"Why is he getting it from the bathroom anyway?" he asked with confusion. "There is a sink right there!" he pointed to the kitchen sink. "Putz," he muttered under his breath. "Fucking putz," he repeated equally as quiet. He felt tired from blood loss. "I can't help myself with the apologizing," he murmured, "I made the mess though, I should clean it up. But I know you won't let me. I don't think I have the energy anyway." Thankfully, the blood flow had ebbed, so it wasn't a big deal if he dropped his other hand. "Sit down, please. You shouldn't be up on your feet."