"I'm really sorry for what happened," Andrew says, wiping a trickle of blood that escaped from his split lip. "I honestly don't know what came over me."
I'm used to the physical pain of being punched, but seeing as the contact came so close to my left eye, where a bandage still covered the last wound from my last accident, I couldn't help but feel traumatised from this recent outburst. I could have mistaken his aversion to look at me as insincerity, or even rudeness, but there is something with the way he now stands, his shoulders stooping low, that tells me he might actually be forthright in his apology.
"It's fine." I tell him curtly, gripping a shaking hands on the counter in front of me.
Andrew's head swivels up at me, his eyes wide. It is clear that he wasn't expecting anything close to my reaction.
