Sam didn't have time to prepare himself. The second he was out of the closet, looking to figure a way to gain some form of convincing composure, he found himself looking directly at the woman responsible for his current presence. Sam's mouth fell open lightly, but he didn't let the air of surprise linger for long. A flicker of concern, a note of how serious he took the situation, and a lingering moment of guilt followed before Sam allowed himself to toe an inch away from the closet door, hands sliding unevenly into the pockets of his jeans.

The faint scent of alcohol drew Sam's gaze out to the box in the corner. Combining the terrible way Faith was looking now to what, from what Sam could tell judging from what was poking out of the box, must have been several bottles of vodka, it was easy to reach the final conclusion that Faith had been drinking. A lot. All because of him.

"I am so sorry," Sam began, looking fairly uncertain. Not with the statement - he knew he was sorry for making her hurt - but with the reaction that he predicted would follow the words. "I didn't mean -" Sam wanted to look down. To guard himself. But he forced himself to look at her, doing everything he could to keep himself from behaving like a small, desperate child. "You have every right to be angry with me."