Where Did You Sleep Last Night? || Kurt Cobain

PROLOGUE

1988

Carrying a can of spray paint in one hand, a freshly rolled joint in the other, my best friend Stacey Keen continued getting her kicks by making various designs on the train bridge. A cloud of smoke left my mouth as I sighed heavily and shivered, regretting leaving my jacket at home. All I had covering my skinny body was a Ramones shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans that slowly found themselves getting freyed, the damage allowing cold air to seep through to my vulnerable skin.

This is how most kids my age lived-- I guess maybe not to the extreme of Stacey and I, but it's still the same old story. Those folks in blue down at the police station can't get any sleep because of how many old ladies with sticks up their asses keep blowing up their phone. The life of crime was the normal way to live. Wake up, ditch school, get your hands on as many drugs as possible, get high; sometimes you'd sneak in a fight or stealing a car. When night comes you'd get completly Lynyrd Skynyrd wasted and then the devil would decide your fate. Either you pass out in the streets or end up in the bed of a horny bear when all you both are looking for is the cheap pleasure of a good orgasm every once in awhile.

It's a small town, everyone knows everyone. Which in my opinion is a double edged sword. Sure, you'd hope that someone would come to your aid if you were about to get beaten to the point of death, but at the same time if you end up carrying a child from one of your one night affairs, everyone knows who the father was, and they also know your vulnerability. There isn't alot of respect for human life around here. You look at someone the wrong way you end up with a few teeth missing and a hell of a story to tell your densit.

You may ask me, why do people stay in such a hellhole? The answer to that is simple. It's all we've known. It's our "normal." We get eachother, but it's always a love hate relationship. The key to surviving? Having one person you trust. Two if you're lucky. Having more than double is more rare than a four leaf clover.

I have Stacey, and she has me. We've known eachother since we were fresh out of utero, and probobly could feel eachothers presence while being in utero as well. Since day one we knew we could rely on eachother more than our own biological family. She taught me how to put a tampon in for fucks sake. You may laugh, but I'm thankful for that little health lesson.

My family you ask? Where do I start. The Rothwell family tree is full of nothing but people with a tragic backstory that couldn't break the cycle. So, a long line of people took karma into their own hands. After turning 12 I knew exactly what my destiny was.

And I wish I wasn't right about that. Juvy is nothing but hell, all the screaming, spitting, banging on walls. It all fucking sucked. I wouldn't be surprised if some of those inmates had some form of post traumatic stress disorder from all the stuff they witnessed and experienced.

"Hey, Hedi! Check this out!" Stacey said loudly causing me to turn my attention towards her trying to do a yoga pose on the train tracks only to fall on her ass. "Damnit."

"You'll never have my skills." I smiled and playfully hit her on the shoulder. " We should go back now."

"Neither of us are near as high as we need to be." The blonde haired girl took another hit off of her joint and then passed it to me. "Just a few more hours."

"You're trippin on something." I laughed as I blew smoke into the air, smiling as it left my mouth. "Maybe those shrooms ain't agreeing with us, huh?"

"We'd better just not get caught." Stacey responded referring to some of the LSD we'd taken, as well as being out past the socially accepted curfew. She paused before beginning her next sentence, staring at some flashing lights in the distance. "Hedi.."

"FUCK!" I spat and began to panic. "FUCK FUCK FUCK!" The last time I got out of the juvy, I'd hoped and prayed that it was gonna be the last time. However, a bombshell of broken promises and relapses turned me around and took me back to the start. "We're fucked Stace."

"Not necessarily." Stacey reluctantly used comfort in her voice as the cars got closer to our location. I thought we could maybe try to run, but as it turned out many times before, that typical idea would backfire.

"God We're so fucked. They know all our little tricks." Becoming slightly more anxious, my mind raced with thoughts about the last time I'd arrested. It wasn't that long ago, and it was for something more serious in fact. Getting in fights was sort of in my blood, so I've been in the slammer enough times to get an image of a brawler.

The lights got even closer, and I repeated the same bullshit promise that I'd been saying in my mind for years. This is the last time.