Drama Queen (Kurt Cobain)

76

I don't do trigger warnings on my other story because it revolves around homicidal thoughts but just a lil warning.

I had to plan it, plot it correctly. River was gone every day doing something I didn't know, something I may never know. He was gone from three to five, every day. And sometimes, on Fridays, he was gone from 8 to an hour I didn't even know.

I had to get him to take Frances with him at three. River was sitting beside me in bed a worried look on his face, he felt the way I did. Guilt seeped through his pores, filled every crack in the room. Where the drywall took a tear, it was filled with collective guilt. It rose to the ceiling like heat, his jaw clenched, trying to keep guilt from filling his hollow places. Guilt radiated off him, guilt shone through the blueish green parts of his eyes. Feeble attempts to fight it away.
"Rio?" I asked, looking at the clock. It was two thirty when he woke me up, it was now, about three.
"Can you take Frances when you go out?" I asked. He nodded slightly as he got up, his naked body sloppily clothed in the low light from the slivers between the blinds. 
"I'll be back at 5." He said and weakly smiled at me.
"Okay."

I heard the front door shut moments later. I got up and ran to the bathroom. I raided the medicine cabinet for a moment, but then I remembered.

I had Kurt's box.

I got it from it's hiding place, it was screwed within the television, I unscrewed the back and retrieved the small floral container. I opened the lid, it contained a spoon, a lighter, the powder, and a few needles.

I picked out a clean needle, or one that didn't have blood on it at least. If Kurt was the only person using it, it didn't matter. They said 25mg was enough to kill a first time user, but I heated up 50.

The substance in the syringe, the needle stuck in my hand, filled up half way. That syringe held a gram, I had no clue how anyone could take that much without dying. I pushed the back of the syringe and moments later I felt a rush of warmth. I gently pulled out the syringe before I nodded off too much, then I laid back on the floor waiting to die. My heartbeat slowed, my vision turned black.

"It's me! I forgot Frances's bottle!" I heard a voice say and footsteps come up the stairs.

"Holy shit." The same voice said. I felt a hand on my pulse.
"Shit." He said again. He grabbed the phone that sat on the table beside the couch and talked to who I assumed was the 911 operator, and then, I stopped hearing, I stopped. Then I couldn't think anymore.