AUTHORS NOTE: Please read and review! You can review by scrolling down to the bottom left hand corner and clicking GO next to SUBMIT REVIEW. Thanks everyone. I don't own DTNG, Craig…almost done! Maybe like 2-3 more chapters? You'll be surprised.

Callie stared at the same stream of tepid water falling from the shiny silver faucet. With every drop that splattered in the clear, half filled bathtub, the larger the lump in her throat got. She grazed her hand down her hair, which was wet only at the tips, and looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of black underwear, and one of Craig's white beaters, which was almost completely soaked. She put her hands over her stomach.

She stared at the digital neon clock above the toilet and squinted through the darkness of the bathroom. 2:22 am. Callie submerged herself a little farther into the water, and listened to the drip drop of the same stream.

"Callie?" Craig asked, turning the doorknob and entering the room. Quite frankly, he was a little shocked. It's not every day that you walk into your bathroom and find your ex-girlfriend, half-dressed and lying in a partially filled bathtub. Craig walked a little more into the room, and adjusted his boxers.

Is she okay? She's not moving.

But when he came to the edge of the bathtub, and swung his feet into the tub while sitting on the rim, Callie was lying in the tub, motionless. Her hair was curly and wet at the tips, and dry and straight at the top. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her white beater was turned transparent. Her face was completely free of make up, and she had her clammy hands half on her black underwear and half on her lower stomach. Craig put his hand on her leg, and shook her a little.

"Cal? Cal!" He said, shaking her a little harder. Callie submerged herself up a little more from the water, and opened her eyes.

"Callie! What is wrong with you?" But he knew what was wrong.

"Nothing, I," she said, her voice cracking a little. She started to gaze off into the neon clock again, trying to wish Craig wasn't there. Craig whipped her other arm from beneath the water, trying to get her attention.

"What is wrong with you? Why won't you talk to me about earlier?"
"Just leave me alone, I'm fine!"

"You are not fine! Look at you! Why are you lying to me? What, is it drugs? I know you're on drugs, don't hide it! Callie why won't you talk to me? Why don't you talk to me anymore? Why won't you talk to me about this?" He said, frustrated and roughly.

Tears from Callie's eyes splattered loudly beneath her, making that the only audible sound. With every word he squeezed her a little harder – and she felt sicker, both mentally, and physically.

Did you move my shit you little whore? Why can't you ever do anything right you slut? Images of Paul swinging his hand at her replayed like a movie in her head. Play, stop, rewind, pause. She could almost feel the piece of glass wedging into her arm. She could feel hitting the bottom of the staircase. And the hard, pointy rock slicing her neck.

"No, please. I didn't move it, don't, no..." She whispered, panting, holding onto her scar.

Craig released himself, staring at this skinny creature that was distraught and broken. Oh my god, look what you've become. Stop this. Look what you're doing to her.

"Callie, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He said. He let go of her arms and stepped into the bathtub completely, feeling the lukewarm water tingling his feet. He bent over, picking Callie up from her small waist, and brought her into his chest. With her head still hanging she fit her head into him like a lost puzzle piece, and he wrapped his arms around her. The funny this was, nothing ever felt as perfect as Craig holding Callie, because she was his lost puzzle piece. His stomach conformed to her every curve. He could feel the water from her shirt dripping down his body.

"Let's talk about this."

"I guess," She cried hysterically.

"How did Emma know before me?"

"She's a nosy bitch," Callie cried.

"That was dumb for her to do, announce it and all."

"Are you gonna break up with her?"

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna break up with Shane?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if there is a me and Shane."

"This whole party-girl thing has to stop now, for real,"

"Don't be a hypocrite."

"I'm not."

"Why not? Like you were never a party-guy? Like you never started groping Manny last year at your party to make me jealous?" she said, pulling away.

"That was way different,"

"Stop getting mad at me!" Callie quietly said, putting her hands over her ears and pulling away.

"I'm not mad at you!"

"You're getting mad at me!" She said, crying again. She tried to step out of the tub, swinging one foot over, but tripped, and found herself kneeling in the bathtub, looking into the water with her hands cemented on the bottom of the tub.

Craig slid his back down the wall, until he too was sitting against the wall, half submerged. He didn't care though. He gently pulled Callie away from her tangled position between the tub and the bathroom floor, and brought her into his arms, cradling her like a small infant, just letting her cry. She wrapped her arms around his neck unevenly, and he weaved his one arm around her neck for support, and the other under her leg.

"I'm so sorry Craig, I'm sorry. You hate me, I'm sorry…"

"No, I don't hate you, it's not your fault." He replied, stroking her thigh.

"I'm sorry," Callie kept reiterating.

"Its okay, we can do this, together. I love you. It's my baby too. Don't apologize for anything – its not like you did it alone."

But it might not be yours.