I wanted him to ask about my life, to see how well I was doing after I left him, but only God knows the emotional turmoil and disassociation I’ve been experiencing since my departure. He has such a hold over my mind. I hate it so much that his voice can make me smile as if he just gave me the world. He could say the most awful things to me, the most horrid and puncturing words and I’ll treat him like a king because of it.

“Yes,” I giggled. “Lead the way.”

He paused again, then fidgeted as he looked around and adjusted his pants.

“You need a second?” I teased.

We stood up and started walking. He got nervous when another person started walking behind us, also trying to get to the bathroom. I rolled my eyes and walked in first then Derrick followed.

Doesn’t he know by now that I like to be watched?

The crowd was overflowing, tickets were sold out, people were standing as if it were a concert. I really was impressed by how it all came together. It was the first fashion week in Iceland and I knew it would only get better with each coming year!

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 continued to flip through the pages and found a drawing of a woman with sharp jagged hair, black eyes and a horrific demonic face.

“Who is this supposed to be?”

“My mother.”

“I’m assuming you two didn’t get along.”

My eyes widened as I glanced around his room and saw all sorts of satanic, devil references along with pentagrams that infiltrated the area. The entire time I was wondering if I was going to get sacrificed. The last drawing I came across was something to do with cannibalism.

Naturally, I laughed and asked, “Are you gonna kill me?”

He smiled and said, “No.”

“Our culture nowadays is all about one night stands and hook ups,” he continued, “I don’t really fit into that category which makes it hard for me to meet women.”

“I think that’s healthy,” I said. I understood what he was getting at and I knew deep down that was a really good character trait, however my pussy was wet and there was a naked man laying next to me whom I haven’t fucked yet so I was growing aggravated.

Her man would lift her up and throw her in the water. She loved him, I knew that for sure. It was all in the way her eyes sparkled in his presence. He had a protective energy for her, constantly holding and kissing her. Out of everything, those were my favorite experiences to witness—healthy love. I felt drawn to it because it was so far out of my understanding and capability to grasp. In that way, it fascinated me.

I loved hearing them speak their native language. I knew nothing of what they were saying but it was playful and there was a lot of bantering. At first when I walked in, I thought they were having some sort of family party, but it turned out this was quite a regular day for them. There was so much laughter and healing energy, a true sense of family and connection. And then there was me, a random chick they took home. Although the situation might have seemed quite odd, I actually felt as if I slipped perfectly into their scene.

I watched as a cyclist arrived and set up his tent between some trees. I approached him, basically to tell him he was nuts for cycling around the country but also to give him kudos.

“I’ve been out here for three months now,” he said.

“How do you deal with the wind? Do you ever get toppled over?”

“All of the time,” he said, then showed me his helmet that was nearly shattered to bits.

“Sort of defeats the purpose.”

“That’s part of the journey,” he said. “It’s not my first time. I’ve cycled all around Norway.”

Wild and completely out of my understanding. Hiking around a country made complete sense to me, but biking? God no.

We went exploring down bumpy dirt roads and drove through several kilometer long carved out tunnels through the center of mountains. We explored shorelines and collected bright white swan feathers while people rolled down soft pebbled lava hills, laughing while doing so. Tourists laid on their backs and spread out like starfishes beside the waves, basking in appreciation for the sun’s rays and momentary lack of harsh wind.

The sun had set and gave way to pinks and golds that reflected onto still pools of water between fields of frozen magma. White swans ruffled their feathers and waddled around crushed black lava rock looking for something to nibble on. I rested my forehead onto the window as I felt the vibration of the tires moving along the rough highway. I momentarily closed my eyes and thanked Spirit for today’s experience. My heart felt directly connected to the sacred land and to the paths I crossed with two ‘random’ travelers.

They dropped me off at Skógafoss Waterfall which was where I planned on stopping at, too. I was going to do a quick in and out hike via the Fimmvörðuháls trail which followed the Skógá River, showcasing a plethora of stunning waterfalls. I felt tempted to do the whole thing once I started walking but this was the most strenuous hike I’ve done since the injury. I was getting whipped, pulled and tossed by the wind when I was short of reaching the bridge, approximately 7.5k from the waterfall. Snow clouds were in the near distance, growing thick gray and the visibility low. A few of us with overnight camping gear turned around. I held onto a boulder as the wind made its vicious rounds, then made my way back down and hitched towards Vík.

She goes, “Don’t worry about the language. Just find an English word and use one that sounds like the word you’re trying to pronounce. For me, my Icelandic is English. For instance, ‘good day’ here is ‘góðan dag,’ which when you say it real fast sounds like ‘go and die.’ Another word is ‘frábært’ which sounds like ‘frog bite.’”