"Bro, are you alright in there?" Sam called out, his voice laced with growing concern as he sat in the cramped living room of Adrian's apartment. His fingers drummed anxiously on the chipped edge of the wooden coffee table, eyes flicking toward the narrow hallway where the bathroom door had been closed for over twenty minutes now.
Adrian had bolted straight inside the second they'd stepped through the door, and since then, the only sound coming from inside was the continuous rush of water from the tap.
Sam frowned, glancing around the dimly lit room. "Adrian, I'm getting worried!" Sam called out again, this time louder. "If you're not feeling well, let's just go to the hospital, man. You might've eaten something really bad."
Inside the washroom, Adrian stood over the sink, water streaming over his hands as he rubbed them again and again, watching the foam slide down the drain. His face was pale under the dull yellow light, his jaw clenched.
He wasn't sick. Not physically, anyway.
