But I'm Different (A Demi Lovato Fanfiction)

Chapter Title: Quiet Battles

School finally ended, and honestly, I couldn't have been happier. The weight of the day lifted off me like a thick fog slowly burning away under the sun. Chloe hadn't done anything to me since the incident—not a single word, not a shove, just cold, hateful glares whenever our eyes crossed in the hallway or on the bus. No confrontations, no nasty surprises.

Mia was right, it was all just for power. For her, it was about control, about making others feel small just so she could feel big. Knowing that made it easier to breathe.

And I was grateful for that small mercy.

The usual routine carried on like clockwork. I said goodbye to my friends who were sitting at the back of the bus—the only safe corner where I could be myself, away from the whispers and sideways looks.

I stepped inside, expecting to hear Demi's voice or catch a glimpse of her somewhere, but the house was quiet.

"Demi?" I called out, my voice just above a whisper. No answer.

I felt a slight pang in my chest, the kind that usually came with disappointment, but this time it was softer—more like a quiet worry settling in the back of my mind.

Then, my eyes caught a note taped to my bedroom door.

"Sabrina,
Went to the studio to record a few things, I'll be back soon. If you're hungry, I left some macaroni and cheese for you.
Love you, Demi."

I sighed, sliding the note down and crumpling it slightly in my hand. Lately, Demi had been spending more and more time at the studio. I understood — she was a pop star with a packed schedule. But the thought of her being away so much made my stomach twist in a way I wasn't ready to admit. What if one day the distance grew too big? What if our bond started to unravel while she was off chasing fame and I was left behind in the quiet rooms of this house?

Shaking the dark thoughts away, I grabbed the macaroni and cheese from the kitchen and warmed it in the microwave. The smell was comfort in a bowl, the kind of simple pleasure that felt like a tiny hug on a bad day.

I carried my food back to my room, shutting the door behind me. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I opened my laptop and clicked onto Twitter, the place where people often forgot there was a real person behind the screen.

With a quick tap, I tweeted:

@SabLovato boreddd #ComeHomeDemi

I didn't expect much. Just a little connection. Maybe a few nice messages from fans who cared.

But within seconds, the notifications exploded. And not in the way I hoped.

The replies were harsh, mean, like a flood of knives pointed right at me.

@lernjergi727 — "Leave her alone, she's busy. She has no time for you, deal with it."

@asdfghjkbeiber — "Freak."

@lovatowhore — "Ew, get off here you ugly whore."

My stomach sank. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. This was nothing new. The hate, the ugliness—it was like a dark cloud that never quite left me alone. I closed my laptop with a sharp snap and pushed it aside.

The quiet of my room was deafening now.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling as hours seemed to pass without a sound. My mind spun with a thousand thoughts: the mean tweets, Demi being gone again, Chloe's glares, and the gnawing fear that I was invisible to the people who should care the most.

The house was silent until I heard the front door open and close, the soft padding of footsteps in the hallway.

I quickly glanced at my alarm clock: 11 pm.

Typical Demi.

"Hey, baby girl, you awake?" her voice whispered outside my door.

I kept my eyes shut tight, pretending to be asleep. I wasn't in the mood to talk—not tonight.

After a moment, I heard her sigh softly and move away, probably to her room. The familiar sound was oddly comforting, like a quiet promise that she was still here, even if it didn't feel like enough.

Eventually, my eyes drifted shut, exhaustion pulling me under.

The next morning, I woke to the sweet smell of pancakes wafting through the house. It was a small miracle.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I made my way downstairs. There was Demi, standing by the counter with a stack of golden pancakes, syrup glistening as she drizzled it over the top.

I couldn't help but lick my lips at the sight—warm, soft pancakes with sticky sweetness. It was one of those little things that made the hard days bearable.

"Morning, baby girl," Demi said, her smile warm and real.

"I'm starving," I admitted, sliding into the chair across from her.

I ate slowly, savoring every bite of the pancakes and the cold orange juice she'd poured. The taste grounded me—simple, real, good.

Then, as if the bubble of calm burst, Demi's voice grew serious.

"I have to be at the studio today..." she said, trying to soften the blow. "I won't be back until late. I hope that's okay?"

I forced a smile and nodded, even though inside my chest tightened.

Of course, it wasn't okay. I wanted her here. I wanted to tell her all the little things I was scared to say out loud. But I knew she couldn't help it. This was her life. Her dream.

"Here," she said, pulling a folded shopping list from the counter and handing me forty dollars. "Do you think you could stop by the grocery store on your way home and pick up these?"

I took the list and the money, nodding again. "Yeah, sure." I hope I can manage like a normal human.

She kissed my forehead, a soft touch that made me want to cry and smile all at once. Then she was gone, her footsteps fading out the door.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the day settling in already.

I quickly got dressed, pulling on the clothes I'd laid out the night before, and headed out to the bus stop. The morning air was cold and crisp, biting at my cheeks as I waited.

Not long after, the bus rolled up, and I climbed aboard. Jude smiled so I greeted him quietly and made my way down the aisle.

That's when I saw her.

Chloe.

Sitting there like she owned the whole bus, the same cold expression on her face. I felt a sinking feeling twist in my stomach, the familiar knot tightening.

I scrunched my face in confusion. Why weren't my other friends here? They usually sat in the back me.

The silence between us was thick, heavy like a storm cloud. Chloe didn't say a word, just stared ahead, daring me to say something.

I squeezed into a spare seat nearby, trying not to let her presence unravel me.

As the bus rolled toward school, I kept my eyes fixed on the window, counting the seconds until I could escape into the chaos of the day.

But no matter how many times I tried to shake the thoughts out of my head, they clung to me like shadows.

The school doors opened, and I stepped inside—into the hellhole I called 'school' once more.

I knew the fight wasn't over. Not with Chloe. Not with the people who didn't understand me. But somehow, somewhere deep inside, I was learning how to stand my ground.

One day at a time.