5. Mira
MIRA
The day stretches until every bone in my body screams. My hands blister. My shoulders burn. By the time Matt finally releases me from his endless parade of disgusting tasks, I can barely walk back to the house.
I stumble through the door and head straight for my room, ignoring the questioning glance from one of the staff. The hot water feels like heaven when I turn the shower on full blast, steam rising and filling the bathroom until I can't see my reflection in the mirror.
Good. I don't want to see myself right now.
I step under the spray and the heat slams into my sore muscles.
A whimper escapes before I can stop it. Everything hurts.
My thighs, my back, my arms—parts of me I didn't even know could ache this much.
I grab the soap and start scrubbing, hard, like I can wash away the whole awful day if I just try hard enough.
Dirt swirls down the drain, brown and ugly. Barn dirt. Horse shit. Hay dust. The smell of manure clings to my skin despite the soap, or maybe I'm just imagining it now, but I scrub harder anyway. My skin turns pink under my fingers.
The first sob catches me by surprise.
Then another.
Before I know it, I'm crying for real, shoulders shaking as the water pounds down on my head. It's not just the pain, though that's bad enough. It's everything. The way Matt looked at me today—like I was nothing. Like I was a joke. Some spoiled brat who needed to learn a lesson.
He's right. That's the worst part.
I lean my forehead against the tile and let the tears mix with the water running down my face.
Mom told him. She actually told him everything—about the tuition money, about me using that money for partying, about all of it. The humiliation burns worse than any blister on my hands.
What must he think of me?
Not that I care. Not that it matters what some farm guy thinks about my choices. Except the memory of his face this morning floods back—that hard, closed-off look when he mentioned the money. The disappointment hiding behind all that cold anger.
He knows I'm a fraud. A liar. A spoiled little girl who threw away thousands of dollars because I couldn't handle a few hard classes.
My chest tightens. Fresh tears come, hot and fast.
I want to explain. Want to tell someone—tell him—that it wasn't like that. That I tried. That I sat in those lecture halls feeling like I was drowning, like everyone else knew some secret I didn't, and the panic got so bad I couldn't breathe.
But what's the point? The facts are the facts. I took the money and blew it. Simple as that.
I sink down until I'm sitting on the tile floor, knees pulled up to my chest, water beating against my back. My palms sting where the blisters formed. I didn't even know you could get blisters from shoveling. From scrubbing. From doing actual work.
What the hell happened to me?
A week ago I was in my apartment, scrolling through my phone, making plans with friends. Now I'm here, crying on a shower floor because my stepbrother made me clean horse stalls.
"You're pathetic," I say out loud, voice cracking.
The water starts to run cold. I don't move. Let it. Maybe the shock will snap me out of this spiral.
But when the icy spray hits my skin, I just gasp and scramble up, fumbling for the faucet. I stand there dripping, wrapping my arms around myself, staring at the foggy mirror as my teeth chatter.
My reflection slowly appears through the condensation. Wet curls plastered to my head. Eyes red and puffy. Face blotchy from crying.
I look like a mess.
I look like exactly what I am—a girl who's been playing at being an adult and just got her first real dose of consequences.
My breasts ache, heavy and full. Of course. Because today wasn't humiliating enough without that constant reminder. I cup them gently, wincing. Need to deal with that soon or I'll leak all over the sheets tonight.
But first I need to sleep. Or collapse. Whichever comes first.
I wrap myself in a towel and pad back to my bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood. My phone sits on the nightstand, dark and silent.
I pick up the phone, thumb hovering over the screen.
They're probably out right now. Thursday night—that means The Loft or maybe that new rooftop place Harper kept posting about. Bottle service. Dancing. The kind of night where you wake up the next day with glitter in your hair and your feet destroyed from heels.
Can't blame them. That's who we are. Who I am.
Or was.
I unlock the screen and pull up the group chat. The last message is from three days ago—Jade posting a selfie with some guy I don't recognize, caption just a string of fire emojis. Before that, Harper complaining about her Pilates instructor. Normal stuff.
My fingers type before I can overthink it.
Miss you guys so much
I hit send and stare at the screen. The message sits there, read receipts off because Harper said they were "toxic for mental health." Minutes crawl by. Nothing.
My chest gets tight again. Different kind of hurt than the crying in the shower, sharper somehow.
They're busy. It's fine. They have lives.
I'm about to set the phone down when it buzzes.
Harper: omg babe!! miss you too!! how's farm life treating you?
Relief washes through me so fast it's embarrassing.
Jade: MIRA!! girl where have you been
Tyler: she's been getting up close and personal with chickens
I can picture them now, huddled around a high-top table somewhere trendy, passing the phone around between sips of overpriced cocktails.
Me: it's... an experience lol
Harper: i bet. are you like, milking cows and stuff? is that a thing people actually do?
Jade: does it smell as bad as i imagine
Tyler: be honest, have you stepped in shit yet
My face heats up. The memory of this morning crashes back—Matt's cold stare, the shovel in my hands, the actual literal horse manure I spent hours dealing with.
Harper: omg you HAVE
Harper: mira nooooo
Jade: this is too much
Tyler: from bottle service to cow service, what a glow up
They're laughing. I can feel it through the screen. Not mean laughing, just... laughing. At me. At this whole situation.
And I'm supposed to be the leader. The one who picks the bars, who knows the doormen, who always has the best stories. Now I'm the punchline.
Me: it's literally so gross you guys have no idea
Me: like i'm actually living in hell
Harper: how long do you have to stay there??
