Dr. Fox stalked out of the hospital lobby without sparing a glance for the disapproving looks from the nurses. They clucked like hens behind his back no doubt, scandalized by his lack of a proper coat over his crisp white lab coat. But he paid them no mind, too consumed by his singular focus.

Cold autumn air bit at his cheeks as he strode down the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn't feel it though, numb inside and out. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one and inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine course through his system. It wasn't what he really craved, but it would have to do. Matthew cursed under his breath.

I need more Xanax. Just a few more to take the edge off, to quiet the incessant buzzing in my head.

But his secret stash was empty, decimated over a long weekend shift. He hadn't had a pill since last night and already withdrawal symptoms clawed at him, making his skin prickle and stomach churn. Maybe I could sneak into the pharmacy later, swipe a few...

Shivering, he lit another cigarette, huddling deeper into his robe. He was finishing the butt when a figure rounded the corner ahead. He glanced up briefly, then returned to studying the pavement. But then the footsteps halted right beside him.

Glancing over, he saw a person peering down at him with concerned eyes. Silent, they held out a... napkin. Perplexed, Matthew took it automatically.

"What's this for?" he asked gruffly.

Then his gaze fell to the white square in his palm, spattered with bright red droplets. Alarmed, he swiped at his upper lip and his fingers came away smeared crimson.

Shit. Nosebleed again. No wonder the stranger had given me that pitying look, like I was some dying guy.