He slides inside the bathroom and feels the blood drip from his stomach.
Taking his mobile phone from his pocket, he throws it on a safe surface and manages to lock the door behind him.
Over by the sink, he squeezes his chest. Blood pours over his hands. Coughing and spluttering, he feels weaker by the second.
Although his breath's coming back into his lungs, he needs to act fast to keep conscious long enough to treat himself.
Looking above himself, he finds a medicine cabinet. He scrambles to see the bandages. There seems to be nothing there but a few plasters.
After a few moments, he gives up.
Tipsily shaking across the room, he finds what he's looking for. Peering out of the cupboard are a packet of heavy duty period pads and bandages. No cotton wool, though.
He grabs the items, clasping them tightly in his shaky hands and setting them across the closed toilet seat.
He runs the tap and grabs a towel, patting the blood away from himself.
Once it's all cleaned as far as he can see, he sticks a few pads over his wound and wraps the bandages around the entire circumference of his chest as tight as he can.
The room feels like a mess. Everything is wobbly, disorientated and misplaced.
He can just about reach down to the bathtub, seal the plug in and let the water flow into it.
Staring into the water feels like he's staring into the depths of the ocean. He just wants to get in there, wash all his worries away and swim good.
He watches and waits patiently for a few minutes before he senses that the water's deep enough.
Holding his breath, he turns around and hopes for the best.
With a SPLASH! he's submerged in the warm water.
