She became desperate to escape the dull, suffocating life she was born into. Suffocating didn't mean she wasn't cared for her mother loved her deeply, and she never went hungry but Amira wanted more. More than the small cottage, more than the simple meals, more than days spent feeding animals or helping her mother mend torn clothes. She wanted luxurious trips, expensive clothes, glittering city lights, and people who lived grand lives without worrying about muddy shoes or secondhand dresses.
Living in that old cottage with her mother and doing farm work began to irritate her more each day. How was she supposed to use her new, shiny nails to milk goats or, God forbid, feed the chickens? The smell alone made her want to retch. She would come home smelling of sweat and hay, and the thought made her skin crawl.
She could not wait to turn eighteen to finally be free. "Just one more month," she told herself, "one more month and she would leave this place behind." She would rent an apartment far away from this mess, somewhere beautiful, somewhere where no one would ever call her the "poor farm girl" again.
Her mother humored her; after all, Amira was the only thing left that reminded her of her beloved late husband. Every time she looked into her daughter's eyes, she saw him the same warm blue irises, the same stubborn tilt of the chin. And maybe that was why Sarah found it hard to say no. She felt she owed Amira so much and felt guilty that she couldn't give her the kind of life she dreamed about. So she made up for it in small ways by overindulging her, doing most of the chores herself, and pretending not to notice when Amira shirked her responsibilities. If a new dress or pair of shoes made her daughter smile, Sarah would sacrifice something else to buy it. Love, for her, meant giving no matter the cost.
As Amira grew older, the guilt-driven leniency turned into habit. She became more demanding, more restless, and often acted up when she didn't get her way. The once sweet, shy farm girl began to change. She started craving attention, validation, and escape in equal measure. Deep down, she still loved her mother but she resented the smallness of their life, the simplicity of it, and the constant reminder that they didn't belong among the rich and polished.
Amira wanted more than just comfort; she wanted power.
She was willing to do anything, be anything, to claw her way out of the lower class and into the glittering world of the elite. In her mind, there was only one sure way to get there: become the kind of woman wealthy men couldn't resist. A "bad girl." A wild girl. The kind who turned heads at parties, who made whispers follow her through a room, who oozed confidence and danger and made men beg just to touch her.
She studied them their posture, their clothes, their allure. And slowly, she began to shape herself into that image.
Amira made sure to work hard and maintain a trim, enviable figure. She saved up to buy herself makeup and little luxuries that made her feel like she belonged to a higher world lip glosses, crop tops, and perfume that smelled expensive even when it wasn't. At school, she drifted away from the quiet girls and gravitated toward the bold ones the wild party girls who knew how to get what they wanted. They laughed loudly, dressed daringly, and always seemed to have money to spare.
It didn't take long before they started showing her the ropes how to flirt, how to charm, and how to make quick money from boys desperate for their attention. Amira soaked it all up greedily, like she had been waiting her whole life to learn this language.
And just like that, she took to the new lifestyle as easily as a duck takes to water.
Eric started trying to get back with her after noticing her glow, much to the anger of Clarissa and frustration of Amira. Amira hated his guts, but she wanted revenge, so she pretended she wanted him back too. They had dinner, and he asked for forgiveness. Eric then invited her to his house, and she almost chuckled at how easy it was to fool him and how seamlessly her plan was going.
She sent a snap of them kissing to Clarissa, making sure to drop the hint that they were hanging out in Eric's house. Amira made Eric turn up the music, lying that she was just more comfortable with music on, so he wouldn't hear his girlfriend coming in. She insisted on foreplay; the thought of actually having anything to do with him disgusted her, but if that was the price to pay for revenge, she would happily take it.
Eric had always been clever with his tongue, and getting a little pleasure from the whole mix was a win-win; moreover, she knew it would destroy Clarissa, so it made it even better. That was also what she missed the most about him after the breakup; her hands fisted his curly brown hair while he pleasured her with his tongue.
She was facing the door and saw the moment Clarissa barged in. She could barely suppress her smirk as she stared at Clarissa while the other girl stared in shock; she had an earth-shattering orgasm more from the chaos she had wrecked than anything else.
Eric turned to see his girlfriend watching him, her face white and hand trembling in rage. He hurried to explain himself as Amira put on her cloth, while watching as Clarissa slapped Eric and his cheeks flamed from the pain.
She walked past them as Clarissa raised her hand to hit her, but Amira caught it easily. "You would never again attempt to hit me or bully me, or I would let the whole school know that you are a pathetic loser that lost her man to..." What was it again? A cheap farm girl. The Amira paused, letting her words sink in, and then she continued in a whisper, "You can snatch him, but it turns out you cannot keep him either," and she banged the door closed, her chest heaving as her hand shook from adrenaline. She then hailed a cab and began her journey home.