Mr.Brightside

Chapter 56

Clara's Crossroads

The next morning, I woke up to the dull gray light of dawn filtering through the curtains. Jack wasn't in bed beside me. For a moment, I wondered if he'd left for the workshop already, but when I sat up, I could hear the faint sound of hammering coming from downstairs.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold floor beneath my feet. Last night's conversation weighed heavily on my mind. It had been raw, painful, but also honest. For the first time, we had both admitted that we were struggling, that the future we had envisioned together wasn't as certain as we once thought.

But what now?

I pulled on a sweater and quietly made my way downstairs. Jack was in the kitchen, working on a piece of wood at the table. The sight of him there, focused on his work, reminded me of how much I loved him. How much I wanted things to be okay between us. But love alone didn't seem like it was enough anymore.

"Morning," I said softly, stepping into the room.

Jack looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Morning."

We stood there in the quiet, the unspoken tension between us still lingering. I knew we couldn't leave things where they were—we needed to talk, to figure out what we were going to do. But the words felt heavy on my tongue, too big to say without breaking something even more.

"How's the piece coming along?" I asked, nodding toward the wood he was working on.

"It's good," he replied, his voice steady. "Just making some adjustments."

I nodded, moving closer to the table. The smooth surface of the wood was already taking shape into something beautiful, something uniquely Jack. For a moment, I felt a surge of pride for him, for his talent, for the way he could create something out of nothing.

But that pride was quickly overshadowed by the gnawing uncertainty that had been plaguing me since the exhibition. Could we really make this work? Could we find a way to reconcile our different paths?

"I've been thinking about last night," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jack set down his tools, wiping his hands on a rag before turning to face me. "Me too."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. "I don't want us to lose each other, Jack. But I also don't know how to move forward if we keep pretending like everything is fine."

He nodded slowly, his expression serious. "I know. I've been thinking about that too."

I bit my lip, unsure of how to say what I needed to say. "I think... I think we need some space. To figure things out."

The words hung between us, heavy and final. Jack's face tightened, but he didn't look away. "Space?"

"I'm not saying I want to end things," I hurried to explain. "I just... I think we both need time to figure out who we are—who we are separately, before we can figure out how to be together."

Jack exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "So, what does that mean? What kind of space are we talking about?"

I hesitated. "Maybe I could stay at my mom's for a little while. Just for a few days. Give us both time to breathe."

The silence that followed was deafening. Jack's eyes darkened, and I could see the hurt in them, the fear that we were slipping away from each other for good.

"You really think that's what we need?" he asked, his voice rough.

I didn't trust myself to speak right away. The last thing I wanted was to hurt him, but I also knew that we couldn't keep pretending like everything was okay. We needed time to figure out what we wanted, what we were willing to fight for.

"I think it's the only way to know if we can find our way back to each other," I said softly.

Jack's jaw clenched, and he looked away, staring down at the piece of wood in front of him. For a long time, he didn't say anything, and I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake by suggesting it.

Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. If that's what you need."

The sadness in his voice broke something inside me, but I didn't let myself cry. Not yet. Instead, I stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.

"This isn't goodbye, Jack. It's just... a pause. So we can figure out how to move forward. Together."

He didn't say anything, but he nodded again, his eyes still focused on the wood beneath his hands. I squeezed his arm gently before turning to leave the kitchen, my heart heavy with the weight of everything that had just happened.

The Decision

Upstairs, I began packing a small bag. It felt surreal, folding my clothes and placing them neatly inside. Like I was preparing for a trip I didn't really want to take. I kept telling myself that this was temporary, that it was just a step we needed to take to fix what was broken. But the uncertainty gnawed at me, and I couldn't shake the fear that once I left, things might never be the same.

As I zipped up the bag, I caught a glimpse of one of Jack's shirts hanging on the back of the door. I ran my fingers over the fabric, memories flooding back—of all the mornings we'd spent together, of the laughter, the love, the simple moments that had once made everything feel so right.

How had we ended up here?

A soft knock on the door startled me, and I turned to see Jack standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"I can take you to your mom's if you want," he said, his voice low.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Okay."

He didn't say anything else, just turned and headed back downstairs. I followed him a few minutes later, my bag slung over my shoulder, my heart heavy with the weight of the decision I had made.

The Ride

The drive to my mom's house was silent. Jack kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. I stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur by, wondering how long it would take before I felt normal again—before we felt normal again.

When we finally pulled up in front of my mom's house, Jack cut the engine and sat there for a moment, his fingers still gripping the wheel. I could feel the tension radiating off him, the unspoken words hanging in the air between us.

"Clara," he began, his voice tight. "Are we... are we really okay?"

I turned to face him, searching his eyes for the answer to a question I didn't even know how to ask. Were we okay? I didn't know. But I wanted to believe that we could be.

"We're going to figure it out," I said softly. "We just need time."

Jack nodded, but I could see the doubt flickering in his eyes. He leaned over and kissed my forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of me before I stepped out of the car.

"Call me, okay?" he whispered.

"I will," I promised.

I got out of the car and watched as Jack drove away, disappearing down the street. The ache in my chest felt unbearable, but I told myself that this was the right choice—that we needed this space to save what we had.

As I walked up to my mom's front door, I couldn't help but wonder if I had just taken the first step toward losing Jack forever.

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