The reflection in the mirror was pale, dark circles under glassy eyes. A single drop of blood welled at your nostril. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, leaving a faint red smear.

From your jeans pocket, you fumbled out the small orange bottle. The rattle of pills was loud in the quiet room. You tapped two into your palm, dry-swallowed them with a grimace, and chased them with a handful of tepid water from the tap.

You took a deep, shaky breath, straightened your jacket, and pushed through the bathroom door into the empty hallway.