I was walking home from school that afternoon, minding my own business, when I saw the strangest thing. We lived in a pretty nice area of the city, so I'd never been properly exposed to violence like this. And by many standards, it was pretty mild, but it still shook me quite a bit –especially recognizing exactly who was being battered.

We hadn't known each other very long, but there was no mistaking that Phil was the one tossed down the stoop of a nearby motel. After the initial shock, and watching him try to get himself up, I made to rush to him to help. But a tall figure stepped out of the doorway, stomping down the few stairs and yanking my… friend, to his feet. I saw him say some words to Phil –menacingly, if Phil's reaction was anything to go by— slap him across the face, and throw him back down. I looked around; the street was otherwise empty for a few blocks, no one around to put this man in his place.

When the man went back inside, slamming the door shut behind him, I watched rather helplessly as Phil tried to get himself back up. He lifted his head and caught my eye, and I caught the bruising on his face and the redness in his eyes.

And then two girls were thrown out in much the same way Phil had been, but the man didn't get so close when he spoke to them –he let them lie on the ground, kicking one a bit when she tried to get up. "Next time maybe you'll earn your keep," he said aloud, and went back in for the final time I saw.

Once I figured the coast was clear, I took a step closer, close enough to address them clearly. "Hey. I work at a clinic, do you want to maybe come get checked out?"

The girls looked sort of scared and got to their feet, and ran down the street in robes. I winced for them. I'd hoped maybe Phil would tell them that it was alright, that I could be trusted enough to take them to get help, but he had his face pressed down on the sidewalk. Hoping he'd at least trust me, I moved forward more confidently, and squatted down beside him, taking him by the shoulders to try to get him up. He yanked himself from my grasp and jumped to his feet, knocking me over. I was still a bit stunned as he ran off the same as the girls had done, and in the same direction.

I looked up and told myself to remember the name of the place. "The Monroe…"

"What do you know about the Monroe Motel?" I asked my father when I got to the clinic.

"The Monroe Motel?" I nodded, watching him flip through a stack of papers while I sipped at my soda. He answered absently, "Doesn't ring a bell; at least, nothing specific comes to mind. Why?"

"No reason."

I went to my mother. "What do you know about the Monroe Motel?"

"What's that sweetheart?" She was leading a drug addict to the back room to relax a while before being checked on. "The… Monroe Motel? Never heard of it."

"It's between here and the school."

She laughed. "There's a lot of places between here and your school, sweetie. Go make sure the waiting room isn't in chaos, alright?"

I nodded and went back to the front of the clinic. Seeing everything looked in order, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and googled the place –no results, at least none of interest. I figured that I could let the matter go, and that it was nowhere of consequence.

I was quiet at dinner that night, pushing my peas and potatoes around on the plate.

"How was school?" I was asked out of routine more than actual curiosity. I shrugged and didn't give a verbal answer until my father gave me a stern look that I didn't want to keep on receiving.

"It was okay: same old, same old. I have a lot of homework to do." I wiped my mouth of nothing, having barely touched my plate at all.

My mother smiled and started to clear the table. "Well, get right to that, then. And don't forget to brush your teeth and everything before you go to sleep.

I nodded and said goodnight, and went to my room to get some work done.

I was still wet from the shower, and the minty taste was starting to fade in my mouth. I laid awake in bed that night, tossing and turning as sleep just wouldn't come to me. By midnight I'd given up on it altogether, and started to wonder about Phil and his relation to that Monroe Motel. Maybe he lived there. Maybe that man was his father and the girls were his sisters or something; maybe his dad was an asshole and threw them out. I winced, and hoped they'd be allowed back home soon. I wanted to sneak out and go check that he was alright, but what could I do? Peek inside and hope I saw him? There was no way to know that the three of them were safe.

I didn't know what the likelihood of him living there was, anyway. I'd figured Phil was probably homeless when I found him waiting outside the clinic all night, out in the cold in nothing but the least of clothing layers. Phil wasn't the first homeless person, or even homeless teen that I'd dealt with, working at the clinic. But he was the first one I'd been able to have conversation with, and at first he'd seemed to trust me enough to let me help him. He didn't seem mentally ill or unstable like a lot of our patients could be, especially those living on the streets. Maybe he was just part of a family that had been struck with some bad luck, and now they had nowhere to go. This was making it seem much less likely that that was his family at the motel, but if not, who were they?

I decided not to question it. I was probably giving this way too much thought and concern. Yes, I'd like to help, but there didn't seem to be too much I could really do. At least, not until I ran into Phil again –and that might never happen.

I stumbled out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom, and took a pill to get me to sleep. As soon as I sunk back into my mattress and pillows, I was lights out.