The Sun is Gone

Truths

Liz's POV

I worried about Kurt so much after the night I had seen him use heroin. I was so afraid for him. He said that he hadn't been using a lot, and I believed him because I had never really seen him looking strung out or anything. I called him on the phone really often—maybe more often than I should have—but he never seemed to mind.
He always sounded like he was doing okay. He assured me that he wasn't using and I believed him. But I knew how strong the power of drugs could be, and I knew Kurt's personality. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew he was the type that addiction would latch on to. I knew because I felt it too, and we were too much the same in that regard. I had gone down a dangerous enough path with morphine when I was younger to know that.
Kurt's life was challenging for him. I worried about his fame. Sometimes I'd see a photo or a video clip of him somewhere and even though the world didn't see the strain and struggle in his face—in his eyes—I could.
I'd seen him in person two times since the heroin incident and he seemed to be doing well. I didn't notice any track marks on his skin and he looked healthy.
The two of us were as good as we could be considering the situation. I had taken a part-time job as an editor at a small local magazine, which was the only work I could find for right now. I only spent two days a week in the office so I still had a lot of free time, which made seeing Kurt pretty easy. Still, there was a part of me that felt horribly, horribly guilty. And not just because of Craig.
I was scared to be with Kurt publicly. I didn't want to admit it to him, even though I think he already knew. I was terrified of the spotlight. I didn't want to be in magazines or on television. I didn't want people like Craig writing articles about me. I cringed thinking about it. I didn't know how Kurt did it. I didn't deserve him. I was a coward who wouldn't truly stand by his side. Did that mean I didn't love him enough? I was terrified to think that the answer to that question might be "yes".
Today, I was meeting Kurt a little further outside of the city. We were running out of places to go and we didn't like to go to the same place multiple times because that meant a higher risk of a bunch of people recognizing Kurt.
It was about a twenty minute drive, which went by quickly as I played my cassette copy of Surfer Rosa and sang along to the Pixies. It made me think of Kurt and I smiled most of the way. I couldn't wait to see him!
I knocked on the door of our motel room, knowing he was already inside.
He swung the door open, wearing a smile, but he looked weary—unshaven, tired and a little frail. But he stretched his arms out for me like always and I fit into them perfectly as he embraced me.
"Sweetheart," he whispered softly into my hair. "I love you."
"I love you too, Kurt. I missed you."
"I always miss you." For a few minutes we didn't let one another go. It seemed like I was always having to let go of him too soon.
"Are you okay, hon?" I asked him gently when we loosened our embrace and I could look at his face.
"My stomach has been bothering me," he answered. "I've just been resting."
"I'll rest with you," I offered. We stretched out on the bed and I rested gently against him.
We talked about my new job. Kurt said he wanted to hear about anything other than his own life, which I found disheartening. I did ask about Krist and Dave. I really missed seeing them. It had been a while. Kurt assured me that they were, in his own words, "still the same assholes as ever." That made me smile.
We relaxed in silence for a while. Kurt wasn't particularly talkative when he didn't feel well, but that didn't bother me. I loved just being in his comforting presence.
I guess I dozed off, because when I awoke it was dark and Kurt wasn't in bed with me. I saw a light coming from under the bathroom door.
"Kurt!" I called after a moment, climbing out of bed. He didn't answer. I hoped he wasn't getting sick again.
"Kurt?" I knocked on the bathroom door. He still didn't answer me. I tried the knob but the door was locked. That was strange. Kurt would normally never lock the door. My heart started racing and my stomach twisted into a knot.
"Kurt!" I shouted more loudly, pounding my fist against the door, and wondering if I would be able to break it down or who I could get to help me.
"Kurt!" I screamed even louder, considering whether taking a running leap at the door might bust it down. It looked really old.
"Just a minute!" I heard Kurt's weak reply finally. Thank God, at least he wasn't dead or dying.
"Kurt, open the door," I begged. "Please."
"I—I can't." Kurt's voice was strangled and frail.
"Please, Kurt. I just need to know you're okay."
"I lied to you, Liz. You should just leave. Leave me here to rot."
"Kurt, we will talk about getting you help. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I just want to see you," I begged, tears falling from my cheeks. There was a moment of silence and I heard the door unlock. I yanked open the door to find Kurt on his knees on the other side looking faint, his skin flushed. He wouldn't meet my eyes.
I fell to my knees in front of him.
"Kurt." I wrapped my arms around him. I knew I should have been angry but my concern overwhelmed my anger so much that I couldn't stay angry.
He slumped over, half conscious, resting his head into my lap as I sat cross legged on the floor.
"Liz, I fucked up," he said slowly, as I stroked my hands through his hair. "I used when I told you I wouldn't."
"Kurt, it's okay. It's okay. I love you. I want to help you."
"But I promised you, and I broke my promise because I am a horrible piece of shit that needs to die."
"Kurt! Please stop," I begged. "It's okay. I promise it's okay. I just need you to be okay." I fought back my tears so hard, but they came anyway. I bit my lip hard trying to hold them back. I didn't want Kurt to see how upset I was. I kissed his forehead and held him close, praying to a God that I didn't even believe in that somehow he would get better—that somehow we'd get through this together.