Perfumed Secrets | Kurt Cobain

Is this happiness?

"Do you ever think about how stupid we are?" 

Kurt sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, his hair falling into his eyes as he fiddled with the small, deadly parcel in his hands.

Faye looked at him from the mirror. She stood by the window, a small, half-smoked cigarette still glowing in her hand, lost in thought. It didn't take much longer to spiral. The restlessness had returned, stronger this time.

"Only every other second," she replied, walking over to him.

The truth was, neither had put up much of a fight. Their sober act had lasted all of the daylight—a fragile truce broken by a shared glance, a fleeting weakness that neither was strong enough to resist. It didn't matter who had suggested it first, who had opened the door. What mattered was that once the idea was there, it took root with alarming ease, each of them silently daring the other to say no, but secretly hoping for the opposite.

And Kurt, as always, had a knack for making it happen. For finding the connection, the dealer, the scene. His confidence in these situations was one of the many things that made him so dangerous and alluring all at once. An hour later after they mutually agreed to score, they were back at the hotel, the spoils of his efforts resting on his lap as he set everything up. Faye sat beside him, her legs folded beneath her, her focus entirely on his hands.

"Wanna do it?" He asked, holding the spoon in hand.

"Not really," she murmured. "You're good at this."

"It's not exactly the kind of thing you want to be good at."

She leaned back against the headboard, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched him.

"Here," he turned to her, handing the belt.

The leather bit into her skin, and she drew in a deep breath, her heart pounding as the anticipation coiled tighter and tighter in her chest.

"You okay?" he asked, his gaze flicking to her face.

She nodded, though the truth was far more complicated than a single word could convey.

 "Sure."

His focus sharpened, his hands steady despite the rush of adrenaline she could see in the tension of his jaw. She leaned back, her eyes tracing the lines of his face—the curve of his cheekbone, the set of his mouth, the furrow in his brow.

For a fleeting moment, she wished she could stop. That they could stop. But then the needle pressed into her skin, and now it was just a distant thought. It was already too late, anyway.

Outside, the faint sounds of the city filtered in, muffled but constant.

"You ever think about how we got here?" he brok the stillness, low and contemplative.

Faye glanced at him, tilting her head. "Meaning?"

"Everything. Us. How it started, where it's going. Feels like a blur sometimes."

She let out a soft laugh. "A very messy blur."

"Yeah," he said, smiling faintly. "But a good one."

A lull settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Kurt reached for the cigarette pack on the nightstand, the rustle of foil and the flick of his lighter the only sounds filling the space. He took a slow drag, then wordlessly passed it to her.

"I was thinking about that night."

"Which night?" she asked, exhaling slowly.

"The first time." His voice softened, and his gaze dropped to the cigarette in her hand. "In your dorm room."