[Fic: RPF] Come Close, Listen to the Story (4/5), Part 1
Title/Chapter: This Is Not Your Song, 4/5 (part one)
Pairing: Demi Lovato/Selena Gomez
POV: Selena
Rating/Word Count: PG-13/11,471 (both 1 & 2)
Disclaimer/Warning: I do not own either Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, or Selena Gomez, and none of the portrayed events should be taken as fact. They are fiction and never actually happened. No matter how much I wish they did. Other disclaimers are at my journal. This is a RPF femslash story, meaning about real people and two girls in a romantic relationship context. If either or both of those things bother you, this is not the story for you. Rating for mentions of self-harm.
A/N: This is a reposting from my journal, where this was originally posted and from where I'm transferring all my fic. If we are friends, then you can still read it here. There are some grammatical mistakes, but usually to emphasize dialogue, particularly with Miley. This chapter is broken into two parts, since apparently LJ is stupid and the chapter is too big. The story title is from the first lyric of "True Love" by Phil Wickham, and chapter titles are from "About A Girl" by The Academy Is. Huge thank you to arkeis for helping beta this thing, letscall_l for the inspiration to get off my ass and get it done, xcinamonx for introducing me to Picnik (where I made the story graphics), and everyone over at demi_selena for your encouragement and support.
Summary: Miley and Taylor work with Demi to pull off a surprise concert for Selena's seventeenth birthday while also trying to push Demi and Selena toward each other.
I'm Not In Love, 1/5
This Is Not My Heart, 2/5
I'm Not Gonna Waste These Words, 3/5
You’re sitting at home waiting. Waiting for your friends to pick you up for what they all promised to be the “best birthday sleepover ever.” It’s hard to believe that you turn seventeen tomorrow. You remember fifteen, the year that everything exploded out of control, the song Taylor made famous. Then sixteen, which thankfully ends at midnight. If fifteen is when everything exploded, then sixteen is the year of the implosion.
You talk all the time, long deep conversations late into the night, but you haven’t seen Taylor in forever, not since you flew up to Seattle to see her on tour. Miley’s picking her up from the airport and meeting up with Demi, then coming to get you. It’s funny how things work out, that last year you were on a tour bus just starting to become friends, and now, you’re what fans like to call the Fab Four. It’s no secret that you all have different best friends, but while those friends can’t be there, somehow your little group closes that gap. Nobody’s jealous anymore, at least you think, so it’s all good.
You think, because while you hated Demi’s obvious jealousy with Taylor, you experienced the same thing over Miley. You’re cool with her now, but the scars of the boyfriend you shared remain, and when it seemed like she wanted Demi, too, you reverted back to the insecure little girl you thought you left behind on that beach.
They got close during your filming in Puerto Rico, while you grew more lost and alone by the day. Demi also got really into the whole LA music scene for a while, too, and you honestly thought you might lose her. It felt like the Demi you came back to wasn’t the Demi you left, and everything came out the night after you filmed the "Princess Protection Program" promos. She slept over and you got into a huge fight. You pouted and paced the floors and finally broke, crying tears you’d held back for months, since before Puerto Rico. She held you and apologized over and over, and the tears falling into her lap weren’t just yours.
When you went to bed that night, she drew you into her arms right away, for the first time ever. It’s usually only when you wake that you realize that you’re either spooned into her back or curled into her chest with arms, legs, and dark hair tangled together beyond recognition. It’s actually been that way for years, ever since moving to LA, but it’s why early mornings are your favorite part of sleepovers. It’s waking up in her arms and feeling at peace, staying incredibly still so you can take in everything you never allow yourself while she’s awake: her long eyelashes, her adorable dimpled chin, her gorgeous pouty lips.
You shake yourself back to the present and begin to pack for Miley’s. Pajamas, t-shirts, glasses (forgetting those would be tragic). Throw in some Converse in case you go out (probably not, since OceanUp and all the other gossip sites would absolutely die), and your own pillow and blanket. Demi’s a blanket hog, and Taylor sleeps with three pillows around her so she doesn’t fall out of bed. You learned long ago to bring your own.
You hear them outside before the doorbell ever rings and head downstairs to answer the door, opening it in time for Taylor’s fist to drop. “Hey!” She tackles you into a hug, almost taking you to the wall with the intensity. “I’ve missed you so much,” she squeals, then finally lets go, allowing Demi to slide her arm around and pull you close. You feel yourself relax, but you also catch Taylor’s strange glance from the corner of your eye. You slowly realize someone’s missing. “Where’s Miley? I thought she was with you.”
“Oh, some of her stuff ran late today, and she just got back to the house when she picked up Taylor to drop her stuff off,” Demi rambles. “So she asked if we could just meet her at the house.” Even though nothing Demi just said makes any sense, you still get the idea. It’s a connection no one else shares. “So Lena, you ready to go?” Demi asks with a smirk, knowing already your answer.
“Not quite,” you grin. “I’ve got a couple more things, just give me five minutes.” You grab Demi’s hand and drag her with you, leaving Taylor to lag behind laughing. You make it quick, knowing Dallas is waiting as usual. Demi grabs a few dresses and Taylor makes a laughing mad dash for your Flip camcorder and guitar.
Once the Goof Troop finally get in the car, Dallas catches your eyes in the rearview mirror, quirking one eyebrow with a smirk while cranking the radio. The ride over is relatively short, filled with everyone scream-singing “Don’t Trust Me” and “Good Girls Go Bad,” and only one brief stop at Starbucks. Demi buys your usual iced caramel macchiato and you buy Dallas one to thank her for putting up with her sister’s crazy friends.
The car stops outside Miley’s, and you lean up front to hug Dallas. You’ve been meaning to take her to lunch for days now, but Demi’s dominated your time lately (which you don’t mind at all). You miss your big sister. In so many ways, Demi’s family is yours, too. Sure, your mom’s cooler, but you’re also an only child who craves attention. Dallas allowed you to trail behind her alongside Demi for years before you took her little sister away from her (something you still feel guilty about), and Madison’s never known life without you. That’s another reason you’re too afraid to tell anyone; losing Demi might kill you, but losing her family would hurt almost as much. You know they don’t approve, or at least, her mom doesn’t. Her dad probably doesn’t either, but you think eventually it’d all be the same to him, so long as you don’t hurt his little girl. Whether Demi admits it or not, she’s such a Daddy’s girl. You won’t begrudge her that, though, because you both remember the years of absent fathers and single mothers and the struggles to understand why.
Chaos greets you the moment you and Taylor enter. Billy Ray and Miley both hug you so hard you nearly fall over, and Noah tackles you both, talking all about her latest adventure doing her movie with Frankie Jonas. Trace and Brandi are engrossed in some dance game, both trying to shove each other off the mats. Tish stands in the kitchen with Braison, not budging while he tries to wheedle something from her. You look to Taylor, her smile so bright it practically glows, and head upstairs with your stuff. Demi offered to get the rest, and Miley quickly followed. Those two keep acting weird lately, but really, who even knows with Miley?
You come back into the living room in time to hear Billy Ray yell, “Alright, y’all, dinner’ll be another thirty minutes!” You flop down on the couch and watch Trace and Brandi, who pull out two more mats and invite you and Taylor to play along. You both shrug, why not? You love these games because you usually win easily. Taylor, on the other hand, not so much. She’s good at the movements of dance, but footwork kills her. She struggles to keep up while you basically own the Cyrus siblings, who stare in shock.
“Dude,” Trace yells, “you’re so takin’ on Miles later!” Great, that’s so not what you need right now. Brandi laughs, “don’t you remember that movie she did? She played a dancer, loser!” Trace flushes slightly, then shoves Brandi back onto the couch, beginning another wrestling match. Taylor’s sitting on the mat, laughing so hard that she falls over into the floor. You attempt to pull her up, but she’s stronger than you, so you just land beside her. That’s how Demi and Miley find you, exchanging a rather amused look. Demi helps you up while Miley smacks the back of Trace’s head. “Dude, ow!” Just when he reaches for her, Billy Ray thankfully calls everyone to dinner.
After everyone gathers, you all take hands and say grace. Tish made a whole Mexican spread consisting of enchiladas, rice, refried beans, homemade tortilla chips and pico de gallo. Your jaw drops in shock after the first bite, and you find Tish across the table.
“This is amazing,” you praise. “It’s so hard to find good Mexican here. Thank you.”
Tish leans across the table slightly to be heard over the noise. “No problem. Demi mentioned that y’all have a hard time findin’ it, and that you were gettin’ a bit homesick. Call it an early birthday present.”
“Thanks,” you whisper again, and catch Demi’s eye just across the table. “Thank you,” you mouth to her, and her face breaks into her big dorky grin before returning to debating the best ‘80s hair metal bands with Taylor and Trace. Knowing those three, they’ll sit there all night, especially Trace, who'll look for any excuse to hang around Demi a little while longer.
Eventually, though, the table clears. You help with the dishes while the others go into the living room. Once you finish, you walk in and see four guitars you easily recognize: Taylor’s wood toned custom Taylor, Miley’s violet Daisy Rock, Demi’s black Gibson, and your own matching black Epiphone. All electric, you realize, then see the devilish gleam in Miley’s eyes while she directs everyone to change into comfortable clothes. You know something’s up when Demi tells you to pull your hair back, then just does it for you. You sit at Miley’s vanity, Demi standing behind you, and it takes everything in you not to shiver when her fingers graze your ears and effortlessly fix your hair. Her arms slide around your neck from behind as she kisses the top of your head.
Even your reflections fit well together, your head leaned back against her shoulder while her arms stay on yours, loosely hanging just past your neck. “Okay, now you’re ready for serious fun,” she grins, meeting your eyes in the mirror. Yeah, but you somehow doubt that you share the same definition of “fun” right now.
“What’re we doing?” You’re genuinely curious at this point exactly what’s going on, since everyone’s in on it except for you.
“Just wait and see,” she smirks, then leans to whisper in your ear, “it’s gonna be great.”
She pulls away and runs downstairs, leaving you breathless and curious. You finally catch up to see the guitars all with their owners and Taylor and Demi and Miley standing in the large living, waiting for you.
“So for Sel’s birthday,” Miley announces, “We’re gonna play Last Player Standin’. We do this a lot, and invite people to do it with us. Tonight’s your turn. We all play and see who c’n tear it up best. We go ’til we get a winner. Everybody got it?” You remember Nick talking about stuff like this, staying up all night playing with Miley in the soundproof studio. You never imagined being here, or that Miley even wanted you to be.
“Okay, so let’s start with somethin’ easy,” Miley breaks in. “How ’bout ‘Party’? Oh, and Demi’s ineligible this round.” She winks at you, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You’re not a strong player, but you know this song well (in addition to all her others) from listening to her music to soothe yourself to sleep. Demi drops her scandalized eyes and counts everyone in, “Alright, one, two, three, four!”
