YOU KNOW YOU'RE RIGHT // Kurt Cobain

Chapter 9

"We could talk about something else, that seems like a sensitive topic for you," I sympathized, and Kurt immediately shook his head, willing to continue.

"No, you're fine, I'll tell you. So my family claims I was a sweet kid but that sweet kid came out with a really bad case of ADHD so I was drugged up Ritalin by the age of four, and it drove me insane. My parents divorced, and it kind of broke me, because I had this image of a perfect family and I had to accept that my family would never be that." I looked at Kurt to see him wipe a subconscious tear out of the corner of his eye. I pretended not to notice, I didn't want to humiliate him for crying over his family. I understood how he felt. Kurt took a large bite out of his brownie, nearly swallowing it whole. My throat suddenly went dry.

"Anyway, in a community that stressed macho male sexual stories as a highlight of all conversation, I was an underdeveloped, immature, fat little dude that never got laid, and was constantly razzed," Kurt sounded like he was narrating a story, and I let out a light laugh in response. "Poor little kid!" I replied, and Kurt laid back down, his hands on his chest as he continued. "It bothered me probably more so because I was horny, and frequently had to make up stories like, 'Oh, when I went on vacation I met this chick and we fucked and she loved it!'... et cetera, et cetera.

"This problem was at the height of my problems with my father and step-mom, ya know, the typical wicked step-mom story. And so, I moved to both grandparents' and four sets of aunts and uncles and so forth and so on within the year, and in eighth grade my mom had no choice but to take me because my dad drove me to her house in the morning and left me there. She was pissed."

"That sounds incredibly difficult, I'm sorry," I felt my heart sink a little bit. I took a piece of brownie and chewed it. I could barely tell the difference. I took another bite seconds later.

"But," Kurt continued, his vocal tone creating suspense, "It gets better. Then I discovered the most ultimate form of expression ever. Marijuana. Oh boy, pot. I could escape all day long and not have to have routine nervous breakdowns once a week. By the way, you may want to slow down your consumption rate, these have, like a serious concentration of THC."

And at that moment I immediately regretted all my decisions because I had subconsciously eaten two whole brownies in the span of about forty seconds.

"Shit," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

"I hope your childhood was far from shit," Kurt responded, taking a handful of salt and vinegar chips.

"No, it was a bit shitty, honestly. I grew up Christian. My parents were kind of the epitome of Bible beaters, if I'm going to be honest with you, because if I ever did something wrong, they would isolate me from my friends and family and force me to read the Bible and repent," I elaborated, having flashbacks to when my mom threw out my prom dress in high school because I had gone with a guy she didn't approve of. It's not like she would approve of Kurt either.

"So to escape this madness I would often claim I was going to my church youth group and then go to local shows. My first time getting high was in a random kid's garage, and the parents were right next door," I laughed at the memory. "And it wasn't even like I meant to get high, I was just surrounded by so many people smoking weed that I inhaled so much smoke that it got me high."

"So what kind of crowd did you hang out with?" Kurt asked intently, his eyes trained on my lips as I spoke. I kind of felt like they were looking into a part of me that I hadn't let anyone know that it existed. Like he had found the hidden compartment in my heart and was prying it open, willing to pour into me. I snapped back from my thoughts, and cleared my throat.

"I hung out with, like, the artsy chicks. We would often get high in their driveway at like 2am and then paint vinyl records," I replied, taking a bite from my sandwich. Weed seriously enhanced the taste buds, seriously.

"Wait, do you mean painting vinyl records on canvas?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head. "No, I mean literally painting on vinyl records." Kurt's mouth was gaping wide, as if he couldn't believe his ears.

"That is the crime of the fucking century," he whispered, and I just smiled back. I hadn't felt this happy in a while.

"Shit, what time is it?" Kurt brought me out of my good mood, dragging me back to earth.

I checked my watch. And nearly cried again. "Time to go back," I replied. Kurt audibly groaned as we began to pack up our picnic date, which I deemed successful by the end. I could get used to this.

We drove back to the tour bus in silence, and I was still munching on my almond butter and banana sandwich. Kurt stole a bite or two, trying to keep his eyes on the road but occasionally stealing glances at me, which I found adorable yet kind of intimidating.

We walked back to the tour bus, hand in hand. There was something calming about this version of Kurt. He wasn't creepy, he wasn't awkward, he was just... there. He was present. And this version of him was all I wanted.

As if on cue, all my thoughts were confirmed as he abruptly stopped walking, pulling me into him by my waist and kissing me full on the lips, shoving his tongue down my throat. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and he grasped at every inch of me, feeling the curves of my hips that I was always insecure about, telling me under his breath that I was so hot.

It seemed like no time had passed at all. He kissed down my neck and I asked myself what I'd done to get myself in this exact point in time. Maybe it was the drugs— But all I felt was sheer ecstasy.

We finally broke apart. I looked up to see his eyes, hungry with lust, and then I realized that maybe he didn't want to be with me for me. Maybe he was only in it for sex. That's what rock stars did. I debated with myself for a few seconds, hoping that I could find some genuine parts of him to prove myself wrong. But before I came to a conclusion, my mouth spoke for me.

"I need more time. I don't know what I want," I whispered, and Kurt's eyebrows furrowed.

"So this meant absolutely nothing?"

"No, this meant so many things that I'm overwhelmed. I just need some time and I need you to respect my choice," I said, and I felt myself immediately regret my words as Kurt's heart broke right in front of my eyes.

"Fine. If that's what you want, I'll respect it. You can have all the time in the world."

He meant that literally, as we were dropped from tour that evening after the show.

END OF PART I