But I'm Different (A Demi Lovato Fanfiction)

Prologue

Family.

It used to mean everything to me. Warm arms, late-night laughs, the smell of mum's perfume lingering on my hoodie. They were my anchor when the world felt too heavy. My safe space. My reason to keep going.

But that all ended the night a drunk driver ran a red light and killed them.
Now all I've got is silence and this cracked ceiling above my bunk bed in this sorry excuse of a home. The orphanage. Four syllables that carry every ounce of my grief.

I walk around this place like a ghost. Most days I don't even feel real. Just a shadow waiting for a miracle that probably ain't ever gonna come. I know how I sound-bitter, hopeless, whatever. But you try being in my shoes and tell me you'd still believe in fairy tales.

See, I'm not like the other kids here. Not just because I've got more scars under my sleeves than I care to count. I've got something wrong with me... different. I feel things I shouldn't. I mean that literally. If someone breaks a bone, my arm aches. If someone gets slapped, my cheek stings. If a kid is sobbing from heartache, it physically crushes my chest. It's called mirror-touch synesthesia, or at least that's what the one shrink called it before she got transferred and never came back. All I know is it makes life unbearable.

It makes me a freak.
Who the hell wants to adopt a freak?

Some celebs have come through here before. Can you believe that? Rich, smiling, too-perfect people taking kids home like they're collecting puppies. I mean, I'm not hating. Those kids deserve happiness. I just know I'll never be one of them.

Because no one chooses the broken ones.

Anyway, dinner. Mashed potatoes and sausages. Again. It smells like wet cardboard, but I force myself to eat. Not because I'm hungry, but because starving won't bring my parents back.

"Hello, Sabrina!"

That voice. Soft. Innocent. One of the only reasons I haven't completely fallen apart.

I turn and see Mckenzie, beaming like sunshine hasn't given up on this place yet.
"Hello, beautiful," I grin, and I mean it. She's the only light in this dull-ass place.

Mckenzie is six, with dimples that could melt iron and a soul too pure for this world.
She doesn't care that I'm messed up. Doesn't flinch when I have panic attacks or when I zone out. She just sits with me, holds my hand, and tells me her dreams.

"How are you today?" she asks, eyes shining.

"I'm okay. What about you?" I lie.

"Great!"

And just like that, my heart doesn't feel so heavy. For a few seconds, the world feels normal.

After dinner, I walk her back to my room because she always wants to play before bed. Her little hands clutch her favorite dolls-Princess Zelda and Princess Keya. They've seen better days, but she treats them like royalty.

"Who do you wanna be?" she asks, holding them up. "Zelda or Keya?"

"Princess Keya," I smile, taking the one with the torn dress.

We play for hours. Just her laughter and our made-up stories filling the room. No screaming kids, no haunting memories, no unbearable pain from others seeping into me. Just her.

Eventually, bedtime hits. She hugs me tight, like she knows I need it more than she does. Her little lips press to my cheek.

"Thank you for playing with me, Sabrina."

"Anytime, Kiddo." My voice cracks, but I cover it with a grin.

When she leaves, the silence hits again. I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling, letting my thoughts chew me alive. I miss my mum's voice. I miss the way my dad used to ruffle my hair even when I told him not to. I miss feeling normal.

But I also think about how Mckenzie makes me feel... seen. Loved, even. And for a moment, I believe maybe-just maybe-there's still something left for me in this world.