Everyone starts together, and it’s epic, especially when Demi starts jumping up and down. The song so perfectly describes tonight, and you’re captivated by how she just lets go. You tear your eyes away long enough to see the others enjoying it just as much. Taylor slides up next to you and matches your rhythm, trying to keep a straight face. It reminds you of her video with Kellie. She loved it so much that she broke down every detail for nearly an hour for you after the shoot wrapped.
The song ends, and everyone votes off who they think didn’t rock out hard enough. Each subsequent round creates more spectators, eventually winding down to Taylor and Demi.
“You’re going down, Swift,” Demi taunts playfully. “What’cha wanna play?”
The night’s been full of classic rock songs like “Rock and Roll All Nite” and “Bad Name,” and some Def Leopard thrown in courtesy of Taylor. You expect more, so you’re surprised when Taylor throws down the gauntlet.
“Alright, Lovato,” she grins wickedly. “‘Picture to Burn’ and no, I’m not out,” she glances back to Miley, “she knows it almost better than me.” Well, that’s at least true.
“Let’s go then,” Demi challenges, stepping right into her face...or her shoulder, since Taylor’s half a foot taller than her. “One, two, one, two, three, four!”
The guitars clash together violently yet beautifully, and they both start singing on cue. The original lyrics. Suddenly, it’s not much of a battle anymore, but more like they’re both envisioning exactly who they’re singing about, and having way too much fun. You feel so many things sitting there watching your two best friends sing a fun angry breakup song. Anger at who gave the ammunition for that song, and sadness that they experienced that kind of pain. Taylor wrote it at sixteen, and you can’t imagine that. Sure, you experienced a few relationship missteps, but nothing like your friends. Miley’s first serious relationship ended with a high-profile breakup, as did Taylor’s last one. Taylor and Demi both got cheated on, and Taylor’s first real relationship flirted dangerously with emotional abuse. Something’s wrong if this is “love.” It’s not what God intended, people shattered for everyone to see and condemnation for loving someone they don’t approve of. If this is love, you don’t think you want it after all.
Taylor’s voice catches at the end of the song, and everyone cheers loudly. You snap out of your daze to join in while everyone votes, and it’s actually a draw. They decide to share the title of Last Player(s) Standing, and the rest of Miley’s family announce that they’re going to bed, Trace trying to sleep before catching his flight to San Antonio tomorrow and everyone else claiming early press and performances. They all hug you and wish you a happy birthday, then slink off to bed. Miley and Taylor start carrying guitars into the soundproof studio, and Demi pulls you up to follow. Your hands stay intertwined the whole way, and only separate to set up guitars and amps. The four of you play and sing and talk, and they sing you “Happy Birthday” right at midnight. It’s half past one when Miley shakes you awake and you realize that you fell asleep on the studio’s leather couch. She takes you upstairs to help you settle in for the night.
She lingers in the door for a minute, almost afraid to come in. You wave her over, and she cautiously sits on the edge of the bed. “So how we doing beds?” you sleepily ask, feeling the need to break the silence. She shrugs, “I guess me and Tay in my room and you and Dem in here? We c’n switch if you and Taylor wanna talk more...”
“No,” you snap, immediately flushing pink. “I’m sorry, I mean, no, the usual way’s fine.” Can you get any more obvious? You dig through your bag for pajamas (a Paramore TWLOHA shirt with orange plaid boxers) and change clothes. “So how long did I crash for?” You’re embarrassed to admit that you didn’t sleep much longer when you realized Demi left early this morning.
“Uh, about half an hour,” Miley grins, quickly waving it off. “Coffee not workin’ anymore, Sel? That’s not good, ‘cause we all know you drink more th’n the rest of us combined.”
The world goes blurry for a moment when you take out the contacts, then your black glasses bring forth the image of Miley sitting there with her arms folded across her chest and her eyebrows raised. Her trademark “I call BS” look, but now there’s something else behind her blue-grey eyes. “I love your shirt. Which one is that? I don’t remember it.”
“The Paramore one, it’s got the lyrics to ‘We Are Broken’ inside,” you respond.
“You would have the Paramore shirt,” she smirks while inching further onto the bed. “Seriously, though, you okay? Not workin’ too hard, are ya?”
“No, just didn’t sleep well,” you yawn. “Demi left really early this morning for some tour rehearsal thing and I woke up right before she left and couldn’t go back to sleep.”
Miley looks at you strangely for a moment, then shrugs it off. What’s with these girls today? Taylor did it earlier, and now Miley. Demi’s the only sane one left.
“That’s right, she’s stayin’ with you. Isn’t that weird, the only week she’s in town she’s not home?” Miley questioned. “My parents never let me to do that, and I never want to.”
“Our moms learned a long time ago not to keep us apart,” you explain, crawling up beside Miley and leaning against the headboard. “She lived with me when we were younger, going on so many auditions. For months, Miley, and we never got sick of each other, never needed space. It worked out because Mom took both of us on auditions, and Dianna could be there for Dallas and Madison. Plus, my mom’s just cooler about things. I love Dianna to death, but sometimes I feel like she doesn’t see this beautiful person her daughter’s growing into; she’s too hung up on who she wants Demi to be. There aren’t so many expectations at my house, and we get each other uninterrupted.”
“So when you only see each other for a week out of however many months,” Miley connected, “you’re naturally drawn back to each other.”
“Yeah, basically,” you grin widely, only to yawn again. Miley eases off the bed laughing, “I’m gonna let you get to sleep. Need anything?”
“No, thanks, I think I’m good,” you reply. Well, maybe one thing, but you’re not telling her that. “You going to bed, too?”
