Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 154

Chapter 154

Noah

During the first five minutes of the drive, Jessa remained silent, not uttering a single word.

Her hand had been resting in mine as we left the party, but somewhere between Bethany’s street and the main road, she slowly withdrew it and folded both hands neatly in her lap. It wasn’t a rejection—more like she was trying to steady herself, to hold back whatever was threatening to break free.

Outside, the darkness rushed by, streetlights casting fleeting glimmers across her face in quick, passing bursts.

That’s when I noticed it.

The glint in her eyes.

The way her jaw clenched repeatedly, as if she were swallowing down a surge of emotion.

Tears.

She turned her gaze toward the window, pretending to be absorbed in the blur of houses sliding past, but I wasn’t fooled. I could see her chest rising unevenly, the rapid blinking that betrayed her struggle.

A knot tightened in my stomach.

“Jessa,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Talk to me.”

At first, she didn’t respond, only taking shaky breaths. Then again, as if trying to push down something lodged deep in her throat.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t.

Hearing her say it so flatly—so brittle and thin—hurt worse than any of the garbage Daniel had thrown at her.

“Jess,” I tried again, quieter this time, “please don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

She let out a laugh—sharp and wet—the kind that slips out when something hurts too much to bear.

“I’m not shutting you out,” she murmured. “I’m just… tired.”

I waited, not pressing her, letting the silence stretch long enough for her to feel safe.

After a moment, her voice cracked.

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” she whispered, eyes fixed on her hands. “I can try to look nice, dress up, even feel confident for a few seconds, but it never changes anything. Someone always makes sure to remind me.”

“Remind you of what?” I asked, though the answer already clawed at my chest.

Slowly, she turned back toward me, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her quick attempts to wipe them away.

“That I’m not… her,” she said, her voice breaking. “Not the kind of girl guys want. Not the kind people stand up for. Not the kind anyone sees as pretty unless it’s a joke.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Jessa—”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “Just… let me say it.”

I forced myself to stay silent.

She bit her lip, her breath trembling. “I know I’m not Barbie-thin. I know I’m not some perfect Instagram girl. I know I have a stomach, thighs, big boobs, and hips that make half my clothes look ridiculous. And I try—I really do—to not let it get to me.”

Another tear traced down her cheek.

“But it still hurts, Noah,” she whispered, her voice so small it shattered me. “It always hurts.”

I pulled onto her street but slowed the truck instead of turning into the driveway.

She needed this moment.

She needed to know I was truly listening.

“Every time I think maybe things are getting better,” she said, eyes downcast, “someone like Daniel comes along and proves me wrong. Someone always reminds me that girls like me are punchlines.”

She covered her face briefly, her shoulders trembling.

“And I hate that I care. I hate that they still have that power over me. I hate that, for a second tonight, I believed him. I believed I didn’t belong there. That I didn’t deserve to be with you.”

Something inside me shattered so deeply it felt physical.

I pulled the truck to the curb and parked, turning fully to face her.

“Look at me,” I urged gently.

She hesitated, refusing to meet my eyes.

So I reached out and lightly lifted her chin, guiding her gaze to mine.

Her lashes were wet, cheeks streaked with tears, yet she held my stare.

We stayed like that, sharing the same cold air, my hand warm against her cheek, her fingers curled into my jacket sleeve.

When she finally pulled back, she whispered, “Thank you.”

I swallowed. “For what?”

“For being… you.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

I shifted the truck into gear and eased into her driveway. As I parked, the porch light flickered on.

She reached for the door handle, hesitated, then looked back at me with a fragile sort of bravery in her eyes.

“I really like you,” she whispered.

“I really like you too,” I replied. “More than I probably should admit.”

She smiled—small, shaky, genuine.

Then she leaned over the center console and hugged me—warm, tight, grateful, scared—all at once.

I held her just as tightly.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was barely audible. “Goodnight, Noah.”

“Goodnight, Jessa,” I said, meaning every word.

She stepped out of the truck, climbed the porch steps, turned once to give me a soft wave, then slipped inside.

I stayed there long after the door closed behind her.

Hands gripping the wheel.

Heart pounding.

Jaw clenched.

Because tonight had shown me something brutal and undeniable:

The world could hurt her.

But I wasn’t going to let it happen without a fight.