Mr.Brightside

Chapter 55

Jack's Struggle

The drive home from Clara's exhibition was quiet. Too quiet. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me—the distance, the tension, the unspoken words that lingered between us. Clara sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts. I wanted to say something, to ask her how she really felt, but the words wouldn't come.

The exhibition had been a success. Everyone loved her work, and Ethan couldn't stop talking about the future—about all the opportunities that would come her way. I should have been proud. I should have felt happy for her. But as I stood there, watching Clara shine in a world that felt so foreign to me, all I could think about was how far apart we were growing.

I kept replaying the night in my head. Watching her talk to all those people, seeing how easily she fit into that space, it was like I was watching someone else. Someone I didn't know. And as much as I tried to shake the feeling, it wouldn't go away.

We pulled into the driveway, the soft glow of the porch light cutting through the darkness. Clara didn't move right away. She sat there, still staring out the window, her hand resting lightly on her knee. I turned off the engine and waited, hoping she would say something—anything—that would break the silence.

But she didn't.

After the Show

Inside, Clara headed straight for the bedroom, leaving me standing in the kitchen, unsure of what to do. The quiet was deafening. I could hear the faint sound of her footsteps upstairs, the soft creak of the floorboards as she moved through the house. It was like she was slipping further away with every step.

I leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to make sense of everything. I wanted to be happy for her—I really did. But something inside me couldn't ignore the growing distance between us. Clara was changing, and I wasn't sure if I could keep up.

I thought about the table I'd been working on, the one Greg had said deserved to be in a gallery. A part of me had been proud of that—proud of the work I'd done, proud of the craft. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe I was scared. Scared that I wasn't enough. Scared that no matter how hard I worked, I'd never fit into Clara's new world.

I poured myself a glass of water, staring down at the kitchen table. It was late, and I knew I should go upstairs, talk to her, but I didn't know where to start. Every conversation we'd had lately seemed to spiral into something bigger, something neither of us could control.

Finally, I made my way up to the bedroom. Clara was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her dress from the exhibition, her eyes fixed on the floor. She looked tired, worn out. But it wasn't just physical exhaustion—I could see it in her face, the way her shoulders slumped, the way her fingers fiddled with the hem of her dress. She was carrying the weight of something I couldn't quite understand.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her, trying to find the right words. But before I could say anything, she spoke.

"I don't know if this is going to work, Jack."

Her voice was soft, but it hit me like a punch to the gut. I crossed the room, sitting down beside her, my heart pounding in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Clara sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I mean... I don't know if we can keep doing this. I feel like we're living in two different worlds, and I don't know how to bring them together."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I thought we were figuring it out," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to look at me, her eyes filled with a sadness that made my chest ache. "I thought we were too. But tonight... it felt like we were miles apart, Jack. And I don't know how to fix that."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. I wanted to tell her that we could fix it, that we could find a way to make it work, but I wasn't sure if I believed that anymore. Clara was chasing her dreams, and I was proud of her for that. But in the process, we were losing each other.

"I don't want to lose you," I said, my voice cracking.

She reached for my hand, her touch gentle, but it didn't bring the comfort it usually did. "I don't want to lose you either," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't know how to stop it."

A Confession

We sat there in the darkness, neither of us speaking, both of us trying to figure out what came next. I wanted to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay, but the truth was, I didn't know if it would be.

"I've been thinking about that table," I said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Clara looked at me, her brow furrowed. "What about it?"

"Greg said I should try to get it into a gallery," I explained. "And I've been thinking... maybe I should. Maybe I should try to put myself out there, too."

Her eyes softened, a flicker of hope crossing her face. "You should, Jack. You're so talented, and your work deserves to be seen."

I nodded, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen. "But what if... what if I'm not enough? What if I can't keep up with you?"

Clara's grip on my hand tightened. "Jack, you don't have to keep up with me. We're not in a race."

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. "It feels like we are. You're out there, doing all these amazing things, and I'm just... stuck. I don't know how to fit into your world."

She frowned, her voice quiet. "It's not my world, Jack. It's our world. But we both have to be in it."

I could hear the truth in her words, but I wasn't sure how to bridge the gap between us. The path she was on felt so different from mine, and I didn't know if I could walk it with her.

"I don't know if I can do this," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Clara's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, understanding. "I don't know if I can either."

We sat there, both of us unsure of what the future held, both of us afraid of what came next. But for the first time in a long time, we were honest with each other. And even though it hurt, even though it felt like everything was falling apart, there was a small part of me that hoped—hoped that maybe, just maybe, we could find a way back to each other.

----------------------------------

1155 words