Invisible To Her Bully의 모든 챕터: 챕터 101 - 챕터 110

NoahBy the time I finally made it home, the sky was already turning pale gray — that dead quiet hour before morning actually begins.Jackson and I had spent half the night sitting in a booth at the diner off Route 17, nursing cold coffee and saying a lot without saying much. We talked around the fight, around Jessa, around everything that had happened. Neither of us really had answers, just exhaustion.Now, walking through my front door, all I wanted was sleep — or silence.Instead, my phone wouldn’t stop vibrating in my pocket.I dropped my keys on the counter, toed off my shoes, and pulled the phone out.The screen lit up with notification after notification.Mentions. Group chats. Snap tags.Dozens of them.“Dude, Carter lost it last night!”“Noah actually decked Daniel — and for Jessa Lombardi??”“Check the video!”I didn’t even want to open them.But I did.Videos everywhere.Grainy, shaky, loud.Someone had caught the whole thing — Daniel’s mouth running, the shove, the punch,

NoahI needed air.Not the kind that came through cracked windows or the hum of the AC — real air. The kind that cut into your lungs, that reminded you the world existed outside the noise of your phone.So, I grabbed my keys and slipped out before Mom could ask more questions. The house was too quiet anyway, like even the walls knew something was off.The morning light was sharp and too bright when I stepped outside. I squinted, walked straight to my truck, and climbed in. For a second, I just sat there gripping the steering wheel, feeling that knot in my chest twist tighter.Usually, when I got like this — restless, pissed, wired — I’d call Jackson. We’d go shoot hoops, hit the field, or just drive aimlessly until whatever was eating us died down.But after last night… I didn’t know if that still worked.We’d said a lot without really saying much. Sitting in that diner, staring at cold fries, both of us pretending we weren’t thinking about the same thing. Jessa. Daniel. The way every

JacksonI don’t even remember walking up to my room.One second, Mom was tearing into me in the living room, and the next, I was standing here staring at the floor like it might give me answers.Her words kept replaying in my head, over and over.You didn’t even notice what was happening to your own sister.She wasn’t wrong.But the way she’d said it — like I’d failed some test I didn’t even know I was taking — it made something in me snap.I slammed my fist into the wall. The thud rattled the picture frames.“Jackson!” Mom’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Hey—don’t start breaking things!”Too late.I yanked open my door and stomped down the hall, the anger boiling up fast, messy, and unfiltered.She was still in the living room, her scrubs wrinkled, face pale and tired.Jessa sat on the couch, her eyes red but dry now. She looked small — smaller than I’d ever seen her.“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped before she could even say anything. “Like I’m the bad guy.”“Jackson—” Mom s

JessaThe house was too quiet the next morning.Not peaceful quiet — the kind that comes after a storm, when everything feels like it’s still vibrating from the damage.I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my head pounding from another sleepless night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it all again — Mom’s shocked face, Jackson’s voice cracking as he yelled, the way the air had felt so heavy I could barely breathe.Now it was Sunday morning, and the silence felt like punishment.I could hear the faint clatter of dishes downstairs, the sound of Mom moving around the kitchen like she was pretending nothing had happened. She always did that — filled the space with busy noise when things got too hard to talk about.I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on one of Jackson’s old sweatshirts, and padded down the hall. His bedroom door was still closed. I hesitated outside it, listening for movement. Nothing.He hadn’t said a word to me since last night.When I walked into the kitchen, Mom was

JacksonBenny’s was packed like it always was on Sundays — football guys crammed into booths, someone’s little brother running between tables, the smell of syrup and burnt coffee in the air.It was exactly the kind of normal I needed.Noah sat across from me, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate, his baseball cap pulled low like he could hide from the world. I didn’t blame him. If I saw one more post, one more comment, I might throw my phone through the diner window.“Dude,” I said, leaning back in the booth. “We should just delete our socials and move to Canada.”Noah snorted. “You hate the cold.”“Fine. Florida. Whatever. Somewhere without cell service.”He cracked a small grin, which felt like a win. We’d spent half the night talking about everything and nothing — the fight, our parents, the team. Things still felt heavy between us, but at least we weren’t avoiding each other.The bell above the diner door jingled, and I barely glanced up — until I heard a familiar laugh.Mariah