The Boy With Blue Eyes {A Kurt Cobain Story}

Paper Cuts

1991:
I moaned from pain as I looked down at my now really cut up hands, wanting to scream from all the little ones littering my fingers.

Who knew writing shit could be so deadly.

I've just been doing this and that with one of Kurt's notebooks as they were recording, half out of it from the little bit of beer I had consumed a mere 40 minutes ago.

How I'm such a light weight considering my family genes, is beyond me.

So needless to say, I chucked the bottle at the wall and watched the remaining bit stream on down the wall like a river. It was entertaining enough to give my fucked up mind ideas.

And later, have Kurt whoop my ass for man handling his notebook to begin with.

But it's whatever right?

I bobbed my head back and fourth to the sounds of the chords Kurt had been experimenting with for a new song he came up with, of course with the help of a more recent girl.

I already forgot her name, that's how short of a time they were fucking.

I just stay out of the shit anymore. I ignored her. Drank. And drew.

We've been staying in some nice little apartment in LA for the recordings. And it's actually pretty fucking wicked.

LA life isn't all that bad I guess. Random fucks come up to you just to bug you or whatever. But it's funny. We usually attract the stoners, as Krist likes to say.

"Bean!"

I threw the notebook halfway across the world it felt from Kurt's sudden booming voice, my heart skipping a few beats I'm pretty sure.

And his blue eyes locked with mine upon entering the room, seeing his now scattered notebook on the ground, some pages still floating around the room.

And I died laughing. The beer and Kurt's facial expressions got my ass and let the laugh go.

Kurt of course stomped across the room and started picking up all of his things, when he stopped suddenly, looking down at one page in his right hand, the others dropping to his side.

"The drunks rule the world. And the druggies just help. Tip that bottle and suck it for all its worth, letting all the juices explode in your mouth..."

His eyes went wide from surprise as my laughter filled the room once more, my drawing taking him off guard it would seem.

It's of a man and woman, laying in a puddle of vomit with needles besides them, broken beer bottles littering the ground around them.

The man is out in space on whatever drug he felt like taking that day. And the woman is in slursville with her good buddy the beer.

A smile is on her face from the constant giggles she seems to not be able to hold back.

And a frown is on his, his eyes going crazy as he holds his head from the voices he keeps hearing.

And somehow, I think Kurt got all that from the looks he sent my way, the images telling the whole story of these two people that have clearly known each other for ages, going through the hell that is their life.

Sometimes anyway.

"Sorry KC. I got bored! And I just wanted to look. But then I got ideas..."

His eyes stayed locked with mine as he came to sit next to me, this intense look crossing his pale face.

And we just looked at each other, knowing the two people I drew, were inspired by us.

"It's... it's actually kind of beautiful in a way Bean. The man can't stop gazing from the corner of his eye at the woman. And the woman can't stop smiling as she gazes over at the man. They both are fucked. But love each other..."

My eyes went wide as he focused on the drawing harder, seeming to read into every little detail.

And then he softly placed it back into his notebook, leaving it as the first page visible once opening, his gaze coming back to mine.

I'm not the artist out of us two. Kurt is by far. But that? It came from out of nowhere.

"And maybe, the woman is so drunk because she can't handle the things she sees him do. She wants to help him. She just wants him. But somehow, it's like he's uncharted territory."

My heart kept picking up the pace as our gazes just remained in place, his body turning slightly more towards me, no trace of a smile upon his lips what so ever.

And no smile was on my drunk ones.

I felt like I was swaying in an ocean, the possibility of drowning not far off.

"Maybe, the dude stays so fucked up because sometimes he can't cope with the shit he's dealt. He fucks when he wants. Snorts when he wants. But the thing he wants the most, the one drug that's so enchanting, is the one he can't reach..."

I jumped up from my seat as my eyes just seemed to betray me, my stomach feeling like it was doing fucking summersaults, when I bolted from the room and into the little bathroom just down the hall, no time to slam the door as I fell to my knees.

And thankfully reaching the toilet, my stomach just feeling like it was gone now, my vision blurry from the tears jerked from me.

I fell back onto my ass with a thud and just lost it, my eyes having to be redder than all hell at this point.

What the fuck is going on...?