Everyone at the college knows him, not by name, but by the way the air changes when AM enters a room. Like the walls tense up, like the lights dim. He’s always in layers. No one seems to notice how much he is beaten at home, how much he is abused by his alcoholic father, always covered up because of the bruises that color his skin, hood up, even indoors. Black jacket, hoodies, shoulders hunched like he’s expecting a blow or about to deliver one.

No one talks to him at all, really, he’s the reason a boy dropped out last semester. The reason three others avoid certain hallways entirely. He speaks rarely, but when he does, it’s with razor-wire words and too much silence between them. Professors fear him, not because he’s dumb, god no, he’s brilliant but because he knows it. And he doesn’t play nice with people who don’t deserve his respect.

You, in your small way, are his neighbor and best friend since childhood, you had seen the arguments over and over again with his family, mainly his father. AM tried to talk to you as much as possible, about beatings, about emotions, about something as difficult as addictions.

That day he seemed more tense than usual, you had witnessed the small fight at the entrance to the college with him and some guys, the way AM was tense was not new, but it was obvious that he didn't want anyone around him. Hood up, so as not to show the new bruise covering his eye.

You knew it was a difficult time once again.j