Live Through This [Kurtney fan-fic]

Are you mad? [PT. 5]

It’s almost been 22 hours since my husband, Kurt Cobain, tried to overdose in our hotel suite. He did it because he thought I no longer cared for him, because he thought our family was falling apart. What an idiot! If I didn’t care why would I still be here? Why would I have spent the entire fucking day curled up in this rock hard hospital chair praying that he’d be alright? Would a wife who didn’t care do that? I don’t think so! God, I’m so tired. The little sleep I got last night did nothing for me. In a desperate attempt to get some much need rest I close my eyes and lean back against the chair’s rough leather. Of course, with my shitty luck, the little power nap doesn’t last long: I’m soon greeted by a familiar voice.

“Courtney? Hey, how you holding up?”

 It takes all the strength I can muster just to reopen my eyes but, when I finally manage it, I’m staring up at good ole Dave. He flashes me a strained smile as he plops down in the empty chair next to mine. I put up no protest: after being here alone all day I’m glad to have the company. I also can’t help but notice that he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. I lick my lips at the sight, I haven’t eaten or drank anything since I’ve been here and  I’m famished.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to lie,” he says as he extends his arm and offers me one of the cups, “I know I’m not fine so I can only imagine how you feel.” I shrug and take a small sip of coffee. “So, uh, where’s Bean?”

“She’s still at the hotel with the nanny. I didn’t think she should be here for this.” I motion around to the depressing, half empty waiting room.

“Yeah, you’re right. So, listen,” he begins, “Have the doctors told you anything yet? You know, have they said when they think he might wake up?”

Ha, I wish! Kurt’s been in a 20 hour coma and I haven’t heard so much as a peep from the doctors since a few hours after arriving.

“We’ve pumped his stomach but he’s still not conscious,” the dark hair doctor had informed me.

“So?” I angrily questioned him, “Do something! Wake him up! You’ve got tons of machines and medicines back there, use them on my husband!”

“It’s not like that, Mrs. Cobain,” he sighed and stuffed his hands deep into his long, white coat, “I assure you that we’ve done everything in our power to try and wake him. It’s not as easy as giving him some pill or putting him through some device, if it was we would have done it already. I’m afraid this is going to be the hardest part,” he shakes his head, “because now all we can do is wait and see what happens.”

I think Dave can tell I’ve spaced out because he places his cold hand on my knee as if to say ‘Hello, anybody in there?’

“I don’t know,” is my only answer, “They haven’t told me much of anything.”

“We’ll that’s bullshit!” He jumps up from the chair, “Where’s the office in this place? We need to find out what’s happening.”

“Dave, that’s just it! Nothing’s happening! They said they’d come out and get me if he woke up, but he hasn’t!” I feel tears start to burn in my eyes, “He just hasn’t.”

Dave sits back down. “I just don’t understand why he did it, Courtney. Do you have any idea?”

“No,” I lie.

“Well I’m supposed to meet Krist in a half an hour,” he tells me, “I just came to see how Kurt was doing. Since nothing’s changed I better get going…”

“Fine.”

“You’ll call me if he wakes up, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll call.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon. Bye, Courtney.”

And just like that I’m alone again. After seeing such concern and doubt on Dave’s face I really start to freak out. I’m glad I was able to hold back my tears while he was still in the room but as soon as he turns the corner they begin to fall with a vengeance. Within seconds I’m sobbing uncontrollably. To try and hide my shame I bury my face in my hands. What am I going to do if Kurt doesn’t make it? How am I going to be able to raise our daughter by myself? Neither Frances nor I deserve this, so why is it happening? These questions and about 1,000 others crowd my thoughts for the next half hour. Just when I think I’m about to really lose it I feel a slight tap on my shoulder.

“Mrs. Cobain?” An older, short woman in light blue scrubs addresses me, “It’s your husband: he’s woken up! Come with me and I’ll take you back to see him.”

I almost choke on my own spit when I hear that. I quickly wipe my face clean and follow the nurse back to a small room. She opens the door and walks right in but I hesitate a moment. Am I really prepared to see what’s inside?

“Well come on in, sweetie,” she grabs my hand, “Ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

I take a deep breath as I let her lead me inside. There, neatly tucked into a small hospital bed, is a shirtless Kurt. It’s overwhelming to see him lying there hooked up to all machines but somehow I don’t cry. Instead I walk around to the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead he just stares straight ahead at the wall.

“Kurt?” I whimper. He doesn’t respond.

“Don’t take it personal, he can’t talk right now. Here,” the nurse hands him a bloc note and a pen, “Use this. Well I guess I’ll leave you two alone. Just buzz if you need anything.”

As soon as she’s gone Kurt starts to scribble on the pad. ‘Fuck you,’ it reads, followed by ‘Get these fucking tubes out of my nose.’ He gives me an angry scoff but I ignore it and crawl right up into that little bed and lay beside him.

“You’re such a loser,” I whisper in his ear, “I wouldn’t ever want to divorce you. Are you mad?”

Then, as uncomfortable as I’m sure it was for him, we fuck on that very spot. He needed it, I needed it, and I think it’s pretty obvious that our marriage needed it.  Hell, I wouldn’t have cared if someone had walked right in and caught us in the act. No, the only thing I cared about was that my husband was alive and well, and you better believe I'll do whatever it takes to keep him that way.