A/N: Thanks for the review, Palexiot. I hate when I send a story out and no one reviews it, it feels like it's just spinning in space somewhere. Anyway, I am struggling with this story and as I said I was ready to chuck it. But I've decided to keep it, to work with it, and hopefully I'll get enough feedback to figure out what's wrong with it, or right with it. And I'm sorry about the rambling author's note.

Craig's point of view

I closed my eyes, felt Paige's weight against me. It wasn't that I didn't think she was sexy or cool or anything. I just, I couldn't cheat on Ashley. I shouldn't cheat on Ashley.

"Paige, c'mon," I said, pulling away, pushing her off me, but gently.

"You don't want me?" she said that in this pouty little girl's voice, her eyes kind of shining with tears, and she was drunk.

"It's not that. It's Ashley-"

"Oh so what? It didn't matter when it was Manny, did it?" She leaned in toward me again, closed her eyes and kissed me. I was pinned under her weight.

"Paige, stop," I said, and she stopped, and she was crying.

"Oh all you guys are all the same," she said through her tears, her eyes all squinted up, "everything is fine when it's your idea,"

"What? What's fine? You're not making any sense," I just stared at her. She was pacing in the center of the room.

"It's fine, it's all fine, whatever a guy wants to do! You wanted to cheat on Ashley and no one, no one fucking told you you couldn't, and Dean, he-"

"Who's Dean?"

"Dean. Dean from Bardell," she said this like I should know who he was, but the name meant nothing to me.

"And Dean just did what he wanted to do, and no one stopped him, and I'm just getting sick of the double standard, you know?"

"Paige, who's Dean?" I said it softly because I was starting to get an idea of what he might have done.

"Forget Dean. Forget it. It doesn't matter anyway,"

Paige's point of view

I was really drunk. Head spinning, ready to puke drunk. Everything was happening in this fog, like it was far away and had little to do with me. I looked around, Craig's garage, how the hell did I get here? I saw the string of lights, the posters for all the rock groups he liked, the drum set tucked in the corner just waiting for somebody to come and bang on it.

He was sober. He was sitting in that old easy chair with the arms but it wasn't a recliner chair. Just some old chair Joey didn't want. I could tell he was sober, I could feel it. We weren't on the same wave length. But then again, I haven't been on the same wave length as anybody since Dean tore his way through my life.

But why did I come here? I hardly even knew Craig, I hardly knew him so why was I drunk at his house?

I shook my head, feeling the alcohol receding and the sharp metal shards of my hangover beginning. It pulsed and beat at my temples.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here," I started to go.

"Wait, Paige," Craig stood up, came over to me, and the room was still spinning and I was still drunk.

"You don't have to go," he said. He said it softly and nice and for some reason it made me really sad. Maybe I was just sad anyway.