About a Girl

I awoke floating under a warm sea. It was quite peaceful there and I didn’t want to leave.

There was a heavy mass on top of me and restraining my movement. It took me a moment to realize that I was bundled up in covers in a bed. The sheets were warm and all-encompassing keeping my dark thoughts at bay if only for a moment. Beginning to stir, I fought my way to the surface of the blankets for fresh air.

I felt groggy, as if I hadn’t been able to stop moving or thinking for longest time. I rubbed my eyes fiercely, hoping to forcibly wake myself up. It didn’t really help. After another minute, I jumped in surprise realizing I wasn’t truly alone.

Kurt was in the bed beside me.

He had dozed off on the side of the bed next to me at some point. He finally awoke when he felt me begin to tug on the covers. I had no recollection of how I had ended up there and I immediately began to get upset.

“Kurt, what the hell am I doing here?” My eyes swam in a pool of angry tears. I didn’t want to feel taken advantage of in any way. Especially not after what had just happened with Cory. I sounded borderline crazy, “Why am I in bed?”

“Ally…” his voice trailed off, leaving a calming influence on me. He rubbed my hand for good measure and patiently explained, “You ran here, remember?”

“Not to bed.” I argued.

He smiled sadly, “Not like this. I wouldn’t do that.” His blue eyes looked honest and shone brightly in the dim lighting. True to his word, Kurt was even outside of the covers, lying on top of the bedspread, not under with me. His hand lingered as he added, “You told me not to leave.”

My brow furrowed, “I can’t remember any of this.”

Kurt seemed to have accepted the fact that all the details were not readily available in my memory. He only nodded, “That’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. That’s not my goal in this.”

My eyes burned with curiosity and my mind longed to ask, So what is your goal in this? But I knew this wasn’t the right time for any banter. I shifted my body under the covers and rested my head on the pillow. Kurt seemed to relax once I was settled again.

That feeling was short-lived. After a moment of indecision, he asked me quietly, “What happened last night?”

Last night. How much time had passed since I had been awake and functioning? That was a silly question though. I had been running on autopilot for years not allowing anyone to touch my emotions. Now I was standing at a precipice, wondering what the hell I should do with my feelings.

I swallowed and pushed that bubble of emotion away for further examination. I crossed into another realm into my mind. The one that housed my troubled soul. The one who had dealt with Cory’s tumultuous behavior and its repercussions.

My lip began to quiver, “He just… lost it.”

Trying to veil his anger, Kurt guessed, “It was Cory?”

I nodded slowly and stared at the lines on my palms. I began to realize that I must not have told him any of the story with the passing time. I spoke to my hands because it was easier than looking into Kurt’s eyes, “I don’t know how it all got so bad. We were just talking about old times, like collecting records…” My thoughts were so scattered it was hard to pull any coherent thoughts together. I pinched the bridge of my nose, “He was trying to get me to drink.”

Kurt sat patiently waiting for the story to unfold. He didn’t say anything and just let the story develop through my own memory. His demeanor calmed me and allowed me to venture into dangerous, personal territory. I admitted slowly, “He… he did punch me.”

Kurt said darkly, “I can tell.” I felt his eyes travel to my face, evaluating my bruises.

My body felt oddly empty as I recounted the events. Almost as if I had detached from my feelings and started compartmentalizing their significance into smaller and smaller boxes. The boxes began not to exist anymore because the emotions were so dissected. How can you react to throbbing heartstrings if they’re placed in a matchbox without a fire to set the emotions aflame? In that cool way, I tricked myself into believing those terrifying things had happened to someone else entirely.

My palms were still my method of distraction as I said evasively, “And my jeans were pulled down at some point…”

Kurt was not expecting this. He hit the headboard of the bed, but remained silent and red-faced.

I stared at him wide-eyed and didn’t know what to say. It felt a little strange. I felt obligated to help and comfort Kurt, but I was hurting so much inside. I didn’t have the drive to fight for a different outcome. I hugged my legs to my chest and offered a small consolation, “It’s fine though. I made it away before anything serious could happen.”

“That’s still not--. It’s just--.” Kurt couldn’t finish a complete sentence for an extended period of time. It took him a while to take control of his emotions. Finally, he summarized everything with a simple, “It’s fucked up.”

I nodded, weakly. I didn’t want to think about what had happened with Cory. If I could erase the memory completely, I would have. After a moment, the mix of emotional exhaustion and stress began to take its toll on me as I began to understand the gravity of the situation.

Wading out of the covers, I stood on my shaky feet and quickly threw a question at Kurt, “Where’s your bathroom? I think I’m going to get sick.”

His eyes grew wide and pointed to an adjoining door in the bedroom. Without hesitation, I ran to the bathroom feeling increasingly dizzy and out of place. My legs gave out on the cold linoleum floor and I took position near the toilet as my head swam.

My eyes began to tear up. I hated what was happening to me. Somehow, I felt as though Cory’s attack had been triggered by something I had done. I rationalized that this line of thinking was only part of the victimization cycle of reactions. I tried to convince myself I was okay and would get through this alone.

I couldn’t.

A knock came at the door of the bathroom as warning. “I’m coming in,” was the only warning Kurt gave me before he was kneeling beside me on the tiles.

“Please leave me alone,” I pleaded with him.

“I don’t care, Ally.” He almost laughed at my whining.

Stubbornly, I argued back, “I don’t want you to see me get sick. I’ll be fine.”

However, Kurt stayed close to me and rubbed my back gently to comfort me. Kurt’s voice echoed off of the linoleum as he said soothingly, “If you don’t stop breathing so quickly you will get sick.”

I hadn’t realized that my breathing had been uneven and shaky. I tried to take deep, steady breathes, but it was hard to concentrate. Focusing on the tiled floor, I tried to pull my mind back together. The repeating pattern of the floor only made me feel more ill.

After a few mental expletives, my body gave in to its internal screaming and I threw up in front of Kurt Cobain.