1 The night before we were supposed to fly to Miami, Rachel tagged me in our group chat. Check your flight status, babe. I opened the airline app. The screen refreshed, blinking red: Ticket Canceled. The cancellation timestamp was from three days ago. Before my thumb could even hit the keyboard, the chat exploded with new notifications. Tyler: Told you! Pay up, Rachel! I bet twenty bucks he wouldn’t check until we were packing. You tipped him off, that’s cheating! Rachel: Whatever, you still won. He literally had no idea until I told him. Jesse, just rebook it real quick. We might not be in the same row anymore, but it’s fine. They were having a great time. It was just like last spring, when Tyler bet Rachel how many days it would take me to notice our queen-bed hotel room had been downgraded to a twin-with-cot so I’d end up sleeping on the foldout. Or the trip before that, when they wagered whether I’d realize they’d swapped the only art museum on our itinerary for an escape room. Whenever I told them it bothered me, the response was always a carbon copy: “How were we supposed to know you’d care if you didn’t say anything?” They never asked. Not once. I didn’t rebook the Miami flight. Instead, I switched apps, searched for international departures, and booked a one-way ticket to Reykjavik. Fifteen degrees below zero. Northern lights. Being alone suddenly sounded like the only kind of air I could breathe. The deadbolt clicked open just as I was stuffing my last pair of merino wool socks into my duffel bag. Rachel and Tyler walked in, their arms full of neon luggage tags, snorkel masks, reef-safe sunscreen, and a bag of obnoxious pool floaties. Tyler caught sight of the heavy down parka draped over the back of the sofa. He froze for two seconds, and then doubled over, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the entryway table. “Rachel, cough it up!” He pointed at my suitcase, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes. “I called it! I told you Jesse would get all dramatic and pack winter clothes just to spite us!” Rachel leaned against the foyer wall, tapping her phone screen with a small, indulgent smirk. “Fine. You win.” She slid her phone into her back pocket and walked over, reaching out to straighten the collar of my shirt. “All right, Jesse. I rebooked your flight. We took the joke a little too far this time, I admit it. Don’t be mad. Unpack the winter gear—you’re going to boil in Florida.” I stepped to the side, letting her hand fall through empty air. Her fingers hovered mid-reach. Her eyebrows pulled together. “Are you really going to throw a tantrum over this?” I zipped the duffel shut and pulled up the telescoping handle. “I’m not going to Miami. Have a good trip.” Tyler’s grin faltered, but he quickly bounded over, throwing an arm out to sling over my shoulder. “Come on, man. She already bought the new ticket. If you don’t want to sit by yourself, I’ll trade with you. I’ll take the middle seat in the back, okay? Problem solved.” I looked down at his arm. “Don’t touch me.” Tyler stopped, his arm frozen in place. Rachel’s expression hardened. “Jesse. It was a prank. Are you seriously making this big of a scene over a canceled ticket?” I met her eyes. “You canceled my ticket behind my back, made my travel plans the punchline of a bet, and now you’re asking me if I’m making a scene?” Her eyes dimmed with thinly veiled impatience. “And I fixed it, didn’t I? I bought you another seat last night. It’s not like you were actually going to be left behind.” Tyler nodded eagerly from behind her, his tone shifting into wounded innocence. “Yeah, man. We weren’t trying to ditch you. We were just messing around. You used to have a sense of humor.” He paused, his face suddenly brightening as if remembering something wonderful. “Oh, wait! I have some awesome news. I was gonna save it for the plane to cheer you up, but you need it now.” My stomach dropped. A cold dread crept up my spine. Tyler pulled his phone from his hoodie and shoved a screenshot in front of my face. “Your submission for the Horizon Arts Fellowship? I submitted the final portfolio for you the night before last. You’ve been pulling all-nighters for weeks and looking like a ghost. Bro looked out for you and hit the button.” My knuckles turned white around the luggage handle. “You went into my computer and touched my submission files?” “Relax!” Tyler scoffed, rolling his eyes as if I were ruining his moment. “I just added a little Easter egg. In the bottom corner of your main piece, I dropped a tiny watermark of a frog rolling its eyes. It’s hilarious.” He winked at Rachel. “Rachel and I bet on whether you’d spot it before the judges did. We were gonna reveal it at the awards gala. Maximum surprise value.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. The Horizon Fellowship was strictly blind-judged. Any watermark, secondary layer, or irreverent symbol was an automatic, irrevocable disqualification. That portfolio was the result of two straight weeks of barely eating, barely sleeping. It was our department’s sole university nomination. 2 I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and opened my email. The top message was from the Horizon Arts Committee. “Your submission has been disqualified due to the inclusion of non-competitive graphical elements and unauthorized signatures, violating our blind review protocols and the integrity of the work.” I held the glowing screen inches from Tyler’s face. The smirk on his lips slowly curdled. He scratched the back of his neck, an awkward, defensive twitch pulling at his jaw. “Okay, wow. The judges have zero sense of humor. How was I supposed to know they’d be such hard-asses?” He cleared his throat, his voice taking on the righteous edge of someone who believed they were being unfairly persecuted. “I was just trying to get you to loosen up, Jesse. You’ve been walking around like a stiff for a month. Nobody can stand being around you like that. Don’t look at me like I murdered somebody. If it’s that big a deal, I’ll pay your entry fee back.” Rachel stepped between us, pulling Tyler behind her. It was a practiced reflex. Whenever Tyler crossed a line, she shielded him, and I was automatically cast as the unreasonable adult who needed to be the bigger person. “Jesse,” Rachel said, her voice dropping into that low, soothing cadence she used on children. “Tyler didn’t do it on purpose. Yes, he messed up, but his heart was in the right place.” I stared at her. “My fellowship is gone, Rachel.” “Then you apply next year,” she said, frowning. “You’re talented. What’s one year? Does this really have to turn into an ugly fight right before our vacation?” Tyler peeked over her shoulder, muttering, “I already said I’d pay him back.” The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in, shrinking until there was no room left for their casual entitlement, and no room left for my dignity. Without a word, I took out my phone and screenshotted the cancellation notice, the group chat bets, and the disqualification email. Rachel watched me, her scowl deepening. “What are you doing? Gathering evidence to put us on trial?” I slid the phone into my pocket, walked over to the entryway console, and pulled my spare apartment key off Rachel’s keychain. Her fingers snapped down over the brass ring. “Jesse.” I yanked it free with a sharp tug. It dug into my palm. “You two make me sick.” Tyler’s face flushed bright red, looking as if he’d been slapped. Whatever patience Rachel had left evaporated. “If you walk out that door right now, Jesse, don’t expect me to come running after you.” I opened the door and pulled my duffel into the hallway. As the door swung shut, I heard Tyler’s muffled, indignant voice: “Is he seriously being this dramatic?” Rachel didn’t answer right away. The elevator doors were closing when my phone buzzed with a text from her: Come back when you’re done throwing your fit. At the airport terminal, the cab driver pulled my luggage from the trunk and asked if I needed a hand. I shook my head, pressing my phone to my ear to listen to a voice message from my mentor, Professor Ward. “Jesse, the residency spot in Iceland is still open. If you’re certain you want it, I’ll have the Reykjavik studio send over the official invitation tonight.” I held the record button. “Professor, I’m certain.” After sending it, I forwarded him the disqualification email from the Horizon Committee. His reply came within seconds: “Get on the plane. A ruined portfolio isn’t the end of your career. The artist is still intact.” My throat tightened around a hard knot of grief. During sophomore year of college, when my parents’ vicious divorce left me buried under unpaid tuition and sudden debt, Tyler was the one who split his dining hall card with me and made sure I ate. Later, when I had my first severe panic attack on the library roof, gasping for air as if my lungs had collapsed, Rachel spent the entire night by my hospital bed, holding my cold hands until