Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Like a flame burning brightly

Drugstore. A frequent stop in her well-worn circuit. Faye had developed an intricate map of pharmacies around Seattle—knowing which ones would sell what, and more importantly, which ones didn't ask too many questions. She knew the telltale signs of staff who would glance over small indiscretions, the establishments where benzodiazepines could be bought without raising a brow, or where the counter clerk was just young or distracted enough to pass a pack of syringes without probing into "why".

Today's visit was no different. The buzzing overhead lights washed out the shelves in pale white, but her eyes stayed sharp as she moved through the aisles. Her hand reached for a small pack of cotton balls, saline, antiseptic cream, gauze pads—all the essentials stacked neatly in the basket. She paused at the vitamins aisle, her fingers brushing over packets before tossing a couple of them in. Gum, a couple of packs. Promethazine, just in case. She'd learned to build these purchases in a way that looked plausible, even innocent, as if she was just prepping a first-aid kit.

She set the items down casually on the counter, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of it. The clerk was young—early twenties, maybe—chewing on the edge of a pen cap as he scanned her items.

"Need anything else?" he asked, voice flat, his attention only half on her.

"Yeah," she forced her voice into an airy, neutral tone. "I'll take a pack of syringes."

That got his attention. He blinked, glancing up at her for the first time. "What size?"

Her heart thudded once, but her expression stayed calm, even bored. "One cc, short tip," she said smoothly, as if this were just another mundane errand.

He hesitated for a split second longer than she liked but finally nodded and turned to grab the pack from the shelf behind him. "This work?"

"That will do it."

He scanned it without further comment, slipping them into a small brown bag with the rest of the items. The register beeped as he rang up the total, and Faye handed over cash—always cash, never a card. She gave him a polite nod as he handed the change.

"Have a good one," he said, his tone already drifting back to boredom, turning to the next customer.

Faye stepped outside, the cool drizzle misting her skin. She tucked the bag under her arm and started walking, her pace brisk but controlled. This was the part she hated the most—the moments after, when the fear of being caught dissolved and left her alone with the shame of it all.

Before heading back, she decided to get some extra money, anticipating the next few scores. She punched in her code and watched the cash withdraw. Lately, these trips to the ATM had become an almost-daily thing. It was alarming, really, how much her funds had dwindled. At first, it had been just enough to score for a few days. But now, she was practically burning through every cent she had.

Back at the apartment, Faye locked the door and made a beeline for her room. She emptied the bag onto the desk. She worked quickly, organizing everything with an efficiency born of habit. She told herself it was about control—keeping things clean, orderly, precise. That was one of the lies she clung to, one that allowed her to keep going. She stared at the supplies, and for the first time all day, she let herself exhale. This was her life, every piece of it meticulously planned and desperately unplanned all at once. Her fingers grazed the edge of the unopened syringe pack. A single thought lingered, clear and consuming: it won't be enough. It never was.

The minutes stretched, each one feeling heavier than the last as Faye sat on the edge of the mattress, fingers tapping against her thighs. Kurt had gone out with the band earlier, but he should've been back by now. With the score. The signs of withdrawal were creeping in, their onset like a tidal wave building on the horizon. Her stomach churned, cold sweat prickling her skin as dizziness made her head swim. She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly as she tried to keep herself grounded. Waiting was nothing new for an addict, but today it was especially unbearable.