“Yeah, in a few. I’m exhausted,” she breathes, “but I’m gonna check on Tay and Demi first. They’re workin’ on songs and they’ll stay up all night unless we stop ’em.”
“Hey, tell Demi not to be much longer, okay?” you ask Miley. “She’s hardly slept the last couple nights.” That’s true, just not the real reason you need her to come to bed.
She smiles slightly before leaning to give you a hug, with something in her eyes you rarely see. “Yep, can do. Get some sleep, ’kay? Looks like you could use some, too.”
She’s almost through the door before you call out for her. “You too. I know you like insomnia, but he’s no good for you, he’ll only break your heart,” you giggle. “Miles?” She looks back at you, “Thanks for doing all this for me. For them, too. It means a lot.”
“No problem, Sel. Want me to get the light?” You nod, and she reaches for the switch. “Sleep tight rockstar, and I’ll send Demi to ya soon.”
It’s strange, because it’s like she knows how much you need Demi, even though Demi doesn’t need you much anymore. It ought to feel good, but it doesn’t. You thrive on being needed, and having someone to take care of. Without siblings, it defaulted to Demi. In Canada, you clung to Joey for that reason. Your mind wanders back to the last time Demi truly needed you, when her self-injury problems finally came to light.
Miley and Brandi got involved with this movement called To Write Love On Her Arms a while back. They’re always at shows for bands (exactly how the Cyrus girls found them), including Paramore, but you never knew much about them. When you first saw Demi’s scars, it broke you. You saw Miley wearing one of the shirts not long after, and you asked her about it. She told you about them and gave you their MySpace, and you looked it up later that night. When you saw that they specifically helped teens with self-injury problems, you knew instantly: Miley gave you the keys to save your best friend’s life. Months later, when you came back from Puerto Rico, you wore a TWLOHA shirt to Demi’s weekly dinner party. Miley saw it and the two of you talked about how they help teens. When she asked if it helped Demi, you scrutinized her closely. She explained that she knew about Demi, but that they weren’t close enough yet for her to intervene like you could. So anytime she saw you both, she wore a shirt, hoping to eventually get the message through. You’re still thankful to Miley for giving you back Demi.
She gave you not only the key to Demi’s self-injury problem, but also the confidence issues she’s always battled, that you helped her battle. Ever since childhood, really. Demi always felt ugly, but you never thought that. She was your best friend, and you honestly never thought twice about it growing up. Middle school tortured her so much that she withdrew, and looking back, it was the dark before the dawn. By the time you would’ve started high school, she was more beautiful than words could express. No one noticed because they still saw the bullied little girl, but you did, far more than you should. The mirror just confirmed the voices that told her she’d never be enough for anyone. She didn’t see the girl you were gradually falling for: beautiful in an unusual way, brilliant, passionate. Over time, she finally began to believe in her own worth. You told her over and over that she was beautiful. She needed to hear it, needed someone in her life to tell her that with no strings attached. Eventually it became something you needed to say, to let everything you felt out in a way that didn’t destroy you.
But Miley finished what you started. During filming in Puerto Rico and Canada, they became so close that you felt replaced, but even then you noticed Demi changing. She made more friends, wore girly clothes (well, girly for Demi), seemed more confident. You helped her see that she was loved and worthy of other people’s love; Miley (with her snarky, fun-loving personality and general clinginess) showed Demi how, after nearly seventeen years, to finally love herself for exactly who she is today, not just who she could be if she was prettier or happier. It radiates from her now, and the butterfly you knew always lingered within finally got the chance to burst forth and fly. It’s beautiful to see, yet you selfishly hope she doesn’t leave you behind.
You’re withdrawing more each day, except when you’re with her. Taylor’s made it her personal mission to see you through. She’s heard every late night rant (and sometimes painful cry) that you’re not sure you believe in love anymore, it hurts too much and it’s not worth the pain. You realize you’re thinking way too much, and look at the clock. It’s almost three; where’s Demi? You hear laughter, and see a sliver of light peeking through the connecting bathroom door. You sit up in time to see Demi ease through the door.
“Selena, did I like, wake you up? I’m so sorry, I just--”
“No, it’s okay,” you murmur. “I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know where you were.” Wow, you sound pathetic. Might oughta tell her now, put yourself out of your own misery.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding somewhat sad. “Gimme a sec...” She trails off and in the dim light you see her change into a baggy shirt and boxers, and thank God that she can’t see your eyes linger on her. She shuts the door and crawls in beside you, staring straight at you even in the dark. She seems nervous somehow, and you can’t figure out why. “Selena?” You barely hear her whisper, and she sounds so broken and afraid.
“Yeah, Demi?” You start to reach for her, but stop yourself, needing to hear her say something, anything else. “Can I...you mind if I...” she trails off, unable to find the words. Her arms slide around your waist and gently pull you closer, while one of your hands lands on her hip and the other one behind her neck. Her lips barely graze your ear as she asks, “Is this okay?” Now you understand. You shiver and nod. “Hmm, yeah,” you mumble, already feeling the pull of ever-elusive sleep. “Demi, can you...sing to me?”
