"I'm sorry about this whole thing," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to—"
"Yeah, you really should be sorry."
The way he cuts me off is so blunt it startles me. Not loud. Not sharp. Just… snobbish enough to sting.
I bite my lower lip, the apology shriveling on my tongue.
"Not to me," he continues, cool and precise, "but to yourself. You hurt yourself because you were so clumsy."
He sounds like he's reprimanding a student who forgot to read the syllabus. A very stern, very intimidating professor.
I frown despite myself.
Why does he look so angry anyway?
I didn't ask him to rush over here in the middle of the night. I didn't demand he bring a doctor like this was some kind of emergency. He's the one who decided to do all that, when he should be resting after what I know was a long day.
