fic: futile - demi/selena
futile
She catches herself, sometimes, thinking: if only I hadn't fallen in love. Like she ever had a choice in the matter. (the AMAs and sundry). selena, demi/selena. 1273 words. pg.
disclaimer: This story is lies, lies, lies. Complete fiction.
It was never a matter of choice for Selena.
It seems futile. The sequin catches quick and often, dark circles under her eyes covered in concealer but still weighing down, and she keeps catching herself looking down the carpet. She doesn't kid herself pretending not to know who she's looking for.
Her voice reaches deeper than before, a lower octave and a stronger grip on words, on Selena listening to her. Everyone shifts in their seats, a commercial break, and a knee brushes her elbow and she looks up and sees her before she says a thing.
"Hey."
It occurs to her that they stand close now, that she can feel fingers brushing against the back of her hand, that the first time in months she's looked Demi in the eyes she sees her searching for the same thing, for lack of anything tangible.
Whatever they were before, though, got lost along the way.
There's the kneejerk response to chalk it up to nothing but necessary - limbs hanging limply don't make for good poses - but the intimacy of it burns into her mind nonetheless. Demi's hand along the small of her back, the full expanse of her palm and the tips of her fingers warm through the fabric there. And, maybe, there's a shudder of recognition that comes along with it, but this she quickly pushes away.
The camera flashes and her eyes burn.
She doesn't trip over herself sneaking across the aisle during a quick break, but there is a hurried intake of breath when Demi kneels beside her seat and maybe this gets Selena's hopes up, just a little.
"I was thinking..." Whenever Demi's practiced a line over and over, enunciation lands in odd places and there's still a hurried nervousness, and it all mashes together in an awkward fumble and this is what happens when she kneels there, eyes wide and earnest. "These celebrity after-parties are so lame and everybody but us is going to be drinking and you always say the food sucks and...well, I've been thinking of alternative plans. Equally glamorous, of course."
It's after a left turn - away from the camera flashes and fakes smiles - through a tinted window and sitting in a heated seat, that Selena closes her eyes against the world. They both sit on either side of the limo, and she knows she's leaning away from her, and maybe it's on purpose, and maybe this whole thing is ridiculous.
She thinks about asking to just get taken home, but then she opens her eyes and sees the In-N-Out down the strip of road and she settles into the idea. They really do have good smoothies.
Sometimes she dreams about falling asleep in the sand, warm water lapping against tangled ankles and an even warmer hand over her heart.
Lately, she dreams of floating away, of that hand pulling back, the world getting smaller as she just keeps floating further into the ocean and sometimes, most of the time, she wakes up choking on a scream that tastes like saltwater.
She doesn't tell Demi this. Instead, she orders fries and a smoothie.
"So, how was the party?"
Demi shrugs, "It was okay."
"I saw the video," she counters and Demi at least has the decency to blush in response. Selena smiles and it's sharp, hurts across her teeth. "Cool dance routine."
Demi made her cry on a Saturday. She makes her laugh on a Sunday. Somewhere, this sounds right.
It's easy to paint divides - she colored within the lines while Demi didn't - and it's easier to say that Demi's always been the one who impatience comes to naturally and when she decides to turn her cup near upside down to get the last of her smoothie instead of using a straw, it makes sense.
It backfires and when the remains topple down onto her face, the inevitability of it is almost too much to take. Selena snorts, nearly chokes on her straw, as Demi's face disappears underneath blue-tinted slush.
Her crying out "It went up my nose!" doesn't help matters.
And, okay, maybe all it takes is Demi making a fool of herself to break the ice. In the bathroom, Selena dabs a paper towel in warm water and wipes away the remnants under her nose. And maybe she licks her thumb and brushes away at the blue corner of Demi's mouth.
Maybe she lingers there.
It's sort of unspoken, they reach a fork in the road and left or right, the car turns and this is a step, perhaps, in the right direction.
Selena stumbles over the step at Demi's front door. She'd forgotten about it.
It's been too long Demi's mother says, and Bella has a little more color around her eyes, and in the hallway, she can feel Demi's fingers reach out to the small of her back. They feel searching and all Selena can think is when she didn't have to look or wonder, when they just fit into the slight curve like they belonged there.
