The Incomer : Hated by death ✔

Zeev

                         Partially in somnolence, I got up from the bed. My room was so enormous. I remember playing with Stan inside this room when we moved two years ago. Time ran faster than one could tell Jack Robinson. It felt like we were so young back then. I despised the idea of moving to Mayfair and live a posh life. I liked the way we lived at Stan's home in Marylebone which was humble and peaceful.

                         My room was painted in bright shades of yellow and orange. I insisted on those colors as I thought they would give a positive vibe but nothing worked out. My life was doomed as usual. The closet next to my bed kept on filling up with new clothes, nothing bought by myself. I was dressed up like a doll to attract people. My personal taste was not taken into consideration at all. And finally, the restroom, it was literally a sauna. Till then I didn't understand why there were two toilet seats in my restroom.

I took shower within three minutes. I developed this habit in case of emergency while shooting, but it became a routine of mine. Since I was free for that day, I dressed in clothes of my choice.

Stan was slumbering on the living room couch. He seemed to be drained of energy, handling the scandal. I always felt guilty towards him, as he had to live a life of hiding because of me and didn't even have the freedom of walking alone on the streets. He visits his father barely twice or thrice in a year. Though I made his life miserable, he always gives the best for my life.

The maid prepared breakfast, but I refused to eat. Stan didn't eat from the morning, so I waited to have breakfast along with him. Our living room was colossal. A crystal chandelier of three foot length hung from the ceiling, giving a feeling that it could fall anytime on our head. The living room lead to the dining room and kitchen on one side. To the other side were my room, Stan's room and many more rooms on the floor above.

I sat on a chair and waited for Stan to wake up. To while away time, I snagged a cooking magazine from the table and read a weird recipe of oxtail soup on the cover page. The recipe itself made me nauseous. Hearing the flipping of pages, Stan woke up holding his temples.

"Did I sleep for long? Shall we have breakfast?" said Stan drowsily

"Of course your highness, but the time we are going to eat , people call that as lunch, not breakfast" I mocked

"Do you want oxtail soup for appetizer?" smirked Stan

"You were awake all this time and acted as if you were asleep?" I retorted throwing a pillow at him.

 He defended himself with another pillow, "No..I woke up just now and saw you reading the recipe with keen interest. Do you want me to make it for you?" said Stan

I was infuriated and threw all the pillows from the couch at him and he threw the pillows back towards me.

"Zeev, give respect to your elder brother" ordered Stan

"Be thankful that I'm not killing you"

We didn't care about anything, battling furiously, until the maid came and decided that we were mentally retarded.

"Breakfast is ready, Sir" she chuckled. We both were found embarrassed and I managed immediately

"Do you dust these pillow covers? It is infested with dust!" I said and threw the pillow at Stan which hit his head squarely . He muttered some swear words as we walked towards the dining room.

As per our morning diet we were given vegetable salad, pulses and orange juice. I never liked to follow that kind of goat's diet, but being an actor I was forced to maintain my  body. Stan also accompanied me to follow that diet.