Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Life rocked me ultra softly

[A/N: Hey everyone, I usually don't leave notes before a chapter, but I want to do so this time because I think it might ruin the ending if I don't. It's been over a year since I started writing this, and wow, what a journey. I've been reflecting a lot, and honestly, I wish I could go back and do some things in different ways, but I'm learning this is all part of the process, you can't be better if you don't put yourself out there in the first place. I guess most of you have noticed by now that English is not my first language, which adds complexity to writing (I could talk endlessly about this), but the thing is that it's challenging if you've spent your whole life creating and being creative in your mother tongue and all of a sudden you want to do it differently. See, this is not an excuse for poor grammar or not being aware of cultural differences, it's just an addition to everything that evolves writing. I love having the chance to interact with some dear readers who, my goodness, I don't know how you keep up with this. I'd be exhausted. I kinda am. But I owe it to myself (and you) to finish this, not because it's an obligation, but to honor something I committed to. Thank you to those who took the time to read it, and thank you to those who are just jumping in (I'd probably do that if I were you).]

-x-

Faye stirred her coffee, staring into the swirling liquid, not quite ready to meet Kurt's eyes. She felt like an imposter in her own skin, ashamed of the mess she had made of herself and them. His eyes lingered on her, not only because he couldn't help himself, but also because he was searching for something—reassurance, maybe. Trying to get back to some sense of normalcy, they went for breakfast, an attempt to hold on to reality after what felt like a feverish dream.

"You sure you're gonna be fine on your own?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. 

"I'll be fine. I can't keep you from what you have to do. Besides, I'll be with my mom."

Their meals arrived, the warm, greasy scent of breakfast. Faye stared at the toast, the golden-brown crust seeming to mock her. Not because she wasn't physically hungry, but because of a heavy tightness that made even the thought of eating feel overwhelming. Some lingering nausea added to the equation.

Kurt picked up his fork, glancing at her with a firm look. "Eat," he said, pushing the plate closer to her. "Just a little, it'll help."

"I-I," she murmured, her eyes still fixed on the toast. "I didn't thank you for looking after me yesterday," she trailed off, her voice small.

"It's nothing, really. Just—" he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't want it to get that bad."

Faye's gaze finally shifted to meet his, a flicker of shame crossing her features. "I am so sorry. It's on me. I overdid it," she admitted, her tone heavy with guilt. "It got out of hand."

"I could've stopped you."

"No," she shook her head. "I liked zoning out too much. As if running from my life wasn't enough."

The words were thick and suffocating. Kurt studied her, trying to understand the extension of what she was saying. "You know this is not set and done, right?"

"I do have my mind made up about it." She wasn't sure of what choises she was talking about. Faye reached for a piece of toast, forcing herself to take a small bite. The taste was bland, but as she chewed slowly, she felt a subtle shift inside, as though the weight she'd been carrying began to lift just a little.

"I think I just need to sober up," she said, almost as if testing the idea aloud for the first time. Her voice was soft but resolute. "I need a clear mind so I can actually deal with stuff. I've been postponing it for too long, with the pills, with everything."

He stopped mid-bite, his eyes locked on hers, nodding slowly. "Yeah," he said slightly distant. "That makes sense. It's good, baby. You should do whatever you need to feel yourself again."