She can't make herself let go of Charlie's hand long enough to deal with Salem, choosing instead to let him keep pressing himself against her legs. There's not much comfort in that, for either of them--and less, when Sabrina's next try fails just as quickly as the first--but it's all she has to give.

"It has to connect," she says, insists, her voice tremulous and feeble. "You're doing it wrong, or...it has to connect." Charlie pulls away, his hand still tight in hers as he grabs Sabrina's wrist, and that's the last piece before it feels like everything crumbles.

"No," she echoes, but she's not saying it to either of them, her legs suddenly feeling like they're not going to hold her up a minute longer. She's going to scream, or vomit, or start crying until she runs out of tears, if she ever does. She'll throw a plate, five plates, everything that's in the cupboard by her head and not stop until Nick walks through the front door again. "No, no, no, no..."