sorin balthazar. d3m. fin.

When Sorin was raised into a happy, privileged family, he had no idea he would one day inherit his father's debts.

Beneath hearts of gold there were buried secrets. Sorin lived above those secrets for years, not knowing that the shadow in his path was ever growing. His parents always wanted the very best for him, and weren't shy in telling him that. When they found out he could sing, they encouraged him to perform for them in the comforts of their living room. Sometimes the neighbors attended. They taught him to cook, to sew, to play the piano, to repair machinery - a 'coming of age' task in their neck of Three, apparently. Sorin enjoyed the hard work and positive attention. They knew he would be their pride and joy, a talented boy who would bring smiles to strangers' faces. As a kid, Sorin was living the dream. Big house, loving parents, endless opportunities - what could go wrong?

A question that should never be asked.

His world fell apart after his father died. It was sudden and unexpected - an illness that nobody thought would kill him. Sorin didn't know what to do with himself. He cried, he mourned, and soon afterward learned the secret behind their comfortable life. Criminals bursting through his door, picking the locks to tarnish any feeling of safety or security. They threatened him with guns pressed to his temple, and he begged them to explain why they were doing this to him.

"Your dad owes us money. He can't pay us from the grave, can he?"

To find out his father was a completely different person, it left him speechless. Lost, confused, terrified. His father had borrowed money from a gang he was once apart of. Their house, their cozy lifestyle, all of it born from a secret transaction with an empire of crime. His father, evidently an overconfident man, assumed he would be able to repay that debt once everyone in the household was earning money. Now it was down to Sorin himself, and he had a deadline.

His mother was depressed. He didn't have the heart to tell her about her husband's secrets. That was the worst part; knowing it would break her, but forcing himself to lie. As a victim of lies and secrets, Sorin now despised liars. Even as a child it never sat well with him. Lying was like swallowing venom, but he had to do it. You're a hypocrite now. Consequences have to be weighed, and he knew his mother's mental health was worth kicking himself over and over again for being that person.

Life became an endless, spinning wheel of hard work. If he wasn't at school, he was at his job inspecting computers or sitting at home with his mother. Friends became more of a rare luxury. They began to wonder why Sorin could hardly afford decent food and clothing. He made convincing excuses - telling anybody about the debt he now owed would land him in a grave of his own. He was also too ashamed to seek help. This was all his father's fault, and Sorin was determined to erase all of it as soon as he could. He was a damn hard worker, after all. His parents had both known it. He could work for hours with little sleep. Stress was fuel rather than a hindrance. Breaking down his own body was just a small side effect. Nothing he couldn't handle.

During his leisure time, he sang with his mother. She still loved the sound of his voice and smiled when he sat with her. It was the easiest way to relieve any stress. If he made plans with his friends, he never let them into his house. The gang terrified him to the point of paranoia; he couldn't risk leading his friends into a danger zone in case any gang members returned. He had to pay them in small increments, and they were an impatient bunch. Several of them suggested he join the drug business, as he would make a lot of money a lot quicker. Sorin had too much pride for that. He refused to stoop to that level, even if it put his life on the line. The consequences for no payment? Death.

Their only redeeming quality was their refusal to involve his mother. "We don't victimize old women," one claimed. Sorin was almost proud of their human decency, but he was more relieved than anything. If he did fail, the responsibility would only fall on his shoulders. The bullet would have his name on it, nobody else's. But he still had to avoid it. He didn't want to die, and he certainly didn't want to leave his mother alone. She wouldn't make it.

It wasn't fair that his life had ended up this way, but complaining was pointless. He was the type to suffer silently and push on until the job was done.

Once it was over, perhaps he could finally return to peace.