*Harry's Pov*

Having a bad grade was the last thing on my mind right now. There was a handgun resting in the chest of drawers in my room. I had no time to even remotely think about education when I was on the verge of giving up.

I marched swiftly into my dark, vacant space of my room and knelt quietly to my bedside table. I pulled out the gun and immediately stuffed it into my back pocket. My breaths were trembling and heavy as I hastily stood back to my feet, my eyes now glancing at my phone. It was four in the morning.

Clyde text me saying he was outside, and I had to leave.

I trailed silently down the stairs, my teeth clenching every time a step decided to creak under my weight. I finally made it outside, and Clyde's shitty car was in the driveway. It had rusting metal on the bumper, and the headlights were broke.

The car door opened and I got in without hesitance. My eyes were kept on the house as I assured myself that no one heard or saw a thing. "Did you bring the masks?"

"I'm so warm." I spoke to myself, taking off my black leather jacket.

"Harry! Did you bring the masks?" He angrily asked with his fists clenched tight.

An unappealing groan left my lips as I furiously searched through my pocket. "Here, I have surgical masks."

"Where the fuck did you get these?" He murmured while driving carefully and quietly onto the main road without alarming a soul.

"Matthew and Karen always have them in their first aid kit."

"Who?"

"Harley's parents." I grumbled.

Two minutes passed of us driving silently in the dark, my head desperately leaning against the cold, glass window. Part of me wishes I never agreed to this, but it was a high pay.

"Have you got a cigarette?" I hopefully asked.

Clyde fumbled with the glove compartment before he pulled out a small packet and a lighter to go with it. I sighed in relief as I took it off him without hesitation, and immediately lit one.

I inhaled from the end, my muscles instantly relaxing as I rested back into my seat. My head rolled back, and seconds later the smoke poured from my lips. "I haven't smoked since yesterday at lunch. I'm broke, Clyde. I'm borrowing cigarettes from Liam, that's all I'm getting."

"Why don't you get a decent job if all you need are cigarettes?"

I rolled my eyes with a scowl. "I'm used to easy money. That's how it's always been. And besides, it's not just cigarettes; it's the fucking alcohol. All I drink is coffee and vodka when I'm home, and Harley can't tell so I don't have anyone to tell me to stop-"

"Woah, woah," Clyde stopped me suddenly. "It's nobody's job to tell you to stop."

"But if someone tells me to stop then it sounds like they actually care about me." I morbidly murmured.

Clyde's eyebrows furrowed as he cluelessly looked at me in confusion. "I care about you, okay? So does Harley."

I slowly took another drag and gradually came to realisation. "Then maybe I'm the problem."

"You are," He explained. "I'm no therapist or anything, but you do realise that the longer you keep your feelings in, the more they hurt? And when they start to hurt more, you're going to want to drink more, or smoke more. Opening up to someone isn't easy, but like, it's better than numbing yourself with alcohol so you don't feel anything."

"I just find it impossible to live in this world sober when things are so fucking messed up."

There was a long silence as I finished the last of my cigarette and tossed it onto the road as we continuously drove into the sinister dark. Suddenly Clyde's phone rang, which someone caused him to panick.

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