Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 9

Jessa

The mirror has always been my enemy.

Most nights, I try not to look. I throw my hoodie on the chair, pull on pajamas, and crawl under the covers without giving the glass across my room a second glance. But tonight… I can’t help it.

Noah’s words are still stuck in my head. Thick thighs. The way everyone laughed. The way Jackson didn’t even think to defend me—he just laughed too, like it was harmless. Like it was fine.

My eyes flick toward the mirror, and before I can stop myself, I’m standing in front of it.

I tug my T-shirt tighter around my middle, then looser, then tighter again. My reflection stares back at me, cruel and unforgiving. I pinch at the skin on my stomach, my hips, my legs.

“Why?” My voice cracks in the empty room. “Why did I have to be the big girl?”

The words echo, hollow, pathetic.

Tears burn the corners of my eyes. I swipe at them, angry. Angry at Noah for putting this weight back in my chest. Angry at Jackson for laughing. Angry at me for caring so much.

But mostly, I’m angry at my body.

It feels like a prison I can’t escape. No matter how much I run drills or skip dessert, the mirror never changes. My thighs still press together. My arms still jiggle when I move too fast. My face still looks round compared to the girls who post their selfies online.

I want to scream. I want to rip the skin off and step into someone else’s. Someone who gets noticed for the right reasons.

Why couldn’t I have been like Jackson?

We share the same DNA, the same last name, the same parents. But he got everything I didn’t. The athletic build. The easy smile. The charm that makes people gravitate toward him without even trying.

He’s the star quarterback. The guy everyone chants for on Friday nights.

And me?

I’m his twin sister. The “funny” one. The one on the sidelines. The one nobody looks at twice unless it’s to laugh.

I press my palms against the dresser and lean in close, my face inches from the glass. My reflection blurs as tears spill over.

“I hate this,” I whisper. “I hate me.”

The words taste bitter, but they’re true. At least tonight, they feel true.

I slump down onto the edge of my bed, wrapping my arms around myself like I can hold all the pieces together. The weight in my chest feels heavier than ever, pressing, pressing, pressing.

I don’t know how long I sit there before my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Mariah.

Mariah: You okay?

I clutch my phone like it’s a lifeline. Her words don’t fix the ache inside me, but they wedge themselves into the cracks.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe it isn’t about being someone else. Maybe it’s about figuring out how to exist in this skin without hating myself every second.

But it’s hard. God, it’s hard.

Because tomorrow I’ll see Noah again. And if he smirks and throws another comment at me, I don’t know if I’ll crumble or fight back.

All I know is—I’m so tired of feeling like this.

So tired of being the twin that no one notices.

So tired of wishing I was anyone but me.

But as I curl under the covers, my phone still clutched in my hand, I hear Mariah’s words again. One day, you’ll see yourself too.

I don’t believe her. Not yet.

But for the first time in a long time, I want to.

And maybe… maybe that’s a start.