The Space Between Us

CHAPTER 5 - Hidden Colors

Liam

The studio was quiet, the kind of quiet that presses in on you, demanding something in return. Liam sat in front of his canvas, unmoving, as if the blank space before him had swallowed his thoughts whole. The paintbrush in his hand felt heavier than it should, the weight of it pulling him down, reminding him of all the days he hadn't painted.

It wasn't the canvas that taunted him—it was the image of Clara, standing beside Isaac, her face lighting up as he spoke. Liam tried to shake the thought, but it clung to him, a shadow he couldn't outrun.

This isn't about Clara, he told himself. It's about Isaac.

Liam leaned forward, gripping the edge of the canvas, his fingers white with tension. He had known men like Isaac before—charming, influential, and always in control. Isaac's reputation wasn't unknown, especially to someone like Liam, who had seen the way Isaac could manipulate a person's ambitions, molding them into something they weren't.

But Clara...she didn't see it. She couldn't see it. Not yet, anyway.

Liam stared at the untouched canvas, the urge to create clawing at him, but something held him back. He hadn't painted in months—hadn't felt the drive to since the block set in. But tonight was different. Tonight, the frustration was too much, and he needed to let it out. The emotions tangled inside him—jealousy, frustration, worry—they were all fighting for space in his mind.

He dipped the brush into the paint, his hand trembling as the first stroke hit the canvas. It was rough, a wide slash of color, but it felt like a release. One stroke turned into two, then three, and before he knew it, the brush was moving on its own, guided by something he couldn't fully understand.

Each brushstroke was an expression of the turmoil inside him—the jealousy he refused to name, the frustration of watching Isaac inch closer to Clara, and the protectiveness he masked as concern. He painted with intensity, the colors blending into something raw, something primal.

Hours passed, though Liam barely noticed. The studio around him seemed to disappear, the only thing that existed was the canvas and the emotions he poured into it. His hand ached, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop.

When he finally stepped back, he was breathless, his chest rising and falling as he stared at what he had created. It wasn't clear at first, the image was abstract—swirls of color and shape, a chaotic mess that somehow felt...right.

And then he saw it. Among the lines and strokes, the suggestion of a face appeared. Her face.

Clara.

Liam's breath caught in his throat as he realized what he had done. He hadn't meant to paint her, hadn't even realized he was thinking about her while he worked. But there she was, hidden in the chaos of his emotions, her presence unmistakable.

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers loosening their grip on the brush. This was it. The block was gone, shattered by the weight of everything he had tried to bury inside. Clara had been the key—his muse, though he would never say it aloud.

The studio was silent again, but this time, it felt different. The emptiness that had haunted him for so long was gone, replaced by something else—something that scared him as much as it exhilarated him.

The next day, Liam stood outside the gallery, the painting wrapped in brown paper, cradled in his arms like something fragile. His heart pounded in his chest, the familiar mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling in his gut. It had been so long since he'd shown his work publicly—too long.

He stepped inside, the cool air of the gallery greeting him like an old friend. The owner, a woman with kind eyes and a sharp sense for talent, looked up from behind her desk, her face breaking into a smile.

"Liam," she said warmly, her gaze flicking to the wrapped painting. "It's been a while."

He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah...it has."

She gestured for him to sit, her curiosity piqued. "Is this something new?"

Without a word, Liam carefully unwrapped the painting, his heart racing as the canvas was revealed. The owner's eyes widened slightly as she took it in, her hand coming to her chin as she studied the abstract lines, the colors blending into the suggestion of Clara's face.

"This is...powerful," she murmured, her voice reverent. "There's so much emotion here, so much energy. It's different from your earlier work."

Liam swallowed, unsure how to respond. It was different. It was raw, more personal than anything he'd ever created. But that was what scared him the most—this wasn't just a painting. It was an expression of everything he'd been holding inside.

The owner looked at him, her eyes gleaming with approval. "We're putting this up. No question."

Liam should have felt elated. His return to the gallery—his return to art—was supposed to be a victory, a moment of reclaiming the part of himself he had lost. But as he left the gallery and wandered the campus, his mind was elsewhere.

He spotted them again—Isaac and Clara, standing together near the entrance of one of the campus buildings. Isaac was speaking, his voice low and smooth, while Clara listened, her face lighting up with interest.

Liam's jaw clenched. He didn't know what Isaac was saying, but he could guess. He had seen this scene play out before—Isaac, the charismatic mentor, guiding a young artist, making them feel special, important. It was how he worked. And Clara...she was falling for it.

Liam's fists tightened at his sides. He told himself it wasn't about Clara. He wasn't jealous. He was just worried—worried that Isaac was manipulating her, leading her down a path that would only end in disappointment.

But as he stood there, watching them, Liam couldn't ignore the other feeling bubbling beneath the surface. The jealousy he had tried so hard to deny was there, plain and simple, and it was eating him alive.

He turned away before either of them could see him, his mind racing. He needed to do something, to warn Clara, to protect her from Isaac's influence. But how could he do that without revealing the truth? How could he show her the danger she was in without admitting his own feelings?

He didn't have the answer. Not yet. But as he walked away, his heart heavy with the weight of his emotions, Liam knew one thing for sure—this wasn't over.