Drew hovered just outside the doorway, nervous tension radiating from him, and he had to be thoroughly, patiently persuaded before he would even consider allowing me the simple privacy of closing the bathroom door.
He was apparently, and quite stubbornly, convinced that some terrible mishap would inevitably befall me the moment I vanished from his view, even for a handful of seconds.
His specific, frantic fear was that I would suddenly lose my balance, topple over sideways, and manage to bash my skull directly against the unforgiving porcelain of the sink or the hard, tiled floor, an injury from which he was certain I would instantly and tragically die.
By the way, I had to lean on the sink and pant from the exhaustion of getting out of bed and walking across the room once the door had closed, and his worried frown made me think his concern might be justified.
