But I'm Different (A Demi Lovato Fanfiction)

Chapter: Heartbeats in Nashville

"I feel your pain like it's stitched into my skin."

I woke up to the faint rumble of the bus engine and the slow turns that meant we were almost there. Nashville. Tennessee. I'd only ever heard of it through country songs and cheesy rom-coms, but now I was here-touring the U.S. with a pop star who also happened to be the woman who adopted me.

My head was pounding before I even sat up.

It wasn't a regular headache. It was that weird, pressure-in-my-skin kind of pain-the one that didn't feel like it belonged to me. The same one I'd been trying to ignore since this tour started. It was always louder when we got to a new city. New people. New places. New emotions clinging to the air like humidity.

I rubbed my face and slowly got out of bed. My legs felt sore, like I'd run a marathon in my sleep. I knew it wasn't mine. Someone out there, probably a dancer or a roadie, had busted their knee or pulled something-and because my brain was a damn traitor, I got to feel it too.

"Sab?" Demi's voice floated from the lounge area. "You up?"

I shuffled out of the bunk room and gave her a small wave. She was sipping coffee and scrolling through her phone. Max was already reviewing setlists with Kelsey and a couple of tech guys. The whole bus felt like it was in motion even though we'd parked.

"Morning," I said, my voice scratchy.

She looked up. "Hey, kiddo. You okay?"

I nodded because I didn't want to lie and say yes, but I didn't have the energy to explain the full body-ache of carrying other people's emotions in mine.

"You sure?" she asked again, squinting like she could read me.

I forced a small smile. "I'm okay. Just tired."

That wasn't a lie. I was always tired lately.

By soundcheck, I was already falling apart.

The venue in Nashville was bigger than Detroit's. Louder. Brighter. More bodies packed into the crew pit, more techs and assistants running around trying to sort lighting cues and set pieces. Everyone's emotions were dialed up to ten. Excitement, pressure, nerves... all of it slammed into me in waves.

I stood off to the side while Demi rehearsed "Confident," trying to ignore the pounding in my chest that wasn't mine. A dancer tripped and twisted her ankle-sharp pain shot through my leg like it happened to me. One of the camera guys cursed under his breath, slamming his walkie onto the table, and I felt the heat of his frustration rise in my face like a slap.

I backed up, hands trembling, and ducked into an empty hallway behind the stage. I pressed my back to the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the cold floor.

Breathe. Just breathe, Sabrina. This isn't your pain. It's not yours.

But that's the problem with my condition. Mirror-touch doesn't care what belongs to me and what doesn't. It doesn't care that I'm trying to be normal, that I'm trying to enjoy this tour. It just keeps taking, like some emotional parasite I can't shake off.

The curtain covering the backstage hallway shifted and Demi stepped through, her face full of that worried-but-holding-it-together look she always wore when I was spiraling.

She didn't say anything at first. Just sat beside me, shoulder to shoulder, and waited.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, voice cracking. "It's just... a lot."

"I know," she said softly. "You don't have to apologise. Ever."

"I didn't want to ruin your day."

"You're not. You couldn't. You're going through something I don't even fully understand, and you're still showing up. That's strength, Sab. That's not ruining anything."

Her words settled into me like warm water. I leaned into her shoulder for just a second, grounding myself. Her heartbeat felt steady through the fabric of her jacket, and mine finally started to match it.

That night, the show kicked off with even more energy than the last one. The crowd in Nashville was wild. Like, screaming-the-lyrics-before-the-song-even-starts kind of wild. It was electric.

And it was loud.

I had earplugs in-soft ones, not the full-blown in-ear ones the crew used-but it wasn't about the sound anyway. It was the emotion. The volume of people feeling everything so hard it bled into me.

I stood near the wings, close enough to see Demi command the stage in this glimmering jacket and ripped jeans. Her voice was pure power, and the whole crowd moved with her. She was alive in a way I only ever saw when she was performing. It was beautiful. But it hurt.

I felt every cheer in my ribs like a punch. Every fan's heartbreak during Anyone weighed heavy in my chest. Every teen in the front row crying during Sober-my brain translated that into my own skin, and I could barely stand up straight by the time Demi hit the bridge.

But I stayed. I didn't walk away this time.

Because even though I felt like a mirror that wouldn't stop cracking, this was her dream. And I didn't want to miss a single second of it.

After the show, Demi came back to the bus buzzing. The way she lit up was enough to make my throat tighten. She plopped down on the couch and kicked off her boots, hair still damp from sweat and adrenaline.

"You okay?" she asked, not looking up yet.

I hesitated. "I'm... surviving."

She looked up then, softer. "Tell me the truth."

I sighed and finally let my shoulders drop. "It's hard. I felt everything out there. Every single person in that building had something going on inside them, and my brain just... sucked it all up. I wanted to enjoy it, I really did. And I did, in a way. But I also feel like I've been run over by a truck."

She nodded slowly, then pulled her knees up onto the couch and leaned closer.

"I don't always know what to do," she admitted. "When it comes to your condition. I wish I could take it away. Or at least protect you from it more."

"You're doing fine," I said, voice softer now. "I just... wish I wasn't so different all the time. Like, it'd be nice to go one day without someone else's pain living in my chest."

Demi leaned in and hugged me, her chin resting on top of my head.

"You're not broken, Sabrina. You're just wired differently. And I know it's exhausting, but I also think there's something kind of beautiful about the way you feel things. Even if it hurts. You remind people they're not alone. Like you did with that girl in Detroit."

I thought of Emily, and the way her hug had lingered. Maybe Demi was right. Maybe this condition wasn't just some curse. Maybe it could be... something else too. Something that let me connect to the world, even when I didn't want to.

I didn't reply. Just let her hold me. I was too tired to talk. Too tired to explain anything else. And I think she knew that.

That night, I laid in bed with my sketchbook open on my chest. I didn't draw Demi on stage this time. I drew a mirror. And inside it-a girl who looked like me, only her skin was stitched together with other people's scars. Not in a scary way. Just... real. Raw.

I didn't hate her.

For once, I looked at the reflection and didn't feel ashamed.

I still didn't know how I'd survive the rest of this tour. But tonight, I wasn't alone. And that made all the difference.