Therapy for Souls

16. Great News

KRISTIAN'S POV

Organizing and preparing this benefit concert is difficult. The biggest stars in the world do not know who I am. How are we going to make this work when I am the person putting this together? Ariana could do it because she is her. But me? I don't know. I don't know if I have enough influence to reach out to the world.

Giovanna called me last night to say she has a surprise about the concert. She did not tell me what the surprise is because she said it is something I need to hear in person. I wonder what it could be.

My biggest fear is she wants to take this away from me because I am not famous enough to draw in an international audience. She did promise I would be in charge, but that feeling is eating my thoughts. I could not sleep because I kept thinking about it!

She could have good news, I tell myself as I anxiously wait for her at Starbucks with Misha and Ira. Maybe she spoke to one of Parisa's superstar friends and they agreed to do the show. Or we have to cancel it because everyone will think this is a cheap copy of what Ariana did for Manchester. Hopefully that is not it. You just want to do your best; you don't want to copy anyone.

"Kristian is losing his mind. He hasn't been himself lately," I hear Ira whisper to Misha.

"You wouldn't be the same if you were him," Misha comments. "He loved Parisa. Of course he's sad!"

"Kris was obsessed with her. They weren't together for long, anyways. He's only truly known her this year."

"Before he got to know her, he was. When they were together, it was love, Ira. LOVE!"

"If that's what you call it, okay." Ira shrugs. "I personally don't think it was love because he hardly k—"

"WILL YOU GUYS JUST SHUT UP? STOP TALKING ABOUT ME LIKE I'M NOT SITTING RIGHT BESIDE YOU!" I explode, shooting both of my friends an evil glare. "And stop talking about her! You're not making things any better. Parisa isn't here to speak for herself, and you're being disrespectful by putting her in such a bad light"

Ira and Misha stare at me in stunned silence, eyes wide and jaws dropped to the table. Everyone else pretends like they are busy with their own stuff, but I know they are watching us. They probably think I have become mad because I yelled so loudly. I don't care. Let them think what they want.

I take a few deep breaths to calm down. I keep my eyes down so nobody can trigger my temper again. By now, they should know that topic is off limits. They know what any mention of her or the attack does to me. They know how shook up I was when I returned from Rome.

Yet they insist on speaking about her right here and now, in a public space where everyone can see. So much for being great friends.

"You're mad at us, aren't you?" Misha asks.

I turn to him and roll my eyes, then stare at my drink.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Of course I'm mad at him. Why wouldn't I be? What "friend" speaks like that when someone just died, especially a significant other? Since I returned, Misha has done everything possible to distract my mind. It's nearly impossible when social media and the news constantly brings it up. I can't escape her. I can't escape the madness no matter what Misha does to try and brighten my days.

I hear footsteps behind me—they sound like heels—and sit straight up. I know who is behind me and I don't want to face them yet. They pull up a chair and set their drink on the table. A quick glance to my right, and I see it's right next to mine. Great.