Loaded Gun.

One.

"Well, this sucks balls."

"Harry, please," Anne softens her face in apology. "I am sorry, but I'm afraid college is out of the question until we have sorted out our money."

"That is so unfair! Why can't Dad help pay for it?" Harry knows his Dad is well able to help pay for him to go to college. Considering he helped Gemma go to college, Harry doesn't see why he can't help him. Des Styles owns a large and very successful company right outside of London. The company has earned him millions, but, has also ended his marriage. Anne of course wanted her son to be as successful as his Dad, but she couldn't let her ex-husband know that they are struggling with money, again. "All my friends are off at UNI and I'm stuck here working at a stupid bakery."

"Harry, you love working at the bakery."

"That's not the point!" He sighed, defeated. Of course he loves working at the bakery. Who wouldn't when you get to eat a shit ton of fresh cakes and hang with old ladies. But he only has this job to put the money he earns from it into his college fund, which he thought someone would help him pay.

College was his only chance at freedom.

Standing abruptly, he announces through the lump in his throat. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." He presses a kiss to his moms cheek and heads towards the door, tears glistening in his eyes.

"Of course, sweetheart. If that's what you want. I love you-"

Anne barely managed to finish her sentence before the door was slammed shut.

--

After seeing how upset this was making her son, Anne called Des, and after their short conversation, he assured he would do anything in is power to provide Harry with the money he needs to go to college. Des was more than happy to do it and Harry was more than happy to accept it. So, it was settled that next September Harry would be starting college.

--

Harry's blood runs cold. He can't move. He's terrified.

Pressure builds in his ears, his palms sweat, his body moves on it's own accord as he takes off into a run.

Which was definitely not a good idea because he could hear someone chasing him. The same person who has been following him for at least ten minutes.

Harry has never been good with strangers or being around strangers; so as he was walking down the street late at night and being followed, obviously he panicked.

Shit, he thinks, I should have kept at football. He's so unfit. His breathing has already become heavy and he has a stitch in his side. The pounding of feet behind him makes him speed up, pushing through the pain.

I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die-

Strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him backwards. Harry cries out and kicks. Balling his hands into fists, Harry swings back and connects with the man's face. He growls,"If you keep on struggling, love, you'll be dead in the next ten seconds." That's when Harry notices the thing poking into his lower back and there's no doubt in his mind that it's a loaded gun. "Now, listen up. We are going to walk, quietly, back to my van over there. That sounds okay, doesn't it, babes?"

Harry doesn't even realise he's been crying until he can barely take in a full breath. He glances at the man, hoping to get a glimpse of his appearance, but he was masked. As they cross the street, he keeps Harry under his arm. Harry slumps in defeat and he sobs into the man's shoulder. The man brings him into the back of a huge white van. It takes off as soon as Harry's hands are tied behind his back.