You hear a sudden gasp, then her beautiful voice in your ear. “The night is getting darker, soon the stars will be falling down to rescue us, sing a song for me...” You don’t know what’s more shocking, that you’re almost asleep or that she’s singing “Stronger” for you. Either way, you don’t question it. You just enjoy being in her arms, her live voice singing you to sleep. Seventeen seems like it may be the year everything falls in place, and the last thing you hear is Demi’s voice, “pull me into your arms, a little closer baby.”
part two
Pairing: Demi Lovato/Selena Gomez
POV: Selena
Rating/Word Count: PG-13/11,471 (both 1 & 2)
Disclaimer/Warning: I do not own either Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, or Selena Gomez, and none of the portrayed events should be taken as fact. They are fiction and never actually happened. No matter how much I wish they did. Other disclaimers are at my journal. This is a RPF femslash story, meaning about real people and two girls in a romantic relationship context. If either or both of those things bother you, this is not the story for you. Rating for mentions of self-harm.
A/N: This is a reposting from my journal, where this was originally posted and from where I'm transferring all my fic. If we are friends, then you can still read it here. There are some grammatical mistakes, but usually to emphasize dialogue, particularly with Miley. This chapter is broken into two parts, since apparently LJ is stupid and the chapter is too big. The story title is from the first lyric of "True Love" by Phil Wickham, and chapter titles are from "About A Girl" by The Academy Is. Huge thank you to arkeis for helping beta this thing, letscall_l for the inspiration to get off my ass and get it done, xcinamonx for introducing me to Picnik (where I made the story graphics), and everyone over at demi_selena for your encouragement and support.
Summary: Miley and Taylor work with Demi to pull off a surprise concert for Selena's seventeenth birthday while also trying to push Demi and Selena toward each other.
I'm Not In Love, 1/5
This Is Not My Heart, 2/5
I'm Not Gonna Waste These Words, 3/5
You’re sitting at home waiting. Waiting for your friends to pick you up for what they all promised to be the “best birthday sleepover ever.” It’s hard to believe that you turn seventeen tomorrow. You remember fifteen, the year that everything exploded out of control, the song Taylor made famous. Then sixteen, which thankfully ends at midnight. If fifteen is when everything exploded, then sixteen is the year of the implosion.
You talk all the time, long deep conversations late into the night, but you haven’t seen Taylor in forever, not since you flew up to Seattle to see her on tour. Miley’s picking her up from the airport and meeting up with Demi, then coming to get you. It’s funny how things work out, that last year you were on a tour bus just starting to become friends, and now, you’re what fans like to call the Fab Four. It’s no secret that you all have different best friends, but while those friends can’t be there, somehow your little group closes that gap. Nobody’s jealous anymore, at least you think, so it’s all good.
You think, because while you hated Demi’s obvious jealousy with Taylor, you experienced the same thing over Miley. You’re cool with her now, but the scars of the boyfriend you shared remain, and when it seemed like she wanted Demi, too, you reverted back to the insecure little girl you thought you left behind on that beach.
They got close during your filming in Puerto Rico, while you grew more lost and alone by the day. Demi also got really into the whole LA music scene for a while, too, and you honestly thought you might lose her. It felt like the Demi you came back to wasn’t the Demi you left, and everything came out the night after you filmed the "Princess Protection Program" promos. She slept over and you got into a huge fight. You pouted and paced the floors and finally broke, crying tears you’d held back for months, since before Puerto Rico. She held you and apologized over and over, and the tears falling into her lap weren’t just yours.
When you went to bed that night, she drew you into her arms right away, for the first time ever. It’s usually only when you wake that you realize that you’re either spooned into her back or curled into her chest with arms, legs, and dark hair tangled together beyond recognition. It’s actually been that way for years, ever since moving to LA, but it’s why early mornings are your favorite part of sleepovers. It’s waking up in her arms and feeling at peace, staying incredibly still so you can take in everything you never allow yourself while she’s awake: her long eyelashes, her adorable dimpled chin, her gorgeous pouty lips.
You shake yourself back to the present and begin to pack for Miley’s. Pajamas, t-shirts, glasses (forgetting those would be tragic). Throw in some Converse in case you go out (probably not, since OceanUp and all the other gossip sites would absolutely die), and your own pillow and blanket. Demi’s a blanket hog, and Taylor sleeps with three pillows around her so she doesn’t fall out of bed. You learned long ago to bring your own.
You hear them outside before the doorbell ever rings and head downstairs to answer the door, opening it in time for Taylor’s fist to drop. “Hey!” She tackles you into a hug, almost taking you to the wall with the intensity. “I’ve missed you so much,” she squeals, then finally lets go, allowing Demi to slide her arm around and pull you close. You feel yourself relax, but you also catch Taylor’s strange glance from the corner of your eye. You slowly realize someone’s missing. “Where’s Miley? I thought she was with you.”
“Oh, some of her stuff ran late today, and she just got back to the house when she picked up Taylor to drop her stuff off,” Demi rambles. “So she asked if we could just meet her at the house.” Even though nothing Demi just said makes any sense, you still get the idea. It’s a connection no one else shares. “So Lena, you ready to go?” Demi asks with a smirk, knowing already your answer.
“Not quite,” you grin. “I’ve got a couple more things, just give me five minutes.” You grab Demi’s hand and drag her with you, leaving Taylor to lag behind laughing. You make it quick, knowing Dallas is waiting as usual. Demi grabs a few dresses and Taylor makes a laughing mad dash for your Flip camcorder and guitar.
Once the Goof Troop finally get in the car, Dallas catches your eyes in the rearview mirror, quirking one eyebrow with a smirk while cranking the radio. The ride over is relatively short, filled with everyone scream-singing “Don’t Trust Me” and “Good Girls Go Bad,” and only one brief stop at Starbucks. Demi buys your usual iced caramel macchiato and you buy Dallas one to thank her for putting up with her sister’s crazy friends.
