Framed

Chapter two

Zory squinted at the light that dared beam itself through the blinds. He tried to draw the covers over his head and block it out, but even with his eyes partly open, he could still see it.

"It's nine oh clock, Zee. Time to wake up!" shouted his younger brother, Blaine, from behind his bedroom door.

He glared at the direction of the door then at the blinds. If only life didn't have to interfere with sleep... then, he would be happy.

"Be sure to drop off the groceries at Aunt Gee's house."

He rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly. Aunt Gee was forty-five years old with three kids and one grandchild. She did not have a husband, but she was capable of going shopping on her own.
She just did not want to, because it meant leaving behind her 65" flat screen TV.
Zory stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt and changed into athletic shorts. The night before, he cared little of what he wore to bed. All that crossed his mind was resting after a long day of loading lumber onto his father's trailer.

That and taking his mother to the airport.

The dimmed, bathroom light flickered on when he entered. He pursued his lips at the annoying, dimmed light. He tried to convince his parents that as each day passed, the light became dimmer and dimmer, until it barely lit up the entire bathroom, but that fell on deaf ears. They told him it was the type of light bulb, but he was not convinced.
The faucet turned on as he neared the sink. He hated how a small motion of air could simply turn it on. It annoyed him, especially during the night when it was "supposed" to be quiet.

"I hate you," he muttered to the faucet.

The water stopped.

Satisfied, he eyed the mirror before him. His curly, dirty-blonde hair pointed at all directions. Purple bags hung heavily beneath his hazel eyes. Dry mud painted his tanned skin to somewhat chocolate. His freckles that peppered around his nose were hidden beneath a coating of dust. The once soft-pink lips were shaded in variety of red, black, and brown.
Groaning, he tried to run his fingers through his tangled hair to get rid of the bed hair, but luck came short. It stayed. He drew back his hair and used a rubber band on his wrist as a ponytail. Zory stared into the mirror and groaned. He hated having to wear his hair in a ponytail. It made him feel...girly.

"Zory! It's ten! What's taking so long?" His brother yelled.

Luckily for Zory, his bedroom door was lock and it was to stay that way for as long as he lived with his family.
Staring into the mirror again, he shrugged off the anxiety to hop into the shower and to scrub himself clean. He had to wait until after his morning routine, which usually resulted in sweating.
Zory trailed his eyes down to his abs and smirked. From going to gyms for twelve hours a day to going for a run every day, it really paid off. He could see his brother trying to beat his eight-packs with his own six.
He chuckled. His body was just...perfect compared to Blaine's. He had the willpower, strength, talent, and intelligence, while his brother remained the stigma to the family. Frail, skinny, pale, clueless, and slow... The five things that their family were not.

"Zory!" Blaine's fist pounded on the door.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm spending my time wisely, so shut it," he snapped.

Blaine groaned loudly and muttered something under his breath. Zory was certain he heard his brother call him "fat lard". He was anything but. If truth be told, his brother was the lazy one. He just could not accept how perfect his oldest brother was compared to him.

Zory licked his chapped lips and gave himself another lookover, before he ran downstairs to the garage. He waved to his father, who eyed his iPhone with a serious demeanor. "I'm off to Gee's," he said nonchalantly.

No response from his father.

Shrugging, he stretched out his feet and flexed his calf muscles. From the look of the cloudless sky and the cool breeze on a hot, spring day, he could already tell it was going to be a good run.
He patted his shorts for his wallet. Reaching into them, he checked all around for any possibly pockets he could have kept it in.
Not finding it and not wanting to go upstairs to get it, Zory snagged his father's wallet from the top of the old Packard. Luckily for him, he came from a rich family.

His mother owned a business of Gliders, a company that created drones from aircrafts. His father invested money into car companies and variety of different products. As a result, many of his investments were successful. Zory could not remember a time his father had not succeeded in his work. Nor could he remember a time his mother failed in her own business. As a result in both successes, his parents earned a superbly large amount of money, which meant that he and Blaine (mostly, Zory) were able to live a fantastic life, rolling in dough.
Zory lightly jogged to the direction of the store. He did not want to rush himself to gather groceries for his aunt. In fact, he wanted to admire the beauties that were before him. For example, women. They were like flowers. He had no desire to pluck them from the ground and admire them from a vase. In fact, he would rather admire them from the comfort-zone they were in.

A woman of twenty ran past him. She gave him a friendly smile, but he paid no heed to it. His eyes followed her breast, watching them closely until they were no longer in his line of sight.
He felt himself smirk. He should have stopped and asked for her number. Then, maybe take her to the park, where all of the other flowers belong. There, he would treat her like a queen.
He puffed out his chest and chuckled at himself. His father taught him that the best way a man should look in a woman's eyes was one thing- strong. He had to be the Hercules to the Megaras. Nothing less. If any less than that, he was weak. And a man was not a man if he cannot prove his worth, so his father says.
A sharp pain from his calf muscles halted his run and he found himself on his knees.

"Stupid leg cramps," he hissed, forcing himself onto his feet and leaning against a nearby fence.

He tried to massage the muscles to cease the pain, but it only made it worse.

"That'll teach you, savage, not to call me that!"

Zory blinked in surprise at the name and peered over his shoulder to the cotton-pink, rusty house with grass as green as lime. It was not the best-looking house he has seen, considering its condition, but its garden caught his attention. The empty pots needed flowers. And flowers needed women. And women needed-

The front door slammed shut, startling him. He leaned on the fence and shifted his weight on each foot, trying to avoid hurting his muscles even more. When it came to injuring his muscles, he was a baby. He gave his family a bad name when it came to minor injuries that could be treated with a few stretches and yoga.
Zory blinked again and a small movement caught his attention. He watched the female crouch over the empty pots, filling them with soil and water. Her fingers delicately planted small daffodils in each pot. He watched her closely, admiring her courtesy to decorate the dead yard with beauties.

His eyes trailed from her pale-white, manicured hands to her yellow, dandelion dress and black flats and cringed at the sight of them. They were smudged with molt.
That was a disgrace that he knew his mother would not take so well.
His legs cramped up again and he squatted to try to cease the pain.
It helped very little.
Hissing, he kept a straight face and eyed the girl again.
She was looking at him.

His body paralyzed with fear. She must have seen him in pain. His father would have his neck if she did.
Zory spun on his heels and took off, ignoring the pain in his calf.

"Hey wait!" He heardthe female cry.

He yelped and ran as fast as he could.
He could already see his father's expression when he finds out that his eldestcowered in pain.
Frowning, he knew he messed up big times by letting the girl see him in pain,or rather at all, period.
He could almost hear her laughing at him...
telling his family ...
his friends...
his school...
the entire town... about his failure to be a man.