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When I pulled up to his apartment building, the street was lined with dark, expensive cars with tinted windows that looked wildly out of place in his student-heavy neighborhood, like predators parked in a playground. I ran up the stairs to the third floor and found Liam sitting on the hallway floor, his head in his hands, shaking uncontrollably. He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and his face pale, and he looked like the five-year-old boy who used to come to me after a nightmare. He didn’t say a word; he just pointed toward the door of his own home, where the locks had been changed from the inside.
