Lisbeth Salander did a lot of her time thinking. Her thoughts were broad and often times grim, yet if one were to open Lisbeth's mind, they would be surprised to find that, even in the privacy of her mind, she had distanced herself from the extensive people and concepts she often prodded with her massive intellect.
Such were these thoughts that clouded her cool mind on a late Saturday evening, not long after she got back from her global trip.
It was not long after Salander lay her head on her new pillows that she realized she was not in fact going to sleep at all that night. Every time her weary eyes found themselves slowly shutting, luring her and tempting her with a long blissful sleep, she would be gutted with guilty as their face flowed to the surface of her memories and her conscience.
Bland, Armansky, Mimmi, and even, strangely, Blomkvist, appeared in the dark of her eyelids that covered her exhausted eyes. She'd begun to feel this a lot, lately, the pangs of guilt which overtook her so painfully.
She never even took the time to say a final farewell to Bland, though that may have easily been the first and only time she would make his acquaintance.
She had never said goodbye to Mimmi, or Armansky either, when she took off from Stockholm almost over a whole year ago. Mimmi, the lemon girl who she was drunk enough to pick up in a bar, the lemon girl who was apparently drunk enough to let her and Armansky, the man who was the opposite of everything she associated with Nils Bjurman.
And then there was Mikael Blomkvist. Reporter, big time face in the media, and fucking womanizer. Salander has lived with him for several months in a small cabin out in Norsjo while hunting for a serial killer under Henrik Vanger a while back. While realistically, it had only been a few years ago, to Salander, it felt like lifetimes. It was long before she had even imagined being in possession of over 3 billion Kroner and McDonalds was a good meal every night.
With a deep breath, Salander shut her heavy eyes and behind them was the burning image the Granada beach behind them. The coconut was in her sights and approaching her was the lovely boy she immediately recognized her tropical lover, George Bland. Salander fell into a peaceful sleep which she happily didn't wake up from until noon the next day. Once her eyes opened again, she was hit with the same guilty pang and immediately wished to go back to sleep.