The car stops outside Miley’s, and you lean up front to hug Dallas. You’ve been meaning to take her to lunch for days now, but Demi’s dominated your time lately (which you don’t mind at all). You miss your big sister. In so many ways, Demi’s family is yours, too. Sure, your mom’s cooler, but you’re also an only child who craves attention. Dallas allowed you to trail behind her alongside Demi for years before you took her little sister away from her (something you still feel guilty about), and Madison’s never known life without you. That’s another reason you’re too afraid to tell anyone; losing Demi might kill you, but losing her family would hurt almost as much. You know they don’t approve, or at least, her mom doesn’t. Her dad probably doesn’t either, but you think eventually it’d all be the same to him, so long as you don’t hurt his little girl. Whether Demi admits it or not, she’s such a Daddy’s girl. You won’t begrudge her that, though, because you both remember the years of absent fathers and single mothers and the struggles to understand why.
Chaos greets you the moment you and Taylor enter. Billy Ray and Miley both hug you so hard you nearly fall over, and Noah tackles you both, talking all about her latest adventure doing her movie with Frankie Jonas. Trace and Brandi are engrossed in some dance game, both trying to shove each other off the mats. Tish stands in the kitchen with Braison, not budging while he tries to wheedle something from her. You look to Taylor, her smile so bright it practically glows, and head upstairs with your stuff. Demi offered to get the rest, and Miley quickly followed. Those two keep acting weird lately, but really, who even knows with Miley?
You come back into the living room in time to hear Billy Ray yell, “Alright, y’all, dinner’ll be another thirty minutes!” You flop down on the couch and watch Trace and Brandi, who pull out two more mats and invite you and Taylor to play along. You both shrug, why not? You love these games because you usually win easily. Taylor, on the other hand, not so much. She’s good at the movements of dance, but footwork kills her. She struggles to keep up while you basically own the Cyrus siblings, who stare in shock.
“Dude,” Trace yells, “you’re so takin’ on Miles later!” Great, that’s so not what you need right now. Brandi laughs, “don’t you remember that movie she did? She played a dancer, loser!” Trace flushes slightly, then shoves Brandi back onto the couch, beginning another wrestling match. Taylor’s sitting on the mat, laughing so hard that she falls over into the floor. You attempt to pull her up, but she’s stronger than you, so you just land beside her. That’s how Demi and Miley find you, exchanging a rather amused look. Demi helps you up while Miley smacks the back of Trace’s head. “Dude, ow!” Just when he reaches for her, Billy Ray thankfully calls everyone to dinner.
After everyone gathers, you all take hands and say grace. Tish made a whole Mexican spread consisting of enchiladas, rice, refried beans, homemade tortilla chips and pico de gallo. Your jaw drops in shock after the first bite, and you find Tish across the table.
“This is amazing,” you praise. “It’s so hard to find good Mexican here. Thank you.”
Tish leans across the table slightly to be heard over the noise. “No problem. Demi mentioned that y’all have a hard time findin’ it, and that you were gettin’ a bit homesick. Call it an early birthday present.”
“Thanks,” you whisper again, and catch Demi’s eye just across the table. “Thank you,” you mouth to her, and her face breaks into her big dorky grin before returning to debating the best ‘80s hair metal bands with Taylor and Trace. Knowing those three, they’ll sit there all night, especially Trace, who'll look for any excuse to hang around Demi a little while longer.
Eventually, though, the table clears. You help with the dishes while the others go into the living room. Once you finish, you walk in and see four guitars you easily recognize: Taylor’s wood toned custom Taylor, Miley’s violet Daisy Rock, Demi’s black Gibson, and your own matching black Epiphone. All electric, you realize, then see the devilish gleam in Miley’s eyes while she directs everyone to change into comfortable clothes. You know something’s up when Demi tells you to pull your hair back, then just does it for you. You sit at Miley’s vanity, Demi standing behind you, and it takes everything in you not to shiver when her fingers graze your ears and effortlessly fix your hair. Her arms slide around your neck from behind as she kisses the top of your head.
Even your reflections fit well together, your head leaned back against her shoulder while her arms stay on yours, loosely hanging just past your neck. “Okay, now you’re ready for serious fun,” she grins, meeting your eyes in the mirror. Yeah, but you somehow doubt that you share the same definition of “fun” right now.
“What’re we doing?” You’re genuinely curious at this point exactly what’s going on, since everyone’s in on it except for you.
“Just wait and see,” she smirks, then leans to whisper in your ear, “it’s gonna be great.”
She pulls away and runs downstairs, leaving you breathless and curious. You finally catch up to see the guitars all with their owners and Taylor and Demi and Miley standing in the large living, waiting for you.
“So for Sel’s birthday,” Miley announces, “We’re gonna play Last Player Standin’. We do this a lot, and invite people to do it with us. Tonight’s your turn. We all play and see who c’n tear it up best. We go ’til we get a winner. Everybody got it?” You remember Nick talking about stuff like this, staying up all night playing with Miley in the soundproof studio. You never imagined being here, or that Miley even wanted you to be.
“Okay, so let’s start with somethin’ easy,” Miley breaks in. “How ’bout ‘Party’? Oh, and Demi’s ineligible this round.” She winks at you, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You’re not a strong player, but you know this song well (in addition to all her others) from listening to her music to soothe yourself to sleep. Demi drops her scandalized eyes and counts everyone in, “Alright, one, two, three, four!”
