They Bet On My Flight, So I Booked One To Iceland Chapter 06

They Bet On My Flight, So I Booked One To Iceland Chapter 06

By the time Mason reached the hospital, the nurse could only tell him that the patient had already left.

He stood at the end of the hallway, still gripping Avery’s pill bottle.

Sweat from his palm had made the plastic slick.

Avery’s final message remained on his phone screen.

[From this moment on, I never want to see either of you again, not in this life or any other.]

He suddenly sank into a crouch, his shoulders slumping.

This time, there was no bet to hide behind and no graceful way out.

…

The wind in Reykjavik had teeth, stinging my face like tiny shards of ice.

When my mentor met me at the airport, the first thing she noticed was the bandage on my arm.

She did not ask any questions. She simply removed her scarf and draped it over my shoulders.

“The studio is warm. Get some sleep first.”

I nodded.

Here, no one made bets about my silence or treated my boundaries as though they were ruining the mood.

I began rebuilding my portfolio.

The damaged laptop was sent out for repair, and the backup drive had preserved most of my files.

I redrew the missing layers one stroke at a time.

Sometimes, when I worked past midnight, the wound on my arm began to itch.

My mentor would knock on the door and leave a bowl of hot soup beside me.

“There’s no rush, Avery. No piece of art is worth your life.”

During my third week at the studio, I met Elias Lindberg.

He was a curator who worked with my mentor and had been based in Iceland for years. He spoke English slowly, but every word was clear.

Before handing me the coffee, he paused at the edge of the table.

“Do you drink it black, or would you like some milk?”

I paused.

“Black is fine.”

He nodded and set the cup down on my right side.

After glancing at my bandage, he asked no questions. He simply walked over to the wall and turned the thermostat up two degrees.

At that moment, I suddenly realized how little effort respect required.

It meant asking before handing someone something and pausing before stepping closer.

A month later, I logged back into my old Instagram account and posted my first sketch from Iceland.

A long direct message was waiting for me.

It was from a former classmate who had been a year behind me.

A former classmate: [Avery, things have gotten ugly between Mason and Chloe since you left.]

She told me Mason had quit his job and spent every day sitting alone in my old apartment.

He had the window repaired, but he refused to let building management replace the bloodstained section of flooring beside it.

At first, Chloe still went to keep him company.

She brought him coffee and cake, trying to cheer him up the way she always had before.

My former classmate sent me an audio clip.

Chloe’s voice sounded bright and playful.

“I bet you haven’t eaten all day. Look, I brought you a cinnamon latte. You hate cinnamon, so one sip should wake you right up.”

A cup shattered in the next second.

Mason’s voice was hoarse.

“Do you ever think about anything besides making bets?”

Chloe fell silent.

Mason continued.

“You got her disqualified from the competition. You ripped her backpack. You kept treating her patience like a joke.”

Chloe fired back through her tears.

“How can you blame all of this on me? You locked her inside. You took her medication. Don’t stand there acting like the devoted boyfriend now.”

The recording ended there.

After listening to it, I simply placed my phone facedown on the table.

Elias walked out from behind one of the display panels with a new layout proof in his hand.

“I think this piece should go on the first wall inside the entrance. But if you don’t want it to be the first thing people see, we can move it.”

I looked at the painting I had recreated.

A girl stood in front of shattered glass, with the northern lights behind her.

“Put it on the first wall.”

Elias nodded.

“All right. We’ll do it your way.”

My phone vibrated again.

My former classmate had sent one last message.

A former classmate: [They’re still trying to track down the details of your show. I don’t think they’re going to let this go.]

I silenced my phone and picked up my brush again.

This time, I did not look back.