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Rae
Last night, I took a sleeping pill.
It’s been three days since the night Harrison and I took the woman to the hospital. I haven’t heard anything about her condition. Nor have I heard from Mischa since the meeting when I arrived about my La Mer proposal.
Everything seems to be locked into a holding pattern—save my agitation, which seems to grow.
Since the night at Bliss, I replay finding that woman over and over, when I should be working or sleeping. I can’t unsee what I’ve seen, can’t help but wonder how many people have been hurt by Mischa Ivanov.
Today, I’m scheduled to do an interview. There’s a multicamera setup on this patio in Ibiza Town, and a few fans have clustered around to watch.
The last interview I did in Ibiza was the start of a rough period of my life—the reporter called me out on being with Harrison.
I’ve done dozens since then. I’m never quite comfortable.
“I’m here with Little Queen, who’s playing a residency at Bliss in Ibiza this summer.”
Cheers go up from the street, and I turn to grin at the fans gathered, which only makes them cheer more.
“You’ve built quite the following,” the interviewer says.
“I’m grateful to every person who listens.”
“Why is it important to you?”
“Because we’re all individuals going through our own shit.”
Her eyebrows lift, and I wonder belatedly if I can swear on this channel.
“What shit”—she sneaks an apologetic look at the camera guy, and I laugh—“are you going through?”
I uncross and recross my legs on the high stool, glad I wore ripped denim and sandals rather than a dress. “The usual. Working on some new songs. Soaking up the sun.”
The man I loved is trying to bring down a drug dealer while I’m trying to get said drug dealer to hire me.
I haven’t seen Harrison since the night of my show, and that’s eating at me too.
But after our call, Annie sent me a picture of Harrison holding her baby. It hit me hard. Not because I’ve ever thought of having kids with him. The idea of Harrison as a father seems completely at odds with his mission, his entire ethos.
But is it? Everything he did has been driven by love for the people he cares about. Even if he chose that love over our love.
Before the sleeping pill kicked in last night, I couldn’t resist typing out a text that I sent along with the image.
Rae: You better hope this doesn’t get leaked publicly. Ovaries will explode.
Harrison replied instantly.
Harrison: Even yours?
I stared at the message for too long. Was he up because he was thinking of me? Thinking of Mischa? Or something entirely unrelated—the direction of interest rates or the last season of the Great British Bake Off?
Rae: I’m not maternal.
Harrison: I doubt that very much. But there is a precedent.
Then he sent me a picture of a teenaged Harrison holding a blond baby wrapped in a blanket.
Rae: Wow. Ash looks… innocent. You look as if you’d fight the world for him.
