Demi Imagines 2.0

Different Part 3

You need to say this, and you're not going to wait for her to open the door. That's just not going to happen.
"Fine, be that way. Don't open the door—I'm still going to tell you what I came here to say."

You're yelling at the closed door, and you're pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood can hear you, but you don't really care. "I'm fucking sorry, Demi. I know I wasn't perfect. Neither of us was. I should have listened instead of just leaving. I should have known you better. I'm just really fucking sorry, and I wish I'd done things differently."
You let out a breath and try to listen for her footsteps. You don't hear anything.
"Demi," you start again, but that's when the door opens. She's looking at you, her expression unreadable again.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice quiet.
She'd never apologized before. She's finally telling you that she's sorry; you don't know how to feel.
You start to say something, but she raises her hand, silencing you.
"I'm sorry, and I should have been honest with you. It wasn't your fault. Hell, I would have left me. If I could have," she says, and something tells you that she's not trying to put herself in your position. She's being honest. She wanted to leave herself.
You look at her; she doesn't look the same as before. She looks almost broken. Her walls are down, and she resembles the woman you fell in love with—only something is still off.
It suddenly hits you. You'd never thought of it before, and you curse yourself for being so stupid.
"You're drinking again, aren't you?" you ask, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
Her eyes lock with yours, and she says nothing. Her eyes say enough. You're right. She's not sober anymore.
"Since when?"
"Three months before you left," she replies, her voice nearly cracking.
It all makes sense now. She was distant and cold because she didn't know how else to be. You want to tell her that she should have told you; you could have helped her. Only you know that would just make her feel worse.
You don't know what to say. You don't want to apologize—it's not enough. Yet your guilt is crushing you. You should have known; you should have helped her. Instead, you left her when she needed you the most.
Her words hang in the air, and you're unable to say anything. Luckily, she speaks so you don't have to. "I know you're probably feeling guilty, because that's just how you are. Only I did my best to hide it, so saying you should have known would just be insulting my hiding capabilities," she says nonchalantly.
It's absurd. This situation is so fucked up, and in this moment, her morbid joke makes you laugh. You can't stop yourself. You burst into laughter, and a smile spreads across her face. She laughs—a real, genuine laugh. You hadn't heard her laugh like this since...well, since she started drinking.
"I'm not drinking anymore," she says after a moment. "I stopped when you left. I knew I had to get my shit together."
"Why didn't you come to me after?" you ask.
"I figured you deserved someone who wasn't a fuck up," she says, and you feel your eyes well up with tears.
"You're not a fuck up," you reply. "Stop fucking lying to yourself. Just stop. You know you're not a fuck up. You know you had a problem, and you dealt with it. You know you're better than this, and you keep putting yourself down."
"Well, I was missing someone to knock some sense into me, so ex-cuse me if I was being unreasonable," she responds sarcastically, making you nearly snort. It's just like when you first started dating. Somehow, all the tension has melted away, and the two of you are back at the beginning: utterly in love and not taking anything seriously.
She smirks that little mischievous smirk that you hadn't seen in months. "So now what? Do we pick up like nothing ever happened?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at you.
"Can we?" you reply.
"Don't answer my question with a question. I asked first," she says, and that gives you your answer.
"I guess we can," you respond.
And then you're kissing. Her arms wrap around your neck, and you pull her closer. Tangling your hands in her hair, you deepen the kiss. She tastes just how you remember. It's like you're thrown back in time. Only somehow, that bump in the road made the two of you understand one another more.
You don't know how she actually got her shit together, but you don't ask. You know she'll tell you when she's ready.
And maybe this time, the spark will stay. 

A/N
this is kinda blahhhh but that's okay
I don't hate it—and I'm assuming this is the closure you beans wanted hehe