Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Like an endless summer

Like the calm after the storm, where the sky still held traces of bruised clouds, things started to resemble a little bit of normalcy. Kurt, though maintaining a certain intensity, seemed more relaxed and present. His mood swings were softer, his outbursts fewer. Faye found herself cautiously hopeful, even if fear insisted on creeping around. She knew how fragile these moments could be. He was in the studio nearly all the time, hunched over his guitar, unleashing lyrics in a wild bursts of creativity, consumed by an unhuman energy, each note and word flowing from him in a fervent rush. He was pouring everything into the album, yet he seemed more vigilant around Faye. He held back his frustrations, carefully choosing his words as if he were walking on a tightrope. Whether it was his pursuit of sobriety or the mounting stress of the recordings, he was determined not to let his emotions spill over. He knew that she was struggling too, and he wanted to protect her from his own hell.

Faye found her mind growing increasingly restless. Her anxiety loomed like a shadow, threatening her. Cravings came by in waves, each one more intense than the last. In an effort to distract herself, she immersed in photography, capturing candid snapshots of the band, of Kurt, and the vibrant city around her. Through the lens, she tried to find beauty around her, but the temptation to slip back into old habits was relentless. Despite not having touched anything ever since she set her mind into getting clean, every nerve in her body felt like it was screaming for something to dull the edges of her feelings. But, with days filled with small moments of ordinariness, she had something to cling to.

Her mother's words echoed in her head too often, the way Marie had pressed her to reconsider her choices, the concern etched on her face when she suggested Faye wasn't safe with Kurt. But she was irreducible. She couldn't leave him—not when they were trying, not when she loved him so much it hurt.  Beneath the surface, other tensions remained. She had been avoiding one specific conversation—talking to her father about dropping out of college. She'd promised herself she would, that it was inevitable, but every time she reached for the phone, something held her back.

One late afternoon, they laid sprawled across the bed, the sound of the TV as their soundtrack. The sun was beginning its descent, and Kurt was strumming his guitar, the same chords on loop, while Faye flipped through a book, though her focus wasn't on the pages.

He looked over at her, his fingers stilling. "It's been three weeks since you've been here," he said, his voice soft but probing. "You should've let your dad know by now, right?"

Faye closed the book, setting it aside. "I know," she said with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "I just haven't found the right words."

"You can't avoid it forever."

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. "I'll tell him soon, I promise. It's so damn hard. He's always been so proud of me for going to college. I'm not sure how to explain that I'm dropping out."

Just as Faye was about to continue, the phone rang. Kurt reached over and answered it, pressing the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

There was a pause, and then he glanced at her and mouthed, 'your mom', "Oh, hi, ma'am, I'll get her for you." 

He held out the phone and she sat up quickly, taking the receiver from his hand. "Mom? Hey."

"Hi, sweetheart, I haven't heard from you in a couple of days. I just wanted to check in, make sure everything's okay."

She had been so absorbed in the past few days—Kurt's quieter mood, her own anxiety—that she hadn't reached out. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that," she said, glancing at Kurt, who was now strumming his guitar softly again. "Everything's fine, though."