete to his pool deck, her breath catching.

“Simon don’t you dare!” she had squealed out, squirming as his hands wrapped around her ribcage, throwing her small body off of the edge. A moment of weightlessness, her shriek in the air, and then the shocking sensation of the water crashing over her head. She had come up gasping, then laughing, wasting no time in reaching out to pull him in with her.

She smiled a little sadly, looking out at the empty, still blue water. It had been a whole other life. A life that Simon had chosen to abruptly give up on.

Struck with a moment of inspiration, Demi crossed toward the house, pausing to glance up briefly at the red eye of the mounted camera, knowing it was recording her, and flipped on the bright lights to the pool. If she was going to do this, she might as well give him a show.

Demi slipped out of her clothes and tossed them on one of the poolside chairs along with her phone and keys. She left on her simple bralette and underwear, just in case it did end up on Page Six.

Part of her wanted to just cannonball into the water, to recreate the memory still playing in her head, but she walked in quietly instead, moving down the steps into the pool and letting the warm water cover her, inch by inch.

Long before Simon, she had always loved the water. It was peaceful, weightless, centered her. She closed her eyes and slowly sank beneath the surface, letting her hair float up around her and closing out the sounds around her while her heartbeat finally slowed.

And when she came up for air again again, hands sweeping her hair back and water running down her face and cascading over barely-covered breasts, she dragged her gaze up to the camera she knew she was in front of, imagining for a moment that her eyes could say everything she wanted to. Come back to me, I miss you.

Demi swam absently for a long time, focusing less and less about the show she was supposedly giving Simon whenever he watched that video feed. It became more and more about giving her body something to keep itself busy with while her mind ran like a video feed over every memory she had of the two of them. It had been incredible and intoxicating and surprisingly romantic, and it had ended with everything shattered on the floor.

It was a secret she’d never told anyone, because she knew what they would say. She was so young, and still fresh out of rehab, and she was vulnerable and in over her head and it had all been a mistake and she should be lucky it didn’t turn out worse, and she should be over it by now.

How was she supposed to explain to anyone that it really had been real for a little while? How was she supposed to explain that nobody else in the world had ever made her feel like that? How was she supposed to explain that she didn’t regret it, and she still missed him, and if she could go back she still would?

Lost in her thoughts, Demi kept moving through the water, unaware of the slightly-unfocused image of her currently playing on a cell phone in the back of an expensive car, pulling away from the airport.

Finally, she planted her feet on the bottom of the shallow end, gasping slightly and feeling the burn in her muscles. The chlorine on her tongue tasted like salt, too, and Demi swept her hand over her face, pushing water and tears and stray hairs out off of her skin with one movement.

It didn’t feel better, not really. But for a while, the water had filled the space in her heart and it hadn’t been quite so empty and cold and lonely. And she was oddly content with the knowledge that whenever Simon woke up in London, he would at some point end up seeing the footage of her. She would stay alive in his memory, at least for one more day.

Dripping wet, she climbed back out of the pool, shivering slightly and grateful for the heat of the summer night. She hadn’t brought any towels, and trying to get back into her clothes when everything would stick was out of the question. So, with her clothes bundled into her hands with her shoes and her feet bare, Demi began the walk back to her car. She didn’t bother to look at her phone, never seeing the notification of her missed call.

She knew she’d made a mistake when she came around the corner to the front of the house, stumbling to a stop on the concrete drive and blinking against the brightness of car headlights pointed right at her.

Every muscle in her body tensed to run, but that wouldn’t do any good if this was some kind of paparazzi, or--oh, hell--the police. She put up one hand against the light instead, her heart racing behind her ribs again.

Still half-blinded, she heard a car door open, and then a tall silhouette standing behind the door, one hand on it. “What are you doing, Demi?”

Her heart stopped entirely at the sound of that voice she never thought she’d hear again. “Swimming,” she managed dumbly, wondering if she really ought to run now after all. Then, “You were in London.”

“Flight got back early,” Simon managed, sounding just as taken aback as she was.

“Oh,” Demi murmured, lowering her hand as the car turned off. And then they were just standing in the dark, her half-dressed and shivering, Simon struck dumb.

“Did you do it on purpose?” she asked suddenly, teeth biting at her lip to keep them from chattering.

“What?”

She gestured vaguely with her phone still in her hand. “Leave me with access to your calendar. I mean,” she added nervously, “it’s not like I would be here if--”

Simon cleared his throat roughly, and she trailed off. “Doll,” he started, still staring like he was seeing a ghost.

“Never mind,” Demi choked out. “Goodbye, Simon.” She ducked her head down, cheeks still flaming, and scurried past him, ignoring the scuff of her bare feet on the concrete.

She was well past his car and nearing her own when his voice stopped her once more. “I think part of me wanted you to show up,”

Demi whipped her head back, wet hair stinging her face. “What?”

In the darkness, Simon shrugged. “You always used to crash things you weren’t invited to, brat. Maybe I expected you to do it again.” A pause, then, “You never did.”

Demi’s eyes went wide. “So this is my fault now?” she demanded, incredulous. Leave it to Simon to turn everything on its head again. “Are you seriously--”

“That’s not what I meant, baby,”

Her heart broke all over again at the nickname. I miss you. So much. Almost unconsciously, her feet were moving, carrying her back toward the car he was still standing next to, pulling her back in like a magnet.

Demi stopped herself a few feet away, her hand playing with the strap on one of her sandals nervously. “What did you mean, then?”

“Why did you come here, Demi?” he asked her instead, his face softening in the dim light. He was so close, and this wasn’t what she planned but she wasn’t complaining, and she wasn’t shivering from cold anymore.

Her eyes flicked down to her blue-painted toes, stinging with tears she didn’t want to cry. And she was standing there in her soaking wet underwear and a bralette that was all lace, hair still a mess from the unsanctioned swim she took in his pool at midnight, and there was no room for anything but the truth anymore. “I didn’t know,” she managed finally, trying to find words that would articulate the empty, lonely ache that never went away. “I could miss you that much,” she swallowed. “And I know you probably never think about me, but I--”

“I never forgot about you, baby.”

A choked little noise escaped Demi in spite of herself, and she bit down firmly on any further escaping emotions. She had to at least try to stay in control, even if that was a bit of a fool’s hope with Simon.

“I missed you,” Simon admitted softly, breaking down the last wall she still had up. “But you and I both know a relationship would ruin so much of your career, your--”

Demi cut him off, taking a breath and drawing up the last of her courage to close the distance between them, tilting her head up to finally meet his eyes. “What if I want you to?”

And there were no guarantees, and she understood rationally that all of this could still evaporate in the morning, and if it didn’t, everything could still go to hell. But all she really knew in that moment was that falling back into his open arms felt like finally putting herself back together again.

#dimon #demi lovato #simon cowell #fanfiction #one more time #requested #last one i think?

19 notes · View notes