Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Gone a little far this time with something

The waiting room was a study in stark discomfort—neutral walls painted a nondescript beige, scuffed floors that reflected the faint sheen of relentless fluorescent lighting, and chairs upholstered in utilitarian fabric that seemed designed to discourage lingering. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and sterile, mingling with the faint aroma of stale coffee from a vending machine tucked into the corner. A muted television mounted on the wall cycled through the local news, but no one seemed to be watching. Faye ha her eyes fixed on the pale tiles beneath her feet, which seemed to blur in and out of focus. Her leg jittered, foot tapping incessantly against the cold floor, though she barely noticed the motion. Everything felt distant, like she was watching her own life unfold from outside her body. She had called for help in a blind panic, her voice trembling as she tried to explain the situation. They had arrived so fast, yet time seemed to stretch into a torturous eternity as the paramedics worked on Kurt, moving with precision while her world spun out of control. Now, here she was, waiting—waiting for someone to tell her if he was alive, if he was okay, if her worst nightmare had just come true.

A nurse approached, her scrubs rustling as she moved. Faye didn't notice until the woman spoke, her voice cutting through the daze.

"Are you family?"

Faye blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. Family? Was she? Her mouth went dry, and she hesitated. "I'm his—" The words stuck, almost foreign on her tongue. "I'm his girlfriend."

The nurse nodded, writing something on her clipboard. She lowered her voice slightly, the tone more cautious. "He's stabilized, but he's still unconscious. We're monitoring him closely. Can I ask you a few questions?"

Faye nodded slowly, her mind still floating in and out of focus, trying to grasp reality.

"Has he overdosed before?"

"No," Faye whispered, her voice cracking. "Not that I'm aware of."

The nurse's pen hovered for a moment, then she looked back at Faye. "What substances has he been using?"

Faye felt her chest tighten, and for a second, she couldn't breathe. The image of Kurt with the needle flashed through her thoughts. She had been there with him, through the haze, the heroin, the pills, but saying it aloud made it all too real.

"Uh, heroin, mainly. Pills, sometimes," she mumbled, her voice shaky.

The nurse jotted down the information. "How much has he been using? And how often?"

She felt the air rush out of her lungs. How was she supposed to answer that? There were good days and bad days. Sometimes he'd go a day or two without touching anything. Other times, he'd disappear into it, spiraling until she didn't recognize him anymore. And there were days she had been right there beside him, too high to notice how deep they were both falling.

"I-I don't know," Faye stammered, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. "It's not always the same. It's been a lot lately, but I—"

The nurse cut in, trying to help her focus. "How long has this been going on?"

"How long?" Faye echoed. Her mind scrambled, and she swallowed hard. "It's been... months. I don't know for sure."

She looked down at her hands, watching as her fingers twisted into knots. The questions kept coming, faster than she could process them, each one pulling her deeper into a pit of guilt and confusion.

"Was this overdose intentional or accidental?" the nurse asked, her pen still moving across the clipboard.

Faye stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. The question felt heavier than anything she could have prepared for. Intentional? Weren't overdoses always an accident? The words reverberated in her mind like a cruel echo, each iteration pressing harder on her. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.