Drama Queen (Kurt Cobain)

71

We dropped off Frances with Krist and Shelli.
"Where do you want to eat?" I asked him. He shrugged a bit.
"I'm just happy that you don't hate me." He said quietly. I placed my hand on his leg.
"Seriously." I said.
"I don't give a fuck really, I'll just eat macaroni and cheese anyways. "

Kurt's hand rested over mine as we bathed in diner scenes. He looked tired, his gentle sad expressions changing into a sleepy smile and low lidded eyes. He had taken the last bite of his macaroni all too soon. We tipped the waitress so we didn't go to Waitress Hell, and walked out the door again. He sat in the passenger seat this time. He fished the keys out of his pockets.
"I have a bag at home that we need to get." He said. I nodded. I started the car and Kurt placed his hand on my knee as I had done to him earlier.

We didn't talk on the way home. Shoes weren't kicked off as soon as we came into the door. It wasn't his home for the next three to six weeks. I had no one to share it with except Frances. And River,
I guess. He grabbed his bag from our bedroom.
"You have access to everything in my closet or any of my clothes that are on the floor when you miss me." He smiled. He dropped his bag on the living room floor and wrapped his arms around my waist. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and disconnected it from his ever so unfashionable chain.
"That is also yours." He smiled. He kissed me softly as we stood in the middle of the living room.
"We have to be there by seven," I said cutting the session of newly found affection short. His large hand gripped his bag until he had white knuckles.
"Can we get bean?" He asked. I nodded.

We had a child in the back seat, I was a careful driver, but with bean, much more so. We approached a terribly boring building, grey and dull even from the outside. Kurt unbuckled his daughter from her car seat. We approached the building, the door was heavy, and loud. It made Frances fuss even in her father's arms. The fluorescent lights casted an unflattering overly bright glow, and produced a noisy, unpleasant hum.
"I'll be out of here in three weeks hopefully." He said as he kissed Frances's forehead.
"And you two can visit me every week, twice a week." He said as he kissed me.

No matter how often I could see Kurt, I knew I would feel empty without his presence in the house. Even with River. That house wasn't alive without the Kurt I knew. When he was high or sad, it was dead and empty. I made my home in the chaos, the paintings, the clothing. We made our home among the things that made us, us.

fuckin read Radio Killed The Radio Listener it's so much better and more relevant to me and I enjoy updating it and it's so much better like writing wise and it deserves more attention than this one gets