Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

The rain hadn't ceased and her mind felt foggy, scattered—pieces of last night flitted through her memory, but nothing seemed to stick. She pushed herself up and glanced around. The room looked... wrong. Clothes were tossed haphazardly across the floor, the table was cluttered with cigarette butts and the air felt thick, heavy. Her heart skipped a beat, but then she looked over to Kurt, who was still lying beside her, and she let out a slow breath. At least he was here.

That little comfort didn't last long. Her stomach churned violently, and without a second thought, she bolted to the bathroom. Collapsing in front of the toilet, her body retched, though there was nothing in her stomach to give. The nausea gripped her, making her dizzy and weak.

"I told you so," Kurt's voice sounded low but unsurprised. Faye managed to look up and saw him standing on the doorway. He knelt beside her, pulling her hair back. He then assisted her in standing, her body feeling weak and unsteady.

"Those will help." he said, motioning toward the bedside table. A wave of shame washing over her. What had she done? How could she have wanted that? She didn't even feel the rush anymore—just sickness, emptiness.

"Thanks," she mumbled, taking the pills and washing them down with a few sips of water before crawling back under the covers.

Kurt laid on his side, watching her. His face was unreadable, there was something in his eyes she couldn't quite place. Disappointment? Sadness? He didn't say anything. Neither did she. Faye closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear into the mattress, wishing she could undo everything.

"I guess you're not going to work today," he said, glancing at his watch.

Faye mumbled, still half-buried under the covers, "I will."

"Well, then you should hurry."

She grabbed his wrist and looked at the time, her eyes widening when she realized she had only thirty minutes to make it. "Fuck it," she groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. "I'll call in sick. I've never done it anyway."

"You sure?" Kurt asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he rolled onto his back.

"Well, I am sick." She dragged herself over to the bedside phone, dialing her workplace. The conversation was short—an explanation of not feeling well, the obligatory apology. Once it was done, she hung up and slid back into bed. But the quiet that followed felt heavier than before.

"You feel like that because of last night". Kurt stared at the ceiling, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on his chest. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair. "This was a bad idea."

She gave him a side glance. "Are you going to lecture me now?" For as terrible as she felt, she wouldn't admit it. And, deep down, she didn't regret it.

"No, I'm not trying to lecture you," he said, his tone defensive. "I'm just saying... maybe you should've thought about it before."

"Oh, come on," Faye snapped. "You're seriously going to put this all on me? You were the one doing it in the first place!"

Kurt sat up, looking her in the eyes. "Yeah, but I didn't ask you to join me. You can't act like I pushed you into it."

"I never said you pushed me into anything! But don't stand there and pretend like you weren't okay with it."

"I wasn't—" he started, but then stopped, frustration building in his face. "You don't get it, do you? I hate that you did it. I didn't want you to. I didn't think you'd actually..."

"Now you're the one feeling guilty?"

"It's not about feeling guilty, it's just... fuck, Faye. You don't know what this shit does." His voice rose, more agitated now.