Dylan had managed to make it to a bathroom without passing out. He had passed one on the second floor, only to find out it was a girl's one. He couldn't go in there. He propped himself up against the sink and peered into the mirror. He looked slightly gaunt, pale and sunken. He didn't look healthy at all.

He had looked fine yesterday. What did he do in his sleep? He didn't usually sleepwalk. This was beyond sleepwalking. He looked like he hadn't slept for a week. He looked down his arms, to find small grazes. They didn't look too bad. Not infected which was good.

Then came the big one. The fact he wasn't wearing a shirt. Why was that? And why was he still in yesterday's uniform. What happened to his pyjamas? He sighed. He didn't want to take the blood soaked shirt off from round his ribs. He was too scared to see what he would find there. But he knew it wasn't good. He headed into a stall and pulled of some toilet paper. Wetting it, he began to dab some of the blood away. At least his arms and part of his chest would look clean.