Everyone starts together, and it’s epic, especially when Demi starts jumping up and down. The song so perfectly describes tonight, and you’re captivated by how she just lets go. You tear your eyes away long enough to see the others enjoying it just as much. Taylor slides up next to you and matches your rhythm, trying to keep a straight face. It reminds you of her video with Kellie. She loved it so much that she broke down every detail for nearly an hour for you after the shoot wrapped.
The song ends, and everyone votes off who they think didn’t rock out hard enough. Each subsequent round creates more spectators, eventually winding down to Taylor and Demi.
“You’re going down, Swift,” Demi taunts playfully. “What’cha wanna play?”
The night’s been full of classic rock songs like “Rock and Roll All Nite” and “Bad Name,” and some Def Leopard thrown in courtesy of Taylor. You expect more, so you’re surprised when Taylor throws down the gauntlet.
“Alright, Lovato,” she grins wickedly. “‘Picture to Burn’ and no, I’m not out,” she glances back to Miley, “she knows it almost better than me.” Well, that’s at least true.
“Let’s go then,” Demi challenges, stepping right into her face...or her shoulder, since Taylor’s half a foot taller than her. “One, two, one, two, three, four!”
The guitars clash together violently yet beautifully, and they both start singing on cue. The original lyrics. Suddenly, it’s not much of a battle anymore, but more like they’re both envisioning exactly who they’re singing about, and having way too much fun. You feel so many things sitting there watching your two best friends sing a fun angry breakup song. Anger at who gave the ammunition for that song, and sadness that they experienced that kind of pain. Taylor wrote it at sixteen, and you can’t imagine that. Sure, you experienced a few relationship missteps, but nothing like your friends. Miley’s first serious relationship ended with a high-profile breakup, as did Taylor’s last one. Taylor and Demi both got cheated on, and Taylor’s first real relationship flirted dangerously with emotional abuse. Something’s wrong if this is “love.” It’s not what God intended, people shattered for everyone to see and condemnation for loving someone they don’t approve of. If this is love, you don’t think you want it after all.
Taylor’s voice catches at the end of the song, and everyone cheers loudly. You snap out of your daze to join in while everyone votes, and it’s actually a draw. They decide to share the title of Last Player(s) Standing, and the rest of Miley’s family announce that they’re going to bed, Trace trying to sleep before catching his flight to San Antonio tomorrow and everyone else claiming early press and performances. They all hug you and wish you a happy birthday, then slink off to bed. Miley and Taylor start carrying guitars into the soundproof studio, and Demi pulls you up to follow. Your hands stay intertwined the whole way, and only separate to set up guitars and amps. The four of you play and sing and talk, and they sing you “Happy Birthday” right at midnight. It’s half past one when Miley shakes you awake and you realize that you fell asleep on the studio’s leather couch. She takes you upstairs to help you settle in for the night.
She lingers in the door for a minute, almost afraid to come in. You wave her over, and she cautiously sits on the edge of the bed. “So how we doing beds?” you sleepily ask, feeling the need to break the silence. She shrugs, “I guess me and Tay in my room and you and Dem in here? We c’n switch if you and Taylor wanna talk more...”
“No,” you snap, immediately flushing pink. “I’m sorry, I mean, no, the usual way’s fine.” Can you get any more obvious? You dig through your bag for pajamas (a Paramore TWLOHA shirt with orange plaid boxers) and change clothes. “So how long did I crash for?” You’re embarrassed to admit that you didn’t sleep much longer when you realized Demi left early this morning.
“Uh, about half an hour,” Miley grins, quickly waving it off. “Coffee not workin’ anymore, Sel? That’s not good, ‘cause we all know you drink more th’n the rest of us combined.”
The world goes blurry for a moment when you take out the contacts, then your black glasses bring forth the image of Miley sitting there with her arms folded across her chest and her eyebrows raised. Her trademark “I call BS” look, but now there’s something else behind her blue-grey eyes. “I love your shirt. Which one is that? I don’t remember it.”
“The Paramore one, it’s got the lyrics to ‘We Are Broken’ inside,” you respond.
“You would have the Paramore shirt,” she smirks while inching further onto the bed. “Seriously, though, you okay? Not workin’ too hard, are ya?”
“No, just didn’t sleep well,” you yawn. “Demi left really early this morning for some tour rehearsal thing and I woke up right before she left and couldn’t go back to sleep.”
Miley looks at you strangely for a moment, then shrugs it off. What’s with these girls today? Taylor did it earlier, and now Miley. Demi’s the only sane one left.
“That’s right, she’s stayin’ with you. Isn’t that weird, the only week she’s in town she’s not home?” Miley questioned. “My parents never let me to do that, and I never want to.”
“Our moms learned a long time ago not to keep us apart,” you explain, crawling up beside Miley and leaning against the headboard. “She lived with me when we were younger, going on so many auditions. For months, Miley, and we never got sick of each other, never needed space. It worked out because Mom took both of us on auditions, and Dianna could be there for Dallas and Madison. Plus, my mom’s just cooler about things. I love Dianna to death, but sometimes I feel like she doesn’t see this beautiful person her daughter’s growing into; she’s too hung up on who she wants Demi to be. There aren’t so many expectations at my house, and we get each other uninterrupted.”
“So when you only see each other for a week out of however many months,” Miley connected, “you’re naturally drawn back to each other.”
“Yeah, basically,” you grin widely, only to yawn again. Miley eases off the bed laughing, “I’m gonna let you get to sleep. Need anything?”
“No, thanks, I think I’m good,” you reply. Well, maybe one thing, but you’re not telling her that. “You going to bed, too?”
