Todos os capítulos de Falling For My Bully: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Whispers—that was all I could hear as I slowly drifted back to consciousness. I turned my head toward the door, catching sight of my mom talking quietly with Dr. Chen. “From the EEG, from the results…” Her voice was a blur. I forced myself to focus, blinking sluggishly. “…the EEG shows abnormal discharges, which indicate a high risk of future seizures,” Dr. Chen said clearly this time. “Dear God, what does that mean for him?” Mom asked, her voice laced with panic. Dr. Chen remained calm. “I can’t say too much just yet, but he needs to avoid seizure triggers like stress, emotional overload and must take his medication consistently to prevent future episodes.” I tried to listen, but the overwhelming drowsiness made it nearly impossible. I groaned, trying to push myself upright. Turning my head, I spotted Bob slumped on the couch near the window, snoring softly, mouth wide open. I stifled a laugh. A piece of bread sat untouched on my plate. I picked it up and tossed it at him. It

Nicholas’s POVThere’s something about waking up in your own bed after being stuck in a hospital that just hits different.I blinked up at the smooth white ceiling, the soft hum of the central air conditioning filling the silence. No beeping monitors. No nurses checking vitals. No stiff hospital sheets or sterile walls. Just the comfort of home—the subtle scent of clean linen, the faint trace of cedar wood from the diffuser, and the familiar glow of sunlight peeking through the motorized blinds. I had missed this.The sheets were tucked too tight—Zack’s doing, no doubt. Overprotective as always. I tugged them loose with a sigh and reached for my phone on the marble side table. Three missed calls, a few texts, and one new voicemail.I tapped to play.“Hey, um... it’s Jamal. You probably don’t remember me; we were in the same group for that science thing last term?”I blinked, sitting up straighter.“Anyway... this is weird, but I thought you should know. Some guy—Andy? No—Andrew. Yeah,

The moment I saw Andrew standing on the training field, tightening the strap on his wrist guard, my entire body stiffened.No. Absolutely not.I turned the wheels on my chair and was halfway back toward the hallway when I heard his voice. “Nicholas, wait.” I didn’t.But he caught up anyway, walking briskly beside me. “Look,” he said. “I know I’m the last person you want to see right now.”“No argument here,” I muttered, not looking at him.“But,” he continued, moving in front of me to block my way, “give me a chance to make it right. Let me train you. Let me make all my wrongs right.”I stared at him, unsure if it was another joke or some act of guilt. But then he added, “You’re good. You could be great. And I want to help. No games. Just archery.”The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. He wasn't mocking. He wasn’t acting like the guy who used to trip me in the hall or make side comments about my wheelchair. He was... offering.And the truth? He was one of the best archer in

Nicholas's POV The restaurant buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, the weekend energy settling in like a warm blanket. I wheeled through the entrance, spotting The heir already gathered at the corner booth like they owned the place.Betty was talking with her hands like usual—dramatic enough to knock over a drink—and Mic was trying to slide in jokes faster than anyone could breathe. Anna and Steve were engaged in a hushed argument over whether the curly fries or the onion rings were "life-changing," and Henry? Well, he was doing that thing where he just stares at the menu like it might reveal a secret spell.Cilia was there, tucked into the booth beside Betty, sipping something fizzy and biting her lip like her mind was somewhere else entirely."Hey, look who finally made it," Mic announced. "Our golden boy archer. You planning to shoot fries off our plates next?"“Only if you keep talking,” I shot back, grinning.Everyone laughed, and for a moment, it almost felt like everythin

Nicholas’s POVI sat beside Mom, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack my face if I held it any longer.I grinned into the camera as Granny’s wrinkled face lit up on the screen.“I heard about the big win, my champion!” she said, her voice warm with pride.“Thanks, Granny,” I replied, holding up my medal. “I guess all those late nights paid off.”I hated times like this—when my mom paraded me in front of her rich friends and relatives like I was some prized showpiece. It didn’t matter if she actually liked them or not; she’d call everyone from Granny to Cousin Milo just so they could hear about my latest “achievements.” And of course, I had to play along—smile, nod, make polite small talk—while inside, all I wanted to do was vanish.I couldn’t lash out or be my usual self with her in front of people—that would be disrespectful. I don’t hate her; I’m just angry. I wish I could stop, but the anger refuses to loosen its grip, no matter how much I tell myself to let go. I’ve been