she feels like the breath has been knocked from her lungs. kit snicket has never been labeled that - at least, never aloud. and not at hogwarts. and never by him. the knife in her heart twists and sinks deeper. she doesn’t know if the tears that spring forth are from hurt or anger. both course through her, humming just beneath her skin.
“you …” she tries, and her voice falters. she swallows thickly. tries again. “i don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but you do not talk to me like that. i deserve better than that!” she snaps sharply, hands fisted at her sides. one inch from grabbing her wand to hex him for the sheer spite of it. the label hurts. more so that it comes from him and the terrified part of her knows he means every syllable of it.
“how dare you.” she warns quietly, dangerously. “you may be suffering but that doesn’t give you any excuse to take it out on the people trying to help you.” her nostrils flare. “get a grip.sooner rather than later. if you think i’ll so easily forgive you - just how dare you!”
In the silence that reigns for a split second he can almost hear his heart break. Seeing her in tears has never been something he wanted to do, not because of him. She could hex him right now or let someone do that for her later. He wouldn’t even fight back, knowing exactly what he said. It’s a terrible, dirty label. One of the worst insults. Of course he doesn’t mean it, but what else can he do?
“I won’t talk to you like that,” Olaf responds, following her advice and trying to get a grip. He averts his eyes, however, knowing that the hurt in them would be too visible. A transparent soul he could hide from anyone, but not from Kit. His voice is dead, emotionless, but it takes a great effort to suppress the urge to put his hand on his mouth to muffle a sob. That would be a disgrace. He can’t allow that. “I won’t talk to you at all. I don’t care if you forgive me”. I love you, everything inside him screams. Please don’t forgive me.
He storms out of the room, trying too hard not to look back, running and running away until he slides down the wall in the bathroom and hides his face in his hands. An overwhelming disgust makes him feel sick, he runs over to the nearest sink, pale and shaking, staring at his left forearm with so much loathe is suffocates him, and–
“DEATH EATER IN THE BATHROOM, DEATH EA–”
“Oh