[layout credit goes to vicki because she's awesome :) and this outfit sucks but it has a story behind it, wait for it!]
Monday; Bring out your inner kid and head to the Adult Arcade located just off the the Strip, alcohol and pizza served all night.
I stormed into the kitchen and dropped all my clothes on the nearest, cleanest table i could find.
"Mamma Mia! Did they throw you out, little bambina? Oh, I hate those Americans! They and their money! And dates and who cares? I don't, bambina! And you can sta-"
"They didn't throw me out", I interrupted her quickly before she could get too excited over the fact, that I would move in. She had often subtle hinted about it – subtle for an Italian woman in her fifties – and I couldn't ignore the little spark in her eyes, that disappeared once she heard my words.
"Then why are you here with all your clothes?", she asked, less interested.
"A, those aren't all my clothes. B, I-"
"You American girls and your clothes! When I was young, I didn't have half as much as you are carrying with you! I could put all my clothes in one plastic bag! You are spoiled little bambinas, you have to be taught the hard way! Yes, yes you have, don't you agree Davide?"
Davide came and stood next to his mother, tilted his gorgeous head with that thick hair to the side and winked at me. "I don't mind her dressing up at all. Even though I'd prefer her au natural", he said in his thick Italian accent with that deep, harsh and yet so soft voice. I chuckled while his mother turned all red and hit him in his stomach. Good move, Mama. Without any force, he pulled her hands away from him and walked over to the table, shuffling through the clothes and then he held a black leather bustier up.
I rolled my eyes, out of the corner of my eyes I could see Mama turn more red and then stomp away. I turned my gaze back Davide who was now sitting on the table and staring at me. Fuck his eyes, talk about intensity.
"So, what's this all about, bambina?"
"I need help with an outfit. You Italians are good at this, right?"
"We're also good at fucking but you don't take my help there."
I simply at him when he chuckled. "I mean it. This has to be a perfect outfit."
"For Mr Perfect?"
"Are you serious?"
"I wouldn't make all of this fuss for a guy and there's not Mr Perfect."
"I need a Rock 'N Roll outfit."
I shrugged. This was weird. "I need an outfit that screams Rock 'N Roll."
"Why would you want that?"
"Because … why are you so curious?!"
"Don't worry, bambina, I won't go and expose your big secret to the swam of piranhas outside", he replied sarcastically.
Ugh. How I could hate him. "I'm meeting Krist."
"Krist as in THE Krist?"
"He's here because he wants to talk to me about going to the exhibition with him."
"But you don't want that."
"I don't want that."
"Then why don't you just tell the poor old guy that on the telephone?"
"I did. But he doesn't buy it. I think there might be something more, too."
"I don't know. I wanna find out. But I have to impress him. I have to look like a Rock 'N Roll queen. Like … a punk leader."
"You have to look like Kurt Cobain's daughter."
I froze for a brief second. Wow. How he could say that so easily. It just slipped out of his mouth while I started choking when I thought about my dad's name.
"Can I remind you of something?"
I shrugged. This might take a while, so I pulled myself up and sat next to him on the chair, the pile of clothes between us. People were still rushing around here, getting food ready, screaming at each other and Mama kept getting redder and redder. Donta messa wizz mayy-e saussa.
"You ARE his daughter, remember?"
"You know what I mean. All this fuss about looking like your dad's daughter, you don't need that. You are his daughter, he is your father. Your clothes don't matter, it only matters that out of all those Rock 'N Roll wannabees, you are the only one with the last name Cobain and you are the only one who called him Daddy and you are the only one-"
"I get it."
He stayed silent and for a moment I couldn't bear the silence between us. "Everything you said was right. But if I tell you that it makes me feel closer to him and his word, when I dress according to his … lifestyle, will you still help me?"
He looked at me and for a brief second I as seriously thinking, he'd say no. But then he looked at the pile of clothes between us and pulled a Marilyn Monroe T-shirt out of it. "Do you have any Jeggings?"
I parked the car and stepped outside the car, immediately surrounded by masses of people. Gosh, this was disgusting. And I thought this would be somehow exclusive, now every frigging tourist in Nevada seemed to be here, plus the whole population of balding perverted men in white tanktops. I pushed myself through the whole people, nodded at the security man and entered. God, this was ridiculous.
Immediately I scanned the place for Krist and then I saw him, sitting somewhere and winking, a huge smile on his face. Even though I was terrified as hell, I had to grin back and then I walked slowly to him. He stood up, opened his arms and I walked right into them.
"Hey, baby", he greeted me softly.
I smiled and hugged him back. "Hey, Krist."
"Look at you! He'd be so proud of you", he said, his smile fading a way a bit. I shrugged uncomfortably and sat down.
"So, what you taking? Drinks on me."
"One Bloody Mary, please."