The posters on Demi's wall are all different.
She wants to hate her. When Demi hands her something by way of pajamas, Selena's jaw locks down and her knuckles are white grabing at the faded cotton. She didn't say anything when they turned, she got out of the car and walked into her house, and yet it strikes her as too presumptuous, the way Demi grabs her something without a word.
It's too intimate, a privilege she doesn't deserve.
"Everything isn't okay," she says, the words bitten out and her eyes lock with Demi's. They still burn, spots from camera flashes still there. "Between us. Everything is not okay."
Demi nods. "I know."
Selena never fancied herself the kind of girl who curled up and listened to crooners and cried into pillows, but heartbreak has a way of inverting everything. Life simply just doesn't turn out how you want it.
"Do you expect everything to go back to normal?"
"Of course not."
"Now that you have time, you can manage to be a good friend?"
"No - "
"Take me out for a smoothie and it's like September never happened - "
"It's not - "
"Like you didn't break my heart - "
"Selena, please."
She's begging, and this doesn't make anything easier, because it almost makes her want to reach out and hug her.
But no, she won't. She can't.
She catches herself, sometimes, thinking: if only I hadn't fallen in love. Like she ever had a choice in the matter.
Before -
"I'm scared," she breathes, the flat of her palm over Selena's heart.
"Of what?"
"Of losing you."
There's a possessiveness that comes as natural to her as impatience does to Demi (it's easy to paint divides), but it was never out of a lack of trust. Rather, it was the value in which she held what was important to her. To say she loved Demi was no less definite than saying she needed air to live.
There were pictures of Demi with other girls, there was tweet after tweet after tweet, and there was the sudden drop-off of texts, nothing occupying her phone but her own unsuccessful attempts to call her.
She was finding it harder to breathe.
September -
"I need some time to think."
"I thought this is what you...what you wanted."
"I don't know what I want, Selena..."
The clothes fall neatly at the corner of Demi's bed and Selena leaves without looking back.
Falling in love was never a choice. This is.
She catches herself, sometimes, thinking: if only I hadn't fallen in love. Like she ever had a choice in the matter. (the AMAs and sundry). selena, demi/selena. 1273 words. pg.
disclaimer: This story is lies, lies, lies. Complete fiction.
It was never a matter of choice for Selena.
It seems futile. The sequin catches quick and often, dark circles under her eyes covered in concealer but still weighing down, and she keeps catching herself looking down the carpet. She doesn't kid herself pretending not to know who she's looking for.
Her voice reaches deeper than before, a lower octave and a stronger grip on words, on Selena listening to her. Everyone shifts in their seats, a commercial break, and a knee brushes her elbow and she looks up and sees her before she says a thing.
"Hey."
It occurs to her that they stand close now, that she can feel fingers brushing against the back of her hand, that the first time in months she's looked Demi in the eyes she sees her searching for the same thing, for lack of anything tangible.
Whatever they were before, though, got lost along the way.
There's the kneejerk response to chalk it up to nothing but necessary - limbs hanging limply don't make for good poses - but the intimacy of it burns into her mind nonetheless. Demi's hand along the small of her back, the full expanse of her palm and the tips of her fingers warm through the fabric there. And, maybe, there's a shudder of recognition that comes along with it, but this she quickly pushes away.
The camera flashes and her eyes burn.
She doesn't trip over herself sneaking across the aisle during a quick break, but there is a hurried intake of breath when Demi kneels beside her seat and maybe this gets Selena's hopes up, just a little.
"I was thinking..." Whenever Demi's practiced a line over and over, enunciation lands in odd places and there's still a hurried nervousness, and it all mashes together in an awkward fumble and this is what happens when she kneels there, eyes wide and earnest. "These celebrity after-parties are so lame and everybody but us is going to be drinking and you always say the food sucks and...well, I've been thinking of alternative plans. Equally glamorous, of course."
It's after a left turn - away from the camera flashes and fakes smiles - through a tinted window and sitting in a heated seat, that Selena closes her eyes against the world. They both sit on either side of the limo, and she knows she's leaning away from her, and maybe it's on purpose, and maybe this whole thing is ridiculous.
