But I'm Different (A Demi Lovato Fanfiction)

Chapter: Strange Comforts

I never imagined a house could feel this... massive. Yeah, I'd seen big buildings before-some of the wealthier foster families had those soulless white-painted mansions with marble floors and no warmth. But this? Demi's house didn't just feel big. It felt like walking into another universe, one that wasn't made for girls like me. It smelled like fresh lavender and sandalwood instead of cheap floor cleaner. The walls weren't bare. They were filled with framed memories-laughing faces, awards, colorful artwork-and it made my chest ache.

I kept thinking someone was going to stop me. That a voice would call out, "Hey! You don't belong here, freak. Back to the orphanage." But nothing happened. Just the soft click of my shoes echoing across polished hardwood floors and Demi's faint footsteps behind me.

I explored the house the only way I knew how-running, skipping, touching everything like I'd forget it if I didn't memorize it right. Five bedrooms. All with their own bathrooms. Walk-in closets bigger than any room I'd ever slept in. A kitchen that gleamed like it had never been used. And two living rooms for some reason? Because, sure, who needs just one?

"God," I whispered under my breath as I passed through yet another hallway with sun pouring in through skylights, "I'm gonna get lost here."

It didn't feel real. None of it. My body was here, but my mind felt like it was still stuck back at the orphanage, curled up next to Mckenzie with her teddy bear digging into my ribs.

Demi watched me with this gentle, patient smile like she was seeing something more than just a scared teenager gawking at her furniture. That freaked me out more than anything. I couldn't figure out why she was being so... kind. Or why she picked me. She could've had anyone. Someone easy. Someone normal. Someone without... whatever the hell is wrong with me.

"Hey, Sab," she called from the kitchen, breaking me out of my thoughts, "any idea what you'd like for dinner?"

I blinked, unsure. No one really asked me that before. Usually, it was "you eat what you're given" or "be grateful you even have food."

After a pause, I muttered, "Tacos?"

She grinned like I'd just solved world hunger. "Great choice." Then she pulled out her phone and called in an order like it was the most natural thing ever. Like we weren't complete strangers. Like I was already part of her life.

I mumbled a thanks and drifted toward the back door while she ordered. Curiosity tugged at me. I needed space to breathe, to wrap my head around the fact that I was no longer wearing second-hand pajamas in a cramped dorm.

I opened the door and stepped out into a dream.

The garden-no, the estate-was insane. A huge backyard stretched out like a postcard. Pools. Plural. A stone water slide spiraling into crystal blue water. A miniature waterfall glistened in the corner like something out of a fairy tale. There was even a freaking tennis court tucked away, surrounded by tall trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Tables and chairs were placed randomly like someone just wanted to enjoy every inch of this paradise. And way at the back stood a small white building that looked cozy enough to be a guesthouse or maybe a private art studio.

I reached out and touched the cold stone railing of the stairs without thinking. As soon as my fingers made contact, the texture triggered something in me-sharp, almost electric. My skin tingled, and suddenly, I felt something that wasn't mine.

Pain. A dull throb in my right hip.

I stumbled back, confused, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn't me. I wasn't hurt. But my body thought I was. I leaned against the wall, my palms sweaty, eyes wide. This happened sometimes-mirror-touch synesthesia. When I saw or touched something that triggered it, my brain translated it into feeling. Like a glitch in the system.