Silently, carefully, she inspects the situation. Cold, white-blue eyes float between the phone and Sam's unoffending hands. She looks at his face last and swallows. Once the engine is cut so, too, is her connection to its resonance. She makes no effort to refocus. Instead, she swallows thickly and looks at the ground.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, re-leveling guilty hazel eyes on him. She doesn't know what to say, but she tries anyway. "I can't... I-it's like you said before. I'm still figuring it out. But I don't..." Fuck, she's going to cry. She can feel it. When she tries to protect herself, she blows up. When people try to help her, she hurts them. What if there is no helping her?

"I don't want to hurt you. Or anyone." She wants his help, but why would he give it? He got caught in her blast, then saw her swing back and forth between blind faith and suspicion. She's lucky that her family forgives her for all that she's done. This stranger has no reason to.

"I-um. I can leave. I should go." If he's smart, he'll let her. If she's smart, her feet will let her walk away, but as it is, she's still standing there. She wants help, she doesn't deserve it and that makes her feel like a scorned little kid all over again.