She thinks about asking to just get taken home, but then she opens her eyes and sees the In-N-Out down the strip of road and she settles into the idea. They really do have good smoothies.
Sometimes she dreams about falling asleep in the sand, warm water lapping against tangled ankles and an even warmer hand over her heart.
Lately, she dreams of floating away, of that hand pulling back, the world getting smaller as she just keeps floating further into the ocean and sometimes, most of the time, she wakes up choking on a scream that tastes like saltwater.
She doesn't tell Demi this. Instead, she orders fries and a smoothie.
"So, how was the party?"
Demi shrugs, "It was okay."
"I saw the video," she counters and Demi at least has the decency to blush in response. Selena smiles and it's sharp, hurts across her teeth. "Cool dance routine."
Demi made her cry on a Saturday. She makes her laugh on a Sunday. Somewhere, this sounds right.
It's easy to paint divides - she colored within the lines while Demi didn't - and it's easier to say that Demi's always been the one who impatience comes to naturally and when she decides to turn her cup near upside down to get the last of her smoothie instead of using a straw, it makes sense.
It backfires and when the remains topple down onto her face, the inevitability of it is almost too much to take. Selena snorts, nearly chokes on her straw, as Demi's face disappears underneath blue-tinted slush.
Her crying out "It went up my nose!" doesn't help matters.
And, okay, maybe all it takes is Demi making a fool of herself to break the ice. In the bathroom, Selena dabs a paper towel in warm water and wipes away the remnants under her nose. And maybe she licks her thumb and brushes away at the blue corner of Demi's mouth.
Maybe she lingers there.
It's sort of unspoken, they reach a fork in the road and left or right, the car turns and this is a step, perhaps, in the right direction.
Selena stumbles over the step at Demi's front door. She'd forgotten about it.
It's been too long Demi's mother says, and Bella has a little more color around her eyes, and in the hallway, she can feel Demi's fingers reach out to the small of her back. They feel searching and all Selena can think is when she didn't have to look or wonder, when they just fit into the slight curve like they belonged there.
The posters on Demi's wall are all different.
She wants to hate her. When Demi hands her something by way of pajamas, Selena's jaw locks down and her knuckles are white grabing at the faded cotton. She didn't say anything when they turned, she got out of the car and walked into her house, and yet it strikes her as too presumptuous, the way Demi grabs her something without a word.
It's too intimate, a privilege she doesn't deserve.
"Everything isn't okay," she says, the words bitten out and her eyes lock with Demi's. They still burn, spots from camera flashes still there. "Between us. Everything is not okay."
Demi nods. "I know."
Selena never fancied herself the kind of girl who curled up and listened to crooners and cried into pillows, but heartbreak has a way of inverting everything. Life simply just doesn't turn out how you want it.
"Do you expect everything to go back to normal?"
"Of course not."
"Now that you have time, you can manage to be a good friend?"
"No - "
"Take me out for a smoothie and it's like September never happened - "
"It's not - "
"Like you didn't break my heart - "
"Selena, please."
She's begging, and this doesn't make anything easier, because it almost makes her want to reach out and hug her.
But no, she won't. She can't.
She catches herself, sometimes, thinking: if only I hadn't fallen in love. Like she ever had a choice in the matter.
Before -
"I'm scared," she breathes, the flat of her palm over Selena's heart.
"Of what?"
"Of losing you."
There's a possessiveness that comes as natural to her as impatience does to Demi (it's easy to paint divides), but it was never out of a lack of trust. Rather, it was the value in which she held what was important to her. To say she loved Demi was no less definite than saying she needed air to live.
There were pictures of Demi with other girls, there was tweet after tweet after tweet, and there was the sudden drop-off of texts, nothing occupying her phone but her own unsuccessful attempts to call her.
She was finding it harder to breathe.
September -
"I need some time to think."
"I thought this is what you...what you wanted."
"I don't know what I want, Selena..."
The clothes fall neatly at the corner of Demi's bed and Selena leaves without looking back.
Falling in love was never a choice. This is.