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When Maddox told me to come to his place for tutoring, I wasn’t sure if I should be scared or curious. His world was streets and shadows, not quiet study sessions. But something about the way he said it made me say yes.
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His house wasn’t far from the abandoned place I called home. The streets looked the same—cracked sidewalks, flickering streetlights—but Maddox’s place had a different kind of silence. Heavy. Like it held a lifetime of pain.
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Inside, the air smelled stale, like smoke and forgotten dreams. The couch was torn, dishes piled up, and the walls looked like they hadn’t been painted in years. But it was a place. His place.
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We sat at the kitchen table, and before I could open my book, Maddox’s voice dropped low.
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“My mom died when I was a kid,” he said, eyes fixed on the table. “Cancer took her. Just like that.”
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He swallowed hard, then went on.
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“My pops… he’s around sometimes. But half the time, he’s so high he don’t even know who I am. I’m the only kid, so when mom died, I had no one but the streets to turn to.”
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I could feel the weight of his words settle between us, thick and raw.
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“I had to learn quick—how to hustle, how to survive, how not to get lost.”
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He glanced at me, and for a second, I saw the boy behind the tough exterior—scared, lonely, fighting to stay alive.
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I wanted to reach out, to tell him I understood. But I just nodded.
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“Alright, tutor,” he said, cracking a small smile. “Let’s get to work.”
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And just like that, the weight lifted a little—because maybe, just maybe, we weren’t alone in this.
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We were finally settling in, the math books spread out between us, the tension easing just a little. I was explaining a tricky problem, feeling the first spark of connection when the door creaked open slowly. I looked up and froze.
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Maddox’s dad stumbled in—eyes bloodshot, face twisted with rage and something darker. The smell hit me first—cheap booze, cigarettes, and that sharp stench of drugs. My heart slammed against my ribs.
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He scanned the room and stopped on me.
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“Who the hell is this?” His voice was slurred, thick with menace. “You bringing trouble to my boy’s house?”
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Before Maddox could react, the man lurched toward me, his hand reaching out like a predator’s claw.
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I flinched, backing away. “Don’t—”
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But Maddox exploded.
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“Don’t touch her!” His voice cracked like a whip, raw and wild. He grabbed his dad’s wrist and yanked it away, shoving him hard enough to make him stagger.
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The old man sneered, “You think you’re tough, huh? Think you can keep me out? You ain’t shit without me.”
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Maddox’s eyes were fire. “I’m everything you’re not. I’m the reason you’re still breathing tonight.”
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His dad lunged again, drunk and desperate.
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Maddox caught him mid-step, slamming him against the wall. “Back off. One more move and I swear—”
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The man spat, “You’re my blood. You owe me.”
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“No,” Maddox snarled, voice thick with hate. “You’re the reason I had to grow up in the streets. You’re the reason I fight every damn day to be better.”
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The old man’s face twisted in pain and anger, his breath ragged.
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I sat frozen, heart pounding, watching Maddox turn into a force I never knew existed—fierce, broken, and raw.
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When Maddox finally pushed his dad back and slammed the door shut, he collapsed against the wall, hands shaking.
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“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t deserve to see that.”
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I didn’t say anything. I just knew, right then, I wasn’t walking away.
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