We woke up snuggling as he whispered, “You bring this effect out in me,” then started demanding I take care of his release.
I mean, I wasn’t that into him. Plus, I was in way too much physical pain to do anything other than be in the fetal position. He ignored me when I told him I had really intense cramps so I just got out of bed early and decided to take hitchhiking in the cold over being expected to please him sexually.
I started getting dressed and he kept attempting to pull me back in, showering me with gifts. He gave me a leather bracelet and a wood carving of a face he made. I really just wanted a place to stay that was warm and he happened to be fuckable enough. It was quite sad, really. We both hid pains in a different way. His was through dark forms of art and mine was through sexual manipulation.
I gave him my information so he could back off, then I walked outside, unbeknownst to me it was pouring rain since his windows were covered in black trash bags. It was freezing and I got drenched within a few seconds. Somehow I managed to lose all of my gloves and only had a single one left.
I got picked me up by a woman named Hekla and it was the most casual ride ever.
“I just have to stop in this town to get some x-rays done,” she said. “It’ll be quick. I’ll take you to Reykjavík after.”
I walked into the hospital with her and waited as she went through her procedure. Then, she took me to a café she fancied in Akranes. She bought me coffee, a local pastry and a freshly made sandwich then we got to know each other a bit. She embodied a colorful wardrobe, liked to feed birds in the winter and enjoyed to crochet tablecloths. She seemed to move about her day super slowly as if she had all of the time and as though I was a good friend joining her. It seemed she liked to have some company and I, too, had time to share it with her.
We stopped at a book store and library where I helped carry her stuff around while she studied various kine craft books. Then we stopped at a clothing store so she could buy underwear for her husband. When we began driving again and had reached the outskirts of the city, she pulled over at a small gas station to get a few Pepsis along with some chocolate and licorice. She pulled over one last time to spray some water on her face to help with her sleepy eyes. Then she dropped me off at an art museum and I walked the rest of the way to meet up with Dovile and Karalana.
The serial killer guy reached out to me, having sent a poem he wrote about me. He spoke of what he felt when we crossed paths and what it was like to be intimate with me, how a chance encounter led to such deep inspiration for him. He made drawings of me backpacking through arctic land, conquering all the elements in Iceland, full of bright colors and lots of heavenly white. He drew my name in bold red letters surrounded by jagged blocks of blue, symbolizing fire and ice. There was no black in the artwork anymore, only vivid colors. I wondered why men felt I brought them so much light and claimed I was their muse whereas I was just going into survival mode and manipulating them for a momentary sense of comfort.
I went over to Karalana’s place. Dovile and her daughter had just flown in from Chicago so I was stoked to see her again. After about an hour of having been back from my adventure, it was time for dress rehearsal. Beforehand, we did a quick fitting with some models to double check everything fit properly on them then we headed over to the Whales of Iceland Museum to check out the layout of the venue.
There was a man who worked with Paris Fashion Week who flew out here to help guide the models on their walk. He assumed I was one, too, even though I was covered in dirt and bulky fleece-lined attire.
“No,” I said, “I’m simply curious what the models are being taught,” not realizing how important the walk for the runway was.
There was a videographer whom I had my eyes on. The moment we made eye contact, I knew we both had dirty thoughts for one another.
“Are you one of the models?” he asked.
“No, I’m a designer.”
“Oh!” he said, all of a sudden standing up straight. “Nice to meet you, I’m Derrick.”
He was an American guy originally from Maryland who worked for a creative magazine company in Miami. Figured I’d find my way back to him eventually.