morning. I wasn’t ungrateful. That was why I had tolerated everything for years, telling myself over and over that they weren’t malicious, that we were just too close for boundaries to matter. But standing in that drafty terminal, I finally understood. Their past kindness was never supposed to be a lifetime pass to trample over my life. In the check-in line, I disconnected Rachel from my Apple Family sharing and turned off our shared location services. Her call came through instantly. I answered. “You turned off location sharing?” Her voice was frigid. “Jesse, are you seriously trying to nickel-and-dime me over privacy now?” “Yes.” There was a beat of silence on the other end, and then Tyler’s voice pushed through the receiver. “Bro, you didn’t actually go to the airport, did you? Who are you trying to scare? Rachel’s not even mad anymore.” The sound shifted as Rachel pulled the phone back. “Which terminal are you at? I’ll come pick you up. I’ll call some people about the fellowship and see if we can file an appeal.” “Don’t bother.” “What do you mean, don’t bother?” Her irritation flared through the speaker. “The Miami hotel is non-refundable. If you don’t go, the trip is ruined for both of us.” Tyler chimed in softly in the background, “I mean, it’s not totally ruined, but we won’t have anyone to take photos of us.” I handed my passport to the gate agent. She scanned it, printed the boarding pass, and handed it back with a polite smile. “Safe travels, sir.” I took the pass and spoke into the phone. “I have to go. Goodbye.” Rachel finally snapped. “Jesse! Does the entire world have to revolve around your moods? Tyler already feels guilty! What else do you want from us?” I looked at the destination printed on the cardstock: KEF – Reykjavik. “I want to be nowhere near you.” I hung up and opened social media. Ten minutes ago, Tyler had posted a selfie holding his snorkel mask, looking exasperated. Tried to give someone a sweet surprise, got treated like dirt instead. Some people just can’t take a joke. The comments were already filling up with sympathetic friends. Rachel’s reply was pinned at the top: Just ignore him. We’re going to the beach. He’s stubborn, but give him a few days in the cold and he’ll come back to apologize. I didn’t like it. I didn’t comment. I simply hit Mute and Hide All Posts. Before the screen went black, a notification popped up from the airline: Flight 442 to Reykjavik is delayed by 4 hours due to an arctic storm front. 3 I bought a hot black coffee at a terminal café. I was snapping the plastic lid in place when a heavy hand slammed down onto my shoulder. Coffee sloshed over the rim, scalding the skin between my thumb and forefinger. I spun around. Rachel and Tyler were standing right behind me. Rachel’s coat was misbuttoned, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. Tyler was clutching their boarding passes for Miami, bent over and panting for breath. “There you are,” Rachel said. She reached out, took the coffee cup from my hand, checked the heat against her palm, and thrust it back into my grip. “At least you had the sense to get something hot.” Her tone was a mix of maternal scolding and smug victory, as if the matter had already been settled. “We canceled Miami. We missed our flight just to track you down, so now we’re even. Let’s go home.” Tyler finally caught his breath and straightened up, looking around the international concourse. “Dude, what are you doing in the international terminal anyway? Are you reenacting some indie movie runaway scene?” I looked at Rachel. “How did you find me?” Her eyes flickered. “The shared payment account has a notification delay. I got a ping the second you bought that coffee.” “So you tracked my bank card?” “It’s called caring about you,” she snapped. “Stop making normal concern sound like a crime.” Tyler reached out to grab the straps of my backpack. “Come on, let me carry it. Man, why is this thing so heavy? You didn’t actually pack winter clothes, did you?” I clamped my hand over the strap. “Let go.” He blinked, his eager grin vanishing. “Why are you being so hostile today? It’s me.” Rachel lowered her voice, casting a wary glance around the crowded terminal. “Jesse, there are people everywhere. Don’t make a scene.” I looked at her. “I’m making a scene?” Tyler suddenly gave the strap a hard yank. “I want to see what’s inside. I literally just bet Rachel ten bucks that you packed an empty bag just to make a point.” He pulled with all his weight. Instinctively, I wrenched the bag backward. The heavy nylon strap snapped with a sharp tear, the zipper bursting open under the violent tension. The backpack slammed into the polished granite floor. The padded laptop sleeve slid out, the aluminum body of my MacBook striking the hard stone corner-first. A sickening crunch echoed through the concourse. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels, the aluminum casing bent at an unnatural angle. The ambient noise of the airport seemed to drop away entirely. I dropped to my knees. My fingertip grazed the fractured glass, and a tiny splinter bit into my skin, drawing a bead of red. A high-pitched tone screamed in my ears. My heart hammered against my ribs, violent and erratic, while that suffocating, familiar tightness gripped my throat like a vice. I shoved my hand into my coat pocket, searching for the small plastic tube of emergency anti-anxiety meds. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen out during the scuffle. Tyler took half a step back, his voice thin and defensive. “I—I didn’t mean to. Why did you pull so hard? If it was that important, you should’ve held onto it better!” Rachel dropped into a crouch beside me, her hand pressing firmly onto my shoulder. “Jesse, breathe. It’s okay. It’s just hardware. We’ll take it to a data recovery place, and I’ll buy you the newest model. Whatever you want.” I forced myself to look up, fighting through the dizziness. “Do you even know what was on here?” She paused. “Your art. I know it’s important—” “No, you don’t.” It wasn’t just art. It was the raw, unmerged project files that hadn’t synced to the cloud yet. It was the only editable baseline I had to salvage the fellowship piece, and the primary body of work I needed to submit to Professor Ward’s residency in Reykjavik. Tyler ran a hand through his hair, his voice full of exasperation. “Jesse, stop looking at me like I’m your enemy!” Rachel stood up, stepping in front of him again. Her face was set in stony reprimand. “The laptop is broken, Jesse. Glaring at Tyler won’t fix it. He didn’t do it on purpose. Do you really have to humiliate everyone in public?” An overhead announcement chimed, notifying passengers that the delayed Reykjavik flight had resumed gate check-in. I gathered the ruined, bent machine in my arms and slowly stood up. My arms were shaking, but when I spoke, my voice was completely flat. “Get out of my way.” Rachel watched me turn toward the gate customer service desk, her face draining of color. “You’re still leaving? Your computer is trashed! You need to go home and fix your files!” “I’m going back to the apartment to get my backup drive.” Tyler perked up immediately. “We’ll go with you! We’ll help you carry your stuff.” I looked straight through him. “You don’t get to step foot in my home ever again.” His face paled, looking utterly humiliated. Rachel’s eyes turned cold as ice. “You’re crossing a line today, Jesse.” I didn’t answer. Clutching the broken laptop to my chest, I walked toward the rebooking counter. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from Professor Ward: “Do you need me to have our curator in Reykjavik meet you at the airport? Her name is Naomi Lark. She’s near the terminal.” I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling as I typed back: “Not yet, Professor. My laptop broke. I need to run home and grab my physical backup drive first.” I slipped the phone away. Behind me, Rachel’s voice drifted through the airport air, low and certain: “He won’t actually leave.” I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince Tyler, or herself. 4 I took a cab back to my apartment alone. Leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, I took slow, deliberate breaths. The suffocating tightness in my chest and the high-pitched ringing in my ears gradually receded to a dull ache. When the cab pulled up to the curb, the driver helped me unload my duffel. He offered to carry it to the lobby, but I told him I was fine. Cradling the shattered laptop in my left arm and pulling the bag with my right, I made my way inside. In the study, I opened the bottom desk drawer. The rugged external hard drive was still tucked beneath my sketchbooks. A wave of relief washed over me. I packed it securely into an inner pouch of my duffel, then walked over to the nightstand to grab my spare prescription bottle of alprazolam. The moment my fingers closed around the plastic amber bottle, the front door clicked open. Rachel stood in the doorway, her