The Sun is Gone

Noticed

January, 1994

Kurt's POV

I kept seeing Liz as often as I could after our time in New York. I snuck to her apartment just like old times. Courtney and I bought a house in Seattle and I brought Liz there sometimes too.
I don't think there was anyone more irresponsible or reckless than I'd become. Drugs and Liz, Liz and drugs. She was like a drug to me, but I still couldn't stop the other one. I didn't want to anymore. I was far past the point of caring.
The time while I'd been on tour for In Utero had been tricky. I had seen her when I could. She either flew to stay nearby to where I was sometimes, and I had brief chances to come home. I still missed her way too much. Now I had a brief break before I was back to Europe again. I didn't want to think about that.
We hadn't been discussing anything about me and Courtney getting divorced or she and Craig splitting up. When we were together, it was like we didn't want to have to think. We barely even talked sometimes. We just needed one another. I still told her I loved her, but part of me worried if the love had grown into obsession.
How stupid Craig had to be not to know anything was going on. Liz was a reckless as me. She flew off to see me whenever she could, creating thinly veiled lies that he never seemed to question.
As for Courtney and I, we cycled through indifference, attempts at love, and explosive fights pretty regularly. It stressed me out. I felt so trapped and suffocated most of the time. The only thing that made me feel any sense of joy anymore was my little girl. But even that joy was tarnished with worry of what this world would do to her.
I felt like I was coming undone at the seams. I used and used until I passed the point of nodding out, passed out, feeling my shallow breaths. More and more often I wished I'd never fucking wake up again. I felt so sick over everything—mentally, physically.
I couldn't look at my reflection anymore. I was the worst possible version of me. Frail and sickly, sallow skin and permanent dark circles under my eyes. I looked like walking death. I was a liar, a cheater, the scum of the earth. I didn't deserve my baby—my little bean. She'd be so much better off without a father like me.
Clips from concerts and interviews made me cringe. I was starting to hate music. I was a zombie, going through motions. Whole chunks of my memory seemed to vanish into a haze. I often didn't know what city I was in or when I was supposed to show up where, and I didn't give a single fuck about any of it.
I knew Liz saw what was happening to me. I knew it pained her and that was another reason I wished I could end this miserable existence. I hated causing her pain, even though she never spoke about it.
When I left needles in her bathroom, she just quietly cleaned them up. When she ran her hands over my body and saw all the track marks she just traced them with her fingers silently, sadly, like in a way she was already saying goodbye. But she never chastised me anymore. I almost wished she would. It seemed like even she thought I was a lost cause. And if that were true then I was honestly ready to give up. Without her there was nothing worth living for.

Liz's POV

All I could think about was Kurt—seeing Kurt, being with Kurt. The reckless way we'd been acting the last few months had a lot of thrill to it, for the sake of it being so wrong. I couldn't explain how or why I'd gotten so into it, but I couldn't get enough of him.
He scared me to death with his heroin use. But I didn't even mention it to him anymore. I wanted him around—needed him around—too much to say anything that would send him away.
He was my addiction. I craved the sneaking around, daring to see one another in different cities, in each other's houses. I was obsessed with the way he made me feel when I was with him. I never wanted it to stop.
In the back of my mind, I knew things weren't right. Everything we were doing was wrong, but I was past the point of caring. I neglected every other area of my life to be with Kurt, despite warnings about my performance at work and being so distant from Craig that I didn't even know how our so-called relationship was staying together. If Kurt called, I went running to him, and he did the same for me as much as he could.
I didn't have dreams of us being together in the public eye anymore. I didn't have dreams. I knew he wasn't leaving Courtney, even if he wasn't happy with her. I knew the fought at times and still got along at others. I was pretty sure she still knew about me, and under the impression she didn't really care. At least that's what I told myself in order to feel better.
One afternoon when I wasn't busy, I stopped by the local grocery store to pick up a few things for my apartment. The checkout line was long, and I found myself staring at the magazines and tabloids at the counter, mindlessly gazing, until one caught my eye. 'Does Kurt Cobain Have a Secret Mistress?" read a headline on one of the tabloids. Below was a blurry photograph of the two of us entering his house, well beyond the gate where no one should have easily been able to see. All that was recognizable about me was my brown hair, thankfully. But my blood ran cold. Who had taken this photo? What else did they know?
I ripped the magazine off the shelf, hastily thumbing through it. I quickly deduced that whoever wrote this garbage didn't know anything about me—just that I obviously wasn't Courtney. But something about seeing my picture on a magazine cover, and reading that headline, shook me to my core.
As soon as I was home, I called Kurt.
"Hey sweetheart," he answered the phone on the first ring. "Are you coming over today?"
"Kurt, I have to tell you what I saw at the store today," I answered.
"What?" He asked.
"There was a tabloid that had a picture of us on it," I answered. "A blurry one, but still a picture."
"Okay," Kurt answered. "Are you really surprised? Those fuckers always find me. Don't worry about it." The way he brushed it off made me frustrated and envious.
"But who do you think knows?" I asked.
"No one," Kurt answered tiredly. "Just some random person trying to make some money off of me. Trust me, it's no big deal."
"Okay," I answered nervously. He was probably right.
"Now will you please come over here? I miss you." I thought for a moment. No matter what, I couldn't resist him. I wouldn't give him up.
"Sure, I'll be over." I answered, hanging up the phone.