He walked to the bar and I had time to get my breathing under control again. In, Out, In, Out, In, Out. Relax. Calm. He's not here to eat you. What happens, happens. Get over yourself and over it. Good. Calm. Really calm. Good. See? Eas-
"Here you go."
Fuck. I stared at him, my heartbeat racing again. This was tougher than I expected it to be. "Thanks."
"So, how you've been?"
"Uhm. Good", I replied shortly, hoping he didn't expect more of me. My voice was shaking like hell and I didn't want him to see that. I sat up straight, simply to show him how big and how much I was.
"How's school?" Uhm, fuck. School.
"Uhm. Anything … exciting?", he smiled shyly.
"Ugh. How do you say something like this?" Fuckfuckfuck.
"Something like what?", I replied.
"Okay, I'll just say it."
I nodded. Sharp and quick. Deadly.
"Your mother. She … wanted to hear about you. She says you don't pick up and when you talk, you don't exactly talk. She wants to know how you are. She wants to know about your life, about … boys, trouble, your friends, your life in general, you know?"
Ouch. I stared at him. Heartbeat gone. Dead. "Tell my mom I only pay back."
"What's the deal with the exhibition?", I cut him off, my voice now sharp and cold.
"Just so you know, he would hate it."
"Don't. Listen to me. I might have been … really young when it happened. I might have only known him for … two years. But I'm his daughter. I've seen sides to him you never saw. He opened up to me. He loved me like he loved no one else. And I remember every single second and moment of those two years. I remember his smile, I remember the way his hair used to fall in his face. And I remember him. I remember his personality and how he hated how people mainstreamed him. He hated it. He hated all the publicity. He just wanted to make music. But it got out of control and he hated it. He friggin hated it. He nev-"
"He's dead, Sky."
I flinched and in a quick movement I had slapped him across the face. Fuck. "Don't."
He stared at me. I stood up and straightened my shirt. "Listen to me, Krist. He's dead. But I'm alive. And I'm his daughter and he's my father and I have no intentions of living and seeing you do something he would have hated. Screw you."
Without looking back, I forced myself to stand up high and walk full of confidence to the bathroom, even though the only thing I wanted was to just sit down right there on the floor and just fade away. It's better to burn out than fade away. Fuck. I really wasn't like him. I walked into the WC and went into one of the toilets, locked the door. I sat down and sat there. I just sat there, staring onto the white door and once I found a black spot, I started crying.
I cried for a while, until I couldn't feel my eyes anymore and I couldn't cry anymore. I stood up, walked outside and stood in front of the mirror, checking my face. I looked horrible. Terrifying. I sighed, washing my face. When I looked up again, a small brunette girl was standing next to me. Oh, I knew her.
"Hey", she said. Oh, I definitely knew that voice.
I didn't reply but I looked at her reflection in the mirror.
I turned around and looked at her.
"What happened to your face?", she asked absolutely serious. I stared at her and then I had to laugh. Ohgodohgod.
"You don't wanna know."
"Actually, I do."
I smirked. "It's actually nothing", I lied perfectly without blinking once.
"Right. So your eyes are naturally red like a firetruck."
I grinned. "One of a kind, mon chérie."
"Do you wanna get drunk?"
I nodded. "The magic words to happiness", I grinned and followed her outside the bathroom. We made our way to the bar and sat down.
"What can I get you?"
She told him what she wanted while I thought about this. This was a really, really heavy question. "The strongest thing you have. Make it stronger and give it to me."
I heard Holly chuckle. Good, at least I could make a good entertainment.
"So why do you want to get drunk?", I asked her curiously.
"There's always a reason to get drunk."
"Wise words, sister."
I took the drink from the bartender and in a quick movement, I had half the drink inside me.
"Woaah!", I heard the bartender and I heard Holly chuckle again and then I forgot. Everything after that is a blur. Holly disappeared somewhere, I think she was drunk enough to chase this weird guy I had no absolutely no idea about, screaming he was Bon Jovi. Maybe he was. I wasn't exactly the right one to decide that.
I stumbled outside the place and looked around. Ouw. Looked like I was going to be camping tonight. Exciting. I chuckled and tried to walk. Ouch. Better not try.
"Woaah!", I heard a girly voice say. Oh, girly voice of the girl I nearly fell on.
"Heey, take it easy!"
I looked at her and tilted my head to the side. Wow, she looked really familiar.
"Shit, you are Lenny! You are the Shit!"
"Ouch. Fuck, you can't drive."
I giggled. "Can I driveee? Let me drive! I wanna drive!"
"Do you know where you live?"
"In a tent?"
"Oh là là."
"Lenny, you speak French?"
And then another blur. The last thing I remember was getting in car – not mine – and her looking around in my purse. Then another blur. And then someone was carrying me out of the car.
"Do you know her?"
"Yeah, thank you. Do you know what happened?"
"No, I only found her there and the most dialed number said Davide."
"Well, thank you. I'll take care of her."