silhouette dark against the hall light. “I knew you’d come back,” she said coldly. I tossed the bottle toward my bag. “Get out.” She didn’t leave. Instead, her eyes locked onto the medication in my hand. Before I could react, she lunged forward and snatched the bottle from my grip. “Jesse, have you had enough of this?” she demanded, holding the pills out of reach. “I told you I’d replace your laptop! I told you I’d make Tyler apologize! How much longer are you going to punish us with this silent treatment?” I reached out to grab it back. “Give it to me.” Rachel raised her arm higher, her eyes flashing with anger. “Tyler has been sitting on the curb downstairs, beating himself up, practically in tears! You haven’t asked about him once. When did you become so cold?” “The moment you two decided my life was a roulette wheel for your entertainment.” “Stop being so melodramatic!” she snapped, gritting her teeth. “One contest! One laptop! One weekend trip! Are you really going to throw away years of our lives over this?” I looked at her, seeing her clearly for the first time in years. “Rachel, we’re done. I’m breaking up with you.” She froze, and then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. There was no humor in it—only the shock of someone whose authority had been challenged. “Breaking up? You’re trying to threaten me with a breakup?” “I’m not threatening you.” I didn’t want to waste another breath. I grabbed the handle of my duffel and reached out once more for the pill bottle. Rachel dodged to the side, closing her fist tightly around the plastic container. “Fine. You want time to cool off? I’ll give it to you.” She backed out into the hallway. A sudden, sharp spike of panic struck my chest. “Rachel, what are you doing?” The heavy solid-wood door slammed shut in my face. The deadbolt turned with a heavy, metallic thunk. I grabbed the brass handle and rattled it violently. Locked tight. Rachel’s voice came through the thick wood, muffled but sharp. “Tyler and I are making one last bet. Four hours. You sit in there for four hours, and maybe you’ll realize how out of line you’ve been today.” I pounded on the door. “Rachel! Open the door!” “I’m keeping the pills,” she said, her voice uncompromising. “So you don’t use your panic attacks as an excuse to guilt-trip me. When you’re ready to speak to me with some respect, you can call me.” Her footsteps clicked down the tiled hallway. The elevator chimed, and then the building fell dead silent. I stood in the entryway, my palms flat against the cold wood of the door, my breathing instantly turning shallow. The sealed apartment. The locked deadbolt. The absence of medication. It all converged at once, a phantom hand reaching into my chest, squeezing the air directly out of my lungs. I turned around, frantically tearing through drawers in the console. Nothing. My backpack contents had been jumbled in the airport fall. My phone was wedged deep inside the torn inner lining. With trembling, sweaty fingers, I dug it out. The fingerprint scanner failed three times against my clammy skin. A text from Tyler flashed on the lock screen: Bro, just chill out. Rachel is doing this for your own good. I stared at the glowing letters, a sick, hollow feeling rising in my gut. They genuinely believed that locking me in a cage was an act of love. My heart was hammering so hard it felt like it would fracture my ribs. The edges of my vision were bleeding into black static. The room began to spin, the ceiling pressing down like a concrete slab. Before the darkness took me completely, I stumbled into the entryway stand, knocking it over with a loud crash. My hand found the heavy solid-brass decorative sculpture that had fallen to the floor. Gathering the very last reserve of adrenaline in my body, I dragged myself into the living room, locked my eyes on the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window leading to the balcony, and hurled the brass weight with everything I had. The tempered glass shattered with a deafening roar. A shower of heavy crystalline shards exploded inward, tearing through the flesh of my left forearm. Hot blood gushed instantly, splashing across the light oak floorboards. The icy winter wind rushed into the room, cold and sharp, filling my starving lungs. On the floor, my phone screen lit up one last time. A preview message from Rachel sat in the center of the display: It’s only four hours, Jesse. Stop playing the victim.
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