Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

You're crumbling, sadly

Life became a series of restless movements between Olympia and Seattle. Faye and Kurt went with the tides of the music scene, bouncing between the laid-back quiet of Olympia and the ever-pulsing of Seattle's scene. She found in photography a way to feel more part of it. She kept the camera in her hands most of the time, snapping photos whenever they were out, especially at concerts and smaller venues. The world was framed through the lens, both grounding her and letting her hide, as though the camera was a shield that let her witness but also be part of it.

Flickers of emotion, fleeting shadows, and unguarded moments—she had learned to pour her own tension into photos. Freelancing for a small underground magazine in Seattle, she was slowly getting her work out there, limited in reach but exciting in its own way. Her images of the music scene were gaining some repercussion, marked by an unpolished authenticity. In those moments behind the lens she felt like chasing the clarity and intensity that always seemed just out of reach elsewhere.

The band was gearing up for the European tour with Sonic Youth in August. Kurt told her it would be a short one again—two weeks, maybe a little more. Still, she felt a gnawing dread at the thought of him leaving, an uneasy memory flashing back to the last time he was away. The memory stung. She hadn't told him about what happened, and the thought of facing that loneliness again made her detach.

"I don't know if I can do it," she mumbled, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the sheets as they lay in bed. "Just the thought of you gone... I was a mess. And then Amy kept pressing me with all these questions, my mom calling nonstop, and—" Her voice trailed off, tangled in the weight of guilt.

He looked at her, his expression caught somewhere between empathy and frustration. He let out a slow breath, and for a second, she thought he was going to brush her off. But then he reached over, squeezing her hand. 

"Then just come with us," he said. "Why not? It's only two weeks. Tag along."

Her eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and hesitation at his suggestion. The thought of Europe—with him, with the band—felt electric, a burst of color against the dull realit she'd been trapped in lately. But beneath the thrill, a quiet uncertainty lingered, pulling at the edges of her thoughts. How would it all unfold?

"Really?" she asked. "I mean, would the guys be okay with it? Wouldn't it mess with the tour?"

Kurt's expression softened as he leaned in, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. 

"You kidding? They'll probably just be glad you're there to keep me from losing my mind," he chuckled softly, his hand lingering against her cheek. "Besides, think of it—you could bring your camera, you'd have Europe as your backdrop. It'll be fun, a whole new place."

He made it sound so easy, so perfect. And for a minute, Faye let herself imagine it. She could picture herself roaming foreign streets with him, capturing pieces of those unknown cities, finding something new, something other than the habits that had tethered her here. She held onto that thought, the thrill of it eclipsing a dream.

But the practical realities pressed in again. She was still jobless, hadn't done much more than glance at the classifieds. She'd look at them every so often, feeling a pang of obligation, yet somehow couldn't face the prospect of finding something stable. Her mother's money was still there, but she knew she couldn't count on it lasting forever, especially with the costs of keeping up with their habit. And yet, when else would she be in this position? This moment in her life where everything was so undefined, unbound by the responsibilities that everyone else around her seemed to have? The idea of exploring another continent, traveling with her boyfriend as he chased his dream—how often did people get the chance to just go, leave it all behind?