Jade: please tell me it's not permanent
Me: two months
Tyler: TWO MONTHS?? mira you're gonna come back speaking in farm or something
Harper: "y'all" and "reckon"
Jade: wearing overalls unironically
My thumbs fly across the keyboard.
Me: oh my god STOP i would literally rather die
Me: the second i'm done with this sentence i'm never looking at a barn again
Harper: that's our girl
Jade: we'll plan something huge when you're back
Tyler: you're gonna need SO much therapy
Me: and SO much tequila
Harper: done and done babe. we got you
The tightness in my chest eases a little. This is real. This matters. Not whatever happened in that bathroom with my stepbrother Matt, not the farm work, not any of it. My actual life is waiting for me back in the city with people who get me.
Me: okay but can we talk about my stepbrother for a sec
Me: because this guy is INSANE
Harper: ??? spill
Jade: is he hot tho
I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Matt's face flashes through my mind—those dark eyes, that jaw, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders this morning. The way he felt inside me.
I shove that thought down deep.
Me: that's not the point
Me: he's like, a total psycho about this farm shit. He is a hick.
Me: had me up at 4:30am to carry things around
Tyler: FOUR-THIRTY AM???
Jade: mira i would've just said no
Me: you don't understand, he STOOD THERE watching me the whole time
Me: like getting off on it or something
Me: total power trip
My thumbs pick up speed, the words pouring out faster now.
Me: and he's SO condescending about everything
Me: acts like i'm some idiot because i don't know how to do his backwards farm bullshit
Me: sorry i didn't grow up wrestling pigs or whatever the fuck
Harper: he sounds like a dick
Me: he IS
Me: and this place is like, actually hell on earth
Jade: omg no
Me: there's literally NOTHING here
Me: no bars, no clubs, no decent coffee
Me: just dirt and animals and people whose greatest achievement is growing a big pumpkin
Tyler:
The anger feels good. Righteous. I lean into it, fingers flying.
Me: and Matt acts like this is somehow BETTER than real life
Me: like he's doing something important by playing in the dirt all day
Me: instead of getting an actual job
Harper: wait is he hot though? you never answered
Jade: yeah mira give us something
I bite my lip. Type. Delete. Type again.
Me: i mean he has a good face
Me: and abs i guess
Me: but that's IT
Me: the rest is pure hick
Tyler: good face AND abs??? mira...
Harper: have you guys fucked
My stomach drops. The message just sits there, stark and direct. Harper never beats around the bush when she smells gossip.
Jade: OMG HARPER
Tyler: LMAOOO
Harper: what!! legitimate question
Harper: you're stuck on a farm with a hot stepbrother, i've seen this porn before
My face burns. The memory of Matt's hands on my hips, his mouth on my breasts, the way he filled me so completely?—
No. Stop.
Me: EW
Me: absolutely not. He's gross, ew.
Me: that's literally disgusting harper
Harper: methinks the lady doth protest too much
Jade: omg if you did it's fine we won't judge
Tyler: speak for yourself i'm judging SO hard
Me: i DID NOT hook up with my stepbrother
Me: he's a hick who smells like hay and probably hasn't read a book since high school
Me: i have standards
The lie tastes sour even as I type it. My heart thuds against my ribs, guilty and loud.
Harper: okay okay we believe you
Harper: but like if you DID...
Jade: harper STOP
Me: i'm going to bed before you guys make this worse
Me: love you sluts
Harper: love youuu hang in there babe
Jade: you got this!! only 2 months!
Tyler: don't let the hick break you
Harper: actually you know what??
Harper: we should come rescue you
Jade: YES
Jade: road trip!!
Tyler: i'm so down, let's see this farm nightmare for ourselves
I snort, rolling onto my side. The phone screen glows in the dark room.
Me: you guys would literally die within five minutes
Me: there's no cell service half the time
Harper: even BETTER
Harper: full disconnect experience
Harper: we can document the whole thing
Jade: omg yes, like a vlog series
Jade: "city kids vs farm life"
Tyler: i'll bring the good tequila
Me: you're all insane
Me: but i love you for it
They're joking. Obviously. Harper can barely handle camping if the tent doesn't have wifi. The idea of any of them actually showing up here, getting dirt under their nails, dealing with the smell—it's absurd.
But the thought makes me smile anyway. That's what I need. People who get me. Who understand that this whole situation is temporary insanity and nothing more.
Harper: for real though babe
Harper: if you need us we'll come
Harper: just say the word
My throat tightens. Not in a bad way this time.
Me: thank you
Me: seriously, thank you for letting me rant
Me: i needed this
Jade: anytime!! that's what we're here for
Tyler: stay strong out there soldier
Harper: text us tomorrow!! we want updates
Harper: especially about the hot hick
Me: GOODNIGHT
Jade: night babe!!
Tyler: later mira
Harper: sweet dreams!! don't let the farm bugs bite
I set the phone down, chest feeling lighter than it has all day. Two months. I can survive two months. Then I'm back where I belong, with people who matter, living my actual life.
The farm is just a blip. Matt is just a blip.
None of this is real.
I'm about to close my eyes when three sharp knocks echo through the room.
My body goes rigid. The sound came from my door—firm, deliberate, unmistakable.
I sit up slowly, clutching the towel tighter around my chest. My wet hair drips onto my shoulders.
"Yeah?"
The door doesn't open. Another knock, slower this time. Two beats.