Hands

                                    

                                          
Gathering my senses, I realised this must be some kind of coma induced dream after hitting my head. This can't be real, no matter how incredibly vivid he appears. I looked at him, stood on the other side of the corridor to me, waiting for me to say something.
                          
"I'm so sorry, I'm a bit disoriented. I vaguely remember getting completely baked and my friend dragging me here. I don't really remember much else. My sincerest apologies for passing out in your corridor."
                          
"Ah, it's fine, I do it all the time. Nothing new here," he chuckled. I laughed too, until that made me stumble and him have to grab me by the arm to pull me upright. Concern was written all over his face, people don't tend to stumble when they're stood still, leaning against a wall. And yet all I could think of was how it was shame he didn't but his hand back on my side again in this incredibly vivid dream.
                          
"Look, I was gonna ask you to go since most people have left. But, since you're alone, it's four in the morning, and you're still clearly wasted, I can't in good conscience kick you out. Do you want to sleep on the sofa or something, and we could call your friend or something tomorrow?"
                          
Fucking hell. Kurt Cobain asked if I wanted to stay over. I hugged him and nodded.
                          
"Shit, thank you so much. I don't know the area very well, I'd have no clue where to go if you sent me packing. Do you want help clearing up? It's the least I can do."
                          
He looked surprised that I'd asked. I supposed most people expect things of him with nothing in return now he's all rich and famous.
"You don't have to do that. I reckon you could do with a lie down more than anything."
                          
"Sorry Kurt, I insist. It looks like a big house, it could take you the rest of your night-"
"Really, it's okay-"
I placed my hand over his mouth.
"No if's or but's, you need help and I'm here to give it to you. I shall not rest until all the drug paraphernalia that I am sure is scattered throughout this house is cleared. That is final."
He stared at me, and I stared back. I then realised I still had my hand on his mouth. I had my hand on his mouth. I was touching Kurt Cobain's face. I quickly snatched it off, before it got too weird. It was probably already past that though so I laughed and apologised, bringing my eyes to my hand instead. The hand that touched him. Him. Fucking insane.
                          
He finally gave in and shook his head, waving for me to follow him into the kitchen via the living room. I stared around, wide eyed taking in all the details I could. The massive, expensive looking TV and the worn out leather sofa; all the pictures of Frances dotted around on the posh marble counter top; the messy collages of births, foetuses and vaginas hanging on the walls; it was all very contrasting, like two worlds colliding, and really not meshing very well. I decided not to think about that too much.
                          
Focusing on the decor rather than where you're walking, while high might I add, turned out to be the wrong decision when I ended up tripping over my feet again. Apparently when one is in a strangely vivid coma dream, one loses one's sense of balance. This time I caught myself on the countertop however rather than him having to save me. Again. Not that I would mind at all. 
Kurt turned around to make sure I hadn't landed on the floor, and when I gave him a thumbs up he smiled and poured me a glass of water. He then led me over to the table on the other side of the kitchen by holding onto my shoulders and setting me down on a chair. I felt a bit babied but I didn't mind since it was my total idol doing it. Anyone else and I'd have shoved them off. Not him though. So I obediently drank my water, and felt a bit more like myself afterwards.
                          
"By the way, you seem to know mine, but I didn't catch your name."
                          
"It's Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Effy. Effy Waits."
                          
"Well Effy Waits, it is a pleasure to meet you," He said, giving me his hand to shake. I gave him the best handshake I could possibly muster. As my dad always said, the handshake maketh the man. Kurt's hand was very warm and soft. I could hold onto that damn hand forever. But cleaning needed commencing.
                          
I asked him for a bin bag, and he laughed and gave me a 'trash bag', as he called it, and begun collecting up empty beer cans, wine bottles and cigarette butts downstairs while Kurt worked on the rest upstairs. I collected up the lighters and put them on the kitchen counter, along with any baggies that weren't empty because it was far too much of a waste to bin them. I didn't snoop, no matter how good of an opportunity it was, because I couldn't betray his trust, even if I was just dreaming.
                          
 After tying up the now full bag of rubbish, I felt completely wiped out so I sat on the sofa. I then laid down on the sofa by no choice of my own. I looked at my hand, that had so realistically touched him, one last time before the exhaustion of the night caught up with me and I went out like a light.



                          
Hi! I decided to come back to this fanfic now I have some better ideas for where the story is going to go. Please let me know what you think and point out any grammatical errors or anything that you spot. It kills me when I'm reading things that don't use correct grammar which is partly why I decided to write this - so I could give people a well written Kurt Cobain fanfiction. It appears that many well written ones have sprouted out of the ground since I begun this almost a year ago, and now I'm just happy to be adding to the collection. Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed :)