Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 214

Chapter 214

Noah

By the time I got home, my head felt like it had been run through a blender.

Not because anything terrible had happened.

Not because Jessa and I had fought.

Not even because the whispers had gotten worse.

It was because everything was loud.

The school. The looks. The way people suddenly thought they were entitled to opinions about my life. About her.

About us.

I tossed my keys on the counter and stood there for a second, staring at nothing. My mom was still at work, my dad was probably in the garage at home, and the house felt too quiet in the wrong way.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Jessa.

I smiled before I even opened it.

You survive the day?

I typed back:

Barely. You?

Three dots appeared.

I’m okay. Just… tired of people.

Yeah. Same.

I stared at the screen for a second, then typed before I could overthink it:

Want me to come over?

There was a pause. Long enough that I wondered if I’d said something wrong.

Then:

I’d really like that.

Decision made.

The drive to her house felt different than usual.

Not rushed. Not nervous.

1/6

+25 BONUS

Just… purposeful.

The sky was already starting to fade into that soft purple–orange that only happens in early fall, the air cooler, quieter. I rolled the windows down a little and let the wind clear my head.

When I pulled up, the house looked calm. Lights on in the living room. One in the kitchen.

Normal.

I knocked, and a second later the door opened.

Jessa stood there in socks and a hoodie, hair a little messy, face bare.

And somehow… that version of her hit me harder than any dressed–up, homecoming, spotlight version ever could.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” I replied.

For a second, we just stood there looking at each other like we weren’t sure who was supposed to move first. Then she stepped aside. “Come in.”

Her mom called a greeting from the kitchen, something about being happy to see me, and then politely disappeared back into whatever she was doing.

We ended up in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch like two middle schoolers who didn’t know what to do with their hands.

“So,” I said. “Today was… a lot.”

She laughed quietly. “That’s one way to put it.”

We sat there for a moment, the TV playing something neither of us was actually watching.

I glanced at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. Then hesitated. Then shook her head. “I don’t know. I think I am. I just… didn’t realize how much energy it takes to be talked about.”

I swallowed. “I hate that you have to deal with that because of me.”

She turned toward me. “No. Don’t. That’s not fair. People would talk about me no matter what. This just… changed the topic.”

“Still,” I said quietly.

She studied my face for a second, then reached over and took my hand.

That simple.

That grounding.

“I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m just… learning.”

2/6

“Learning what?”

“How to not let it own me.”

Something in my chest shifted.

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

We didn’t talk much after that.

Not in an awkward way.

Just in a… peaceful way.

She leaned into me at some point. I put my arm around her without even thinking about it.

It felt natural. Easy.

Like this was the part nobody at school got to see.

The quiet.

Her head against my chest. My thumb tracing slow, absent circles on her sleeve.

“You know what’s weird?” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“I used to hate coming home. It meant thinking about everything. Replaying stuff. Today I was actually… looking forward to it.”

I looked down at her. “Why?”

She smiled a little. “Because I knew I could just… be here. And maybe you’d come over.”

My throat tightened a bit.

“Yeah,” I said. “I get that.”

She shifted, turning to look at me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly. “The talking. The looks. The… opinions.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Then: “It does. But not because they’re talking about me. Because they’re talking about you.”

Her brow furrowed.

“They don’t know you,” I said. “They don’t know how kind you are. Or how you always apologize to inanimate objects when you bump into them. Or how you laugh when you’re nervous. Or how you care about people who don’t deserve it.”

3/5

She blinked a few times.

“And they don’t get to decide what you’re worth,” I finished.

She stared at me like I’d just said something in another language.

“Noah…”

“What?”

“No one’s ever talked about me like that before.”

I swallowed. “They should have.”

+25 BONUS

She looked down, then back up. “Can I tell you something kind of embarrassing?”

“I’m basically a vault,” I said.

She smiled faintly. “I keep waiting for this to feel fake. Like I’m going to wake up and realize this was just… a really nice dream.”

My chest tightened.

I cupped her cheek gently. “Does this feel fake?”

She leaned into my hand. “No.”

“Good,” I said. “Because it’s not.”

She hesitated. “I still don’t really understand why you like me.”

I sighed softly. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know. But…”

“But you’ve spent years being told you’re not enough,” I said quietly. “That doesn’t just go away.”

Her eyes softened. “Yeah.”

I brushed my thumb under her eye. “I’m not here as a favor. Or a joke. Or a project. I’m here because I want to be.”

She searched my face like she was trying to make sure I meant it.

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