“Yeah, in a few. I’m exhausted,” she breathes, “but I’m gonna check on Tay and Demi first. They’re workin’ on songs and they’ll stay up all night unless we stop ’em.”
“Hey, tell Demi not to be much longer, okay?” you ask Miley. “She’s hardly slept the last couple nights.” That’s true, just not the real reason you need her to come to bed.
She smiles slightly before leaning to give you a hug, with something in her eyes you rarely see. “Yep, can do. Get some sleep, ’kay? Looks like you could use some, too.”
She’s almost through the door before you call out for her. “You too. I know you like insomnia, but he’s no good for you, he’ll only break your heart,” you giggle. “Miles?” She looks back at you, “Thanks for doing all this for me. For them, too. It means a lot.”
“No problem, Sel. Want me to get the light?” You nod, and she reaches for the switch. “Sleep tight rockstar, and I’ll send Demi to ya soon.”
It’s strange, because it’s like she knows how much you need Demi, even though Demi doesn’t need you much anymore. It ought to feel good, but it doesn’t. You thrive on being needed, and having someone to take care of. Without siblings, it defaulted to Demi. In Canada, you clung to Joey for that reason. Your mind wanders back to the last time Demi truly needed you, when her self-injury problems finally came to light.
Miley and Brandi got involved with this movement called To Write Love On Her Arms a while back. They’re always at shows for bands (exactly how the Cyrus girls found them), including Paramore, but you never knew much about them. When you first saw Demi’s scars, it broke you. You saw Miley wearing one of the shirts not long after, and you asked her about it. She told you about them and gave you their MySpace, and you looked it up later that night. When you saw that they specifically helped teens with self-injury problems, you knew instantly: Miley gave you the keys to save your best friend’s life. Months later, when you came back from Puerto Rico, you wore a TWLOHA shirt to Demi’s weekly dinner party. Miley saw it and the two of you talked about how they help teens. When she asked if it helped Demi, you scrutinized her closely. She explained that she knew about Demi, but that they weren’t close enough yet for her to intervene like you could. So anytime she saw you both, she wore a shirt, hoping to eventually get the message through. You’re still thankful to Miley for giving you back Demi.
She gave you not only the key to Demi’s self-injury problem, but also the confidence issues she’s always battled, that you helped her battle. Ever since childhood, really. Demi always felt ugly, but you never thought that. She was your best friend, and you honestly never thought twice about it growing up. Middle school tortured her so much that she withdrew, and looking back, it was the dark before the dawn. By the time you would’ve started high school, she was more beautiful than words could express. No one noticed because they still saw the bullied little girl, but you did, far more than you should. The mirror just confirmed the voices that told her she’d never be enough for anyone. She didn’t see the girl you were gradually falling for: beautiful in an unusual way, brilliant, passionate. Over time, she finally began to believe in her own worth. You told her over and over that she was beautiful. She needed to hear it, needed someone in her life to tell her that with no strings attached. Eventually it became something you needed to say, to let everything you felt out in a way that didn’t destroy you.
But Miley finished what you started. During filming in Puerto Rico and Canada, they became so close that you felt replaced, but even then you noticed Demi changing. She made more friends, wore girly clothes (well, girly for Demi), seemed more confident. You helped her see that she was loved and worthy of other people’s love; Miley (with her snarky, fun-loving personality and general clinginess) showed Demi how, after nearly seventeen years, to finally love herself for exactly who she is today, not just who she could be if she was prettier or happier. It radiates from her now, and the butterfly you knew always lingered within finally got the chance to burst forth and fly. It’s beautiful to see, yet you selfishly hope she doesn’t leave you behind.
You’re withdrawing more each day, except when you’re with her. Taylor’s made it her personal mission to see you through. She’s heard every late night rant (and sometimes painful cry) that you’re not sure you believe in love anymore, it hurts too much and it’s not worth the pain. You realize you’re thinking way too much, and look at the clock. It’s almost three; where’s Demi? You hear laughter, and see a sliver of light peeking through the connecting bathroom door. You sit up in time to see Demi ease through the door.
“Selena, did I like, wake you up? I’m so sorry, I just--”
“No, it’s okay,” you murmur. “I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know where you were.” Wow, you sound pathetic. Might oughta tell her now, put yourself out of your own misery.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding somewhat sad. “Gimme a sec...” She trails off and in the dim light you see her change into a baggy shirt and boxers, and thank God that she can’t see your eyes linger on her. She shuts the door and crawls in beside you, staring straight at you even in the dark. She seems nervous somehow, and you can’t figure out why. “Selena?” You barely hear her whisper, and she sounds so broken and afraid.
“Yeah, Demi?” You start to reach for her, but stop yourself, needing to hear her say something, anything else. “Can I...you mind if I...” she trails off, unable to find the words. Her arms slide around your waist and gently pull you closer, while one of your hands lands on her hip and the other one behind her neck. Her lips barely graze your ear as she asks, “Is this okay?” Now you understand. You shiver and nod. “Hmm, yeah,” you mumble, already feeling the pull of ever-elusive sleep. “Demi, can you...sing to me?”
You hear a sudden gasp, then her beautiful voice in your ear. “The night is getting darker, soon the stars will be falling down to rescue us, sing a song for me...” You don’t know what’s more shocking, that you’re almost asleep or that she’s singing “Stronger” for you. Either way, you don’t question it. You just enjoy being in her arms, her live voice singing you to sleep. Seventeen seems like it may be the year everything falls in place, and the last thing you hear is Demi’s voice, “pull me into your arms, a little closer baby.”
part two