In my words

Heather

Trusting means believing and he believed in nobody but himself. He knew the only person who could actually off the dust his old chest was himself.

"Don't leave us! We put so much effort into raising you! Tell these bastards that you'll take care of the debt! Do it, you worthless scum!"

The flapping of her chaped lips and the horse voice of old age still haunted his dreams.

16. A young child of not even adulthood was expected to pay the debt taken by his parents- not for his education but for their wishes to invest in uprising businesses. The products never sell, therefore, they were never able to pay off the debt of more than two decades old. Although 16, Lain was still aware of these things. He was an obedient child but due to his sharp intuition and awareness, Lain was able to take notice of such things. He was not a genius at studies, what he was good at was never appreciated or approved. And now when the gun was soon going to be on his parents' heads, they blamed and expected him to take care of the mess they had created. It was unfortunate but it was true. His parents truly planned on selling him off to them as the last resort. A world of mercenary and gamble, a place a child should never visit and yet, just to get rid of the fear of being under debt, they were willing to sell their own son.

They had expected to be freed, screams and unnecessary tears of self-pity filled the room. The beating of heart raced against its own speed, the fear and anxiety seeped through every nook of his veins.

"Take him! He is the one responsible for everything! Everything! Every penny was spent on him! He'll be taking responsibility please! Just leave us!"

"Take him! Please just take him and leave us alone!!"

"TAKE HIM! KILL HIM IF YOU WANT TO BUT LEAVE US ALONE!"

The image of his father embracing his mother by the head as a sign of comfort and fear, both had trembled as each word came out of their mouth pierced his heart. Both were fully aware of the sinful crime they were committing and the claim they were making. He had wondered to himself- "just why?" He didn't argue with his mother for the meal he most desired to eat, he didn't beg his father for the toys he most wished for. Hell, he even let his passion for cooking die. Just how many days did he bite his tongue back so he wouldn't be bothering his parents anymore? How many times did he smile the tears of being bullied? How many times did wanted to burn his books but didn't?

Just how many....

It wasn't a question he needed to ask himself, it was the reality he had lived- all because he loved his parents. And yet-

"You cursed child! Its all your fault!"

"Since the day you were born! Not a single day! You hear me! Not a single day where I was happy with you!"

Words of bitter nature made their way to his young ears, his blood ran cold instead of racing hotter. As though glaring through their soul, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was it disappointment he was feeling? Or was it anger? His beloved and mature father picked up a hand-sized vas and threw it. Perfectly aiming for the head of the young teen who sat across him on the cold marble floor, hands cold and trembling as he glared his parents, watching them curse at his very name, his fist tightened. Hoping for more and more anger to not rise.