Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 29

Noah

The second I walked into my house, I kicked the door shut with my heel and slumped against it like it might hold me up. The place was dark and quiet, the way it always was when Mom was working late.

Normally, I liked the silence. Tonight, it felt suffocating.

Jessa’s voice was still ringing in my ears — raw, broken, impossible to ignore.

“I can’t help it, Noah! I’m not like my brother. I hate this body, I hate being me! No matter what I do, I’ll never be beautiful enough.”

Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. And the worst part?

I was part of the reason she felt that way.

My fists tightened at my sides. I hated seeing her like that, hated knowing she thought she wasn’t enough — hated myself for all the times I’d laughed along or made some stupid joke at her expense.

I wasn’t blind. I’d seen her hurting for a long time.

But tonight… she’d said it out loud.

And it gutted me.

I shoved off the door and paced my living room, raking my hands through my hair. The memories kept playing on repeat — Jessa standing there in the backyard, tears running down her face, her voice breaking when she screamed at me.

I hadn’t known what to say, so I’d done what I always do: lashed out.

“Stop playing the victim.”

The words tasted bitter in my mouth now. I hadn’t meant them like that — but that’s how they’d come out. Cruel. Sharp. Exactly what she didn’t need to hear.

God, I was an idiot.

I collapsed onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of myself.

Why did I keep doing this? Why did I push her so hard, knowing how sensitive she was?

Because it was easier than telling her the truth.

Easier than admitting that half the time, I couldn’t stop looking at her.

That there was something about Jessa Lombardi that drove me crazy — her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she never gave herself enough credit.

She wasn’t like the other girls who hung around the football team or flirted with me at school. Jessa was… real. Genuine. And maybe that terrified me more than anything else.

But nobody could know that. Not Jackson, not Daniel, and definitely not the rest of the guys. If they even suspected how I really felt, I’d never hear the end of it.

So I did what I always did — played the part of the cocky quarterback’s best friend, the guy who didn’t care about anything or anyone.

Even if it meant tearing Jessa down in the process.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I grabbed it, expecting a text from Jackson. Instead, it was from Daniel.

Daniel: Bonfire tomorrow night at Schneider’s Field. You in?

A moment later, another text popped up.

Jackson: Be there, man. And don’t bring my sister.

I stared at the screen, my stomach twisting.

Schneider’s Field.

It was our usual hangout spot — a wide stretch of farmland on the edge of town with a huge old fire pit surrounded by logs and broken-down folding chairs. Someone always brought drinks, someone always brought music, and before long the whole school usually showed up.

Normally, it was my kind of night.

But now, all I could picture was Jessa showing up with Mariah.

The guys wouldn’t hold back if they saw her. Daniel especially — he always had some smartass remark ready about “Jackson’s twin” or “the Lombardi family disappointment.” And I… I’d be right there, stuck between wanting to defend her and wanting to keep my place in the group.

Like always.

I threw the phone down and scrubbed my hands over my face.

If she came, I knew exactly how it would go. She’d walk in, nervous but trying to act confident. People would whisper. Jackson would get mad. Daniel would laugh. And me?

I’d either freeze like an idiot or say something cruel just to keep up appearances.

Just like tonight.

Just like every damn time.

I sank back into the couch, staring at the ceiling while my mind spiraled.

The worst part was, I could still see her face when she screamed at me. Tears streaming down, her hands shaking, like she was holding herself together with nothing but sheer willpower.

“Why do you always have to hurt me, Noah? Why can’t you just—just stop?”

Why couldn’t I?

Why was it so hard to just be kind to her?

Because the second I let my guard down, she’d see everything.

She’d see how badly I wanted to kiss her.

How badly I wanted to tell her she was beautiful — not “beautiful for her size,” or “beautiful if she lost weight.” Just beautiful.

But if I said that out loud? If I let the truth slip for even one second?

Everything would blow up. Jackson would hate me. The guys would never let me live it down. My carefully built reputation would crumble.

So instead, I stayed silent. Or worse, I said something sharp and cold to cover up how I really felt.

It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to me either.

But it was the only way I knew how to survive.

I glanced at my phone again. Jackson had texted once more.

Jackson: Schneider’s Field. 8 PM sharp. Don’t be late.

I closed my eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

Tomorrow night, I’d see her again.

And when she looked at me with those big, hopeful eyes, I’d have a choice to make.

I could be the guy she hated — the guy who joked and teased and made her feel small.

Or I could finally stop being a coward and let her see the truth.

The problem was… I didn’t know which version of me would show up when the firelight hit her face.