Fic: Stand Where You Are
disney rpf. demi/selena. 2 of 5.
Part One | Soundtrack
There are things she doesn't do anymore. She doesn't go home as much as she used to. She misses her family, but when she wants to see them, she flies them out to LA instead. She tells them that Hollywood is much more fun and they believe her. They know it's easier that way than for her to come all the way back to Texas. She lets them think it's just because of work.
She doesn't sing much anymore, either. She's decided to focus more on her acting and she's doing well. She gets steady work and it's credible stuff. She's a regular on a hit series right now and it's holding up. When she really thinks about it, she sees just how successful she's been and she's grateful for it. She knows she's been very lucky and, as she's said many times, feels very blessed. But that's when she really thinks about it. She doesn't think about it often.
--
She calls her mother every Sunday at seven. It feels a bit infantile for her to do so but her mother insists and secretly she's glad. Her mother does most of the talking and she just lays back on the couch and strokes her cat while she listens and tries not to fall asleep.
Her mother goes on and on, pausing only to take a breath and to allow the occasional mm-hmm. She warns against working too hard and stresses the importance of eating right and getting a good night's sleep. She asks every time how things are going.
“Things are great, Mom. I'm great,” but the lie rings hollow in her own ears.
“No, you're not, mi hija.”
She sighs and rolls over to the inside of the sofa, when she speaks her voice gets lost in the cushions. “I know. But I'm trying.”
--
On a Tuesday at work, they've taken thirty for lunch and she's at craft service leafing through a wilting salad when she overhears some of the extras talking. One of her castmates, Lauren, ushers her over with flapping hands and bright eyes. She not particularly fond of Lauren, but goes because she has nothing else to do.
“Hey, a bunch of us were going to check out a show tonight in the Valley, you want to come?”
She doesn't, but she indulges: “Who's playing?”
Lauren gestures at one of the extras in purple scrubs. “Alex's roommate's brother's band. They're trying to get signed. Playing For Keeps, right?”
It must be Alex who nods.
“Yeah,” Lauren continues. “They're not headlining or anything, but still.”
“Well-”
“Oh!” Lauren interrupts and snaps her fingers like she's just remembered something. “They're actually opening up for that chick you know. Demi something?”
Selena feels color and heat flare in her face and she hates herself for reacting to so suddenly, so strongly. She looks away and stutters.
“Hey,” Lauren goes on without noticing. “You think you can get us backstage? You two were like, best friends, right? 'Cause Alex can only get like, two people in.”
Selena spares a glance to the rest of the group and they are watching in hopeful silence. She realizes then that this was the only reason she was called over and it doesn't surprise her, but she's annoyed.
She says something like, “I actually have plans tonight,” and walks away. She keeps walking all the way back to her trailer with sweaty palms and a rolling gut.
--
They don't talk much, Selena and Demi. They exchange the sort of correspondence reserved for distant relatives and detached colleagues. They've become acquaintances. The knowledge of that makes Selena sick in the deepest part of her. She is vaguely disgusted that this was what they'd been reduced to.
Even so, it's a cycle she perpetuates. She tells herself that the bogus emails and empty phone calls are better than nothing. Still, she toys with the idea of breaking contact all together. She entertains half-formed fantasies about never returning messages and throwing out birthday cards. She wonders what it will do to this fragile detente that they've called.
She likes to think that maybe Demi would fight back. Maybe she'd make an effort to repair this rip between them. It feels like they were torn in half, like something had pulled away whole parts of them and now they are stuck being broken scraps of themselves. She wants to find away to piece them back together again, to seal the cracks that are still snaking open slowly. She doesn't know where to start or how to make Demi want to try.
So Selena does nothing. She bats the ball back every time it's in her court and waits for her next turn. Even though there's that small part of her that wants to push Demi until she bounces back, there's a much bigger part of her that acknowledges that things only bend until they break.
--
There are things she doesn't do, but there are things she does once in a blue moon. At her apartment, Selena keeps a box under her bed of mementos and keepsakes. She doesn't have the patience or the tenacity to keep a formal diary but this is a better way for her to collect the bits and pieces of her life. In it are little things that are only special to her, things with significance she would have to explain to anyone else. She pulls it out and rifles through it every once in a while. Usually, she does it when she's homesick or feeling blue, and it will make her feel a little better.
Now, she opens it and pushes aside errant postcards and a rusty bottle cap. She isn't looking for anything in particular, but she never is. She just lets her fingers dig around until she unearths something she's forgotten or hasn't thought about in a while. She feels the spine of a seashell and remembers cloudy days at windy beaches. She scratches a strip of rubber piping from a beloved and decrepit pair of Converse. Then her fingers close on something round and metal-cool. She draws it out.
She rolls the old ring into her palm and traces fading words with an idle finger. She only looks at it for a second before tossing it carelessly back into the aging box and stuffing the whole thing under her bed again.
True love waits.
She is so tired of waiting.
--
Part Three
Part One | Soundtrack
There are things she doesn't do anymore. She doesn't go home as much as she used to. She misses her family, but when she wants to see them, she flies them out to LA instead. She tells them that Hollywood is much more fun and they believe her. They know it's easier that way than for her to come all the way back to Texas. She lets them think it's just because of work.
She doesn't sing much anymore, either. She's decided to focus more on her acting and she's doing well. She gets steady work and it's credible stuff. She's a regular on a hit series right now and it's holding up. When she really thinks about it, she sees just how successful she's been and she's grateful for it. She knows she's been very lucky and, as she's said many times, feels very blessed. But that's when she really thinks about it. She doesn't think about it often.
--
She calls her mother every Sunday at seven. It feels a bit infantile for her to do so but her mother insists and secretly she's glad. Her mother does most of the talking and she just lays back on the couch and strokes her cat while she listens and tries not to fall asleep.
Her mother goes on and on, pausing only to take a breath and to allow the occasional mm-hmm. She warns against working too hard and stresses the importance of eating right and getting a good night's sleep. She asks every time how things are going.
“Things are great, Mom. I'm great,” but the lie rings hollow in her own ears.
“No, you're not, mi hija.”
She sighs and rolls over to the inside of the sofa, when she speaks her voice gets lost in the cushions. “I know. But I'm trying.”
--
On a Tuesday at work, they've taken thirty for lunch and she's at craft service leafing through a wilting salad when she overhears some of the extras talking. One of her castmates, Lauren, ushers her over with flapping hands and bright eyes. She not particularly fond of Lauren, but goes because she has nothing else to do.
“Hey, a bunch of us were going to check out a show tonight in the Valley, you want to come?”
She doesn't, but she indulges: “Who's playing?”
Lauren gestures at one of the extras in purple scrubs. “Alex's roommate's brother's band. They're trying to get signed. Playing For Keeps, right?”
It must be Alex who nods.
“Yeah,” Lauren continues. “They're not headlining or anything, but still.”
“Well-”
“Oh!” Lauren interrupts and snaps her fingers like she's just remembered something. “They're actually opening up for that chick you know. Demi something?”
Selena feels color and heat flare in her face and she hates herself for reacting to so suddenly, so strongly. She looks away and stutters.
“Hey,” Lauren goes on without noticing. “You think you can get us backstage? You two were like, best friends, right? 'Cause Alex can only get like, two people in.”
Selena spares a glance to the rest of the group and they are watching in hopeful silence. She realizes then that this was the only reason she was called over and it doesn't surprise her, but she's annoyed.
She says something like, “I actually have plans tonight,” and walks away. She keeps walking all the way back to her trailer with sweaty palms and a rolling gut.
--
They don't talk much, Selena and Demi. They exchange the sort of correspondence reserved for distant relatives and detached colleagues. They've become acquaintances. The knowledge of that makes Selena sick in the deepest part of her. She is vaguely disgusted that this was what they'd been reduced to.
Even so, it's a cycle she perpetuates. She tells herself that the bogus emails and empty phone calls are better than nothing. Still, she toys with the idea of breaking contact all together. She entertains half-formed fantasies about never returning messages and throwing out birthday cards. She wonders what it will do to this fragile detente that they've called.
She likes to think that maybe Demi would fight back. Maybe she'd make an effort to repair this rip between them. It feels like they were torn in half, like something had pulled away whole parts of them and now they are stuck being broken scraps of themselves. She wants to find away to piece them back together again, to seal the cracks that are still snaking open slowly. She doesn't know where to start or how to make Demi want to try.
So Selena does nothing. She bats the ball back every time it's in her court and waits for her next turn. Even though there's that small part of her that wants to push Demi until she bounces back, there's a much bigger part of her that acknowledges that things only bend until they break.
--
There are things she doesn't do, but there are things she does once in a blue moon. At her apartment, Selena keeps a box under her bed of mementos and keepsakes. She doesn't have the patience or the tenacity to keep a formal diary but this is a better way for her to collect the bits and pieces of her life. In it are little things that are only special to her, things with significance she would have to explain to anyone else. She pulls it out and rifles through it every once in a while. Usually, she does it when she's homesick or feeling blue, and it will make her feel a little better.
Now, she opens it and pushes aside errant postcards and a rusty bottle cap. She isn't looking for anything in particular, but she never is. She just lets her fingers dig around until she unearths something she's forgotten or hasn't thought about in a while. She feels the spine of a seashell and remembers cloudy days at windy beaches. She scratches a strip of rubber piping from a beloved and decrepit pair of Converse. Then her fingers close on something round and metal-cool. She draws it out.
She rolls the old ring into her palm and traces fading words with an idle finger. She only looks at it for a second before tossing it carelessly back into the aging box and stuffing the whole thing under her bed again.
True love waits.
She is so tired of waiting.
--
Part Three