Kurt Cobain
I don’t really know what convinced me to accept Sam’s proposal. Maybe it was desperation—wanting to get away from home as fast as possible.
Sam insisted we rent an apartment in Pacific Heights, one of the priciest neighborhoods in the city. Unlike him, I can’t afford that kind of rent. I still have the money I saved from playing with Max in a Seattle bar, plus my earnings from teaching in kindergarten and playing at Speedy’s pizza, but it’s nowhere near enough to cover this lifestyle—especially now that I’verefused financial help from my parents and am putting aside every spare dollar for a recording studio.
Still, Sam wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said the place was perfect—close to both USF and the restaurant where I now work most nights. Kill Temptation had just signed with a small label and bailed for New York, leaving their jobs at Speedy’s pizza behind. Their sudden exit got me a full-time position instead of just filling in shifts.
When I tried to explain to Sam why I couldn’t afford the rent, he just brushed it off.
He said he’d take care of it. All I had to do was grocery shopping—and remember his vegetarian preferences.
I wasn’t in a position to argue. But I promised myself: someday I’ll pay him back. Every cent.
The apartment is on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in the area, already furnished. We just had to bring our stuff and fill the cupboards.
Steven and I are dragging two suitcases up the last set of stairs while Sam rides the elevator with the groceries and his oversized luggage.
“I swear I’m never helping that motherfucker again,” Steven pants, stopping halfway to catch his breath.
I stop too. “I told you, you could’ve taken the elevator with him. Especially with your con—” I freeze before finishing.
Steven just gives me a look, then turns to face in front of us. If I know him, he’s silently counting to twenty, biting back the urge to snap at me. Maybe it would do him good to let it out once in a while—to tell me to fuck off.
“Sorry,” I mumble, digging in my backpack for his canteen of water and minerals.
He sighs and takes it. “Thanks.”
He drinks deeply, his voice still breathless. “I didn’t want to let you haul all this alone, that’s all. Sorry.” His eyes flick to the scars on my arms.
I shift away from his gaze. “Let’s go.”
I grab both suitcases and continue climbing. Steven follows, clutching the bottle Nova had given him earlier at the bakery.
“Still,” he says, “it wouldn’t kill you to react once in a while. You never seem to give a shit.”
“I’m just tired.”
He must sense what I’m not saying because he places a hand on my shoulder. “I—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off.
By the time we reach the top floor, I’m exhausted. The apartment door is open, music spilling out. Sam’s unpacking groceries in the kitchen. His suitcases are gone—already in his room.
The place is big: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a massive terrace, and a kitchen opening into the living room.
Sam peeks out from behind the refrigerator door. “Finally. You two move slower than snails. And trust me, you’re not nearly sexy enough to make me forgive it.”
Steven drops a suitcase in the middle of the room and flops on the couch with his water bottle. “You took the elevator, idiot.”
“It was a slow elevator,” Sam shoots back. Then, for once, his tone shifts. “You could’ve just told me you didn’t feel like taking it. I would’ve figured something else out. I picked this place because it’s close to that studio you’ve been saving for.”
I blink, caught off guard. Even Steven nearly chokes on his drink. I join Sam in the kitchen and help with the groceries. “It’s not a problem. I like the stairs.”
He just nods, stuffing Snickers bars into the fridge.
“Ho—” I start, frowning.
“Relax,” he grins. “I asked Nova what to buy. She said you love chocolate and cold cherries.”
