Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Wearing nothin' but the summer bruises on my knees

Kurt hadn't called anymore. Or maybe he had, but she'd been too out of it to notice.

The anxiety of waiting lingered, just like everything else. Faye leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to summon enough energy to find something to eat. She pulled open a cabinet and eyed a box of stale crackers, wondering if they'd be enough. The sound of a door opening caught her attention, and Amy emerged from her room, already dressed to head out. She was bright-eyed, her hair swept up casually, a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She straightened up, pretending she hadn't been idly staring at the kitchen counter for the last few minutes.

"Hey," Amy greeted her, eyes scanning over. "Didn't know you were up."

"Yeah, just grabbing something to eat." She forced a small smile, keeping her voice light as she stuffed a cracker into her mouth.

Amy shrugged, slipping her bag strap higher on her shoulder. "I'm heading to this art history class," she said, as though sharing a casual piece of her day. "It's been interesting. I thought it'd be good to do something this summer."

"Yeah, sounds nice." Faye's words came out softer than she'd meant, barely matching her friend's enthusiasm. She kept her focus on the cracker box, fidgeting with it.

"Your mom called. I told her you'd call back."

Faye froze, her hand going still. She hadn't spoken to her mother since their last tumultuous talk in LA. Amy noticed her reaction and frowned. 

"Is everything alright between you two?" Her voice was gentle but laced with disquiet, like she was trying to gauge if she was overstepping. "It almost sounded like she wasn't sure you were here."

Faye shrugged, trying to shake off the prickling feeling her words brought. "Yeah, everything's fine. She worries too much sometimes, that's all."

Amy watched her carefully, lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding back words she wasn't ready to say. With a slow nod, she turned her attention back to her bag, giving Faye one last searching glance before heading out.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Faye retreated to her room, sinking onto the edge of her bed. The weight of it all settled in, her thoughts drifting back to their last encounter in California—the conversation that had unraveled into an argument, still raw at the edges. Marie's probing questions, the way she demanded to know the truth. It was like she could see straight through her, peeling back the layers her daughter had tried so hard to keep hidden. The thought of her mother calling again sent a shiver through her, every moment of that conversation replaying in her mind.

She exhaled and let her eyes drift toward the drawer, where she kept the stash tucked away beneath layers of clothes. She slid off the bed, pulling it open and rummaging through the folds of fabric until her fingers brushed the small, dwindling baggie, realization settling in her gut. It was almost gone. She held it up to the light, eyeing the contents and calculating how little she had left. The last few days had devoured her supply fast, and the unsettling thought of running out, the same one she had the day she scored, was now a real deal. With a shallow breath, she tucked it back into the drawer, moving with purpose now. She couldn't afford to dwell on her mother or anything else. Right now, she just needed to be sure she'd have enough.

She paced the kitchen, gripping a cigarette between her fingers. In her other hand, she held the Polaroid picture, its back marked with the dealer's number in Kurt's rushed handwriting. It was her only link, her only way forward. She stared at the digits, exhaled sharply, then reached for the phone mounted on the wall. 

As she dialed, each ringing tone sent a jolt through her, her pulse quickening. Her foot tapped restlessly against the floor. A part of her almost hoped no one would answer—that she could cling to whatever was left of her pride just a little longer.