When I was seven, I still believed that if I just tried hard enough, Daemon would like me. I followed him everywhere, tried to be helpful in small ways, but no matter what I did, his attitude toward me never changed. He remained distant, his gaze cold and indifferent whenever our paths crossed in the house. But I didn't give up. Even if Daemon didn't notice me the way I wanted him to, I kept hoping that one day he would.
That day, Daemon wasn't home. I remember sitting in the living room, staring at the open laptop he had left on the dining table. It was sleek, silver, and shiny—his prized possession. I knew he spent hours on it, studying, working on projects, always so focused. It was something he cared about deeply, and in my seven-year-old mind, I thought if I could help him by cleaning it, maybe he would finally appreciate me. Maybe, just maybe, he would say thank you.
With that hope bubbling in my chest, I grabbed a soft cloth from the kitchen and approached the laptop, my small hands trembling with excitement. I remembered how carefully Daemon cleaned it, how precise he was. I wanted to do the same, to make him proud of me.
I gently ran the cloth across the keyboard, wiping away any dust that might have settled there. But in my eagerness to do a good job, my hand knocked over the glass of water sitting next to the laptop. The water spilled, seeping quickly into the cracks of the keyboard. The screen flickered, and then everything went dark.
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Panic surged through me as I stared at the laptop, now completely unresponsive, the water pooling around it. I hadn't meant to break it. I was just trying to help. My hands shook as I tried to wipe the water away, but it was too late. The damage was done.
Fear gripped me as I imagined Daemon's reaction. I could see his face in my mind—cold, angry, the way he looked at me whenever I did something wrong. And this… this was worse than anything I had ever done before. I had ruined something precious to him, something he cared about more than anything else.
I didn't know what to do. Tears welled up in my eyes as I backed away from the table, my hands trembling. All I wanted was to make things better, but now I had made everything worse. I ran to my room, shutting the door behind me, my heart racing in my chest. I crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over my head, trying to hide from the fear that was clawing at me.
Hours passed, and I didn't leave my room. I sat there, curled up in a ball, dreading the moment Daemon would come home and see what I had done. The guilt weighed heavily on me, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.
---
When Daemon finally came home later that evening, I heard his footsteps as he walked through the front door. My heart leapt into my throat, and I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable moment when he would discover the broken laptop.
It didn't take long.
From my room, I heard the sharp intake of breath, followed by the unmistakable sound of something being slammed down on the table. My whole body tensed, and I clutched my blanket tighter, wishing I could disappear. There was a heavy silence, and then, finally, I heard his footsteps again—this time, coming toward my room.
My door creaked open, and Daemon stood there, his face dark and unreadable. His eyes landed on me, curled up on my bed, and for a moment, I couldn't tell if he was going to yell or just walk away. But he didn't do either.
"You broke it," he said, his voice cold and measured.
I didn't look up at him, too ashamed to meet his gaze. My throat felt tight, and I couldn't speak. All I could do was nod, tears brimming in my eyes.
Daemon exhaled sharply, his frustration palpable. He took a step into the room, running a hand through his hair. "Why, Nina? Why do you always have to mess things up?"
His words stung, cutting through the fragile wall I had built around myself. I blinked back the tears, my chest tightening with guilt. "I… I was just trying to help," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He stood there, silent for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. For a second, I thought I saw something in his expression—something that wasn't anger, something that might have been regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Stay out of my stuff," he finally said, his voice low and controlled. "I don't need your help."
I nodded, my heart aching as I watched him turn and leave, his footsteps heavy as he walked away. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, how much I wished I could take it back, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I sat there in the quiet, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on me.
---
For the next week, I couldn't bring myself to talk to Daemon. The guilt of breaking his laptop, combined with the hurt from his words, left me feeling raw and exposed. Every time I saw him, my chest tightened, and I turned away, unable to face him. I didn't follow him around the house like I usually did. I stayed in my room, keeping my distance, afraid of making things worse.
Daemon, for his part, didn't approach me either. He went about his days as if nothing had happened, his cold demeanor even more distant than usual. But I could feel the tension between us, the unspoken words hanging in the air every time we crossed paths. I knew he was still angry, still disappointed in me, and it made the silence between us even more painful.
One evening, as I sat in the living room, pretending to read a book, Daemon passed by on his way to the kitchen. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking toward me, and for a brief second, our gazes met. I expected him to say something, anything, but he just looked at me, his expression unreadable, before turning away.
It was as if a wall had been built between us, and I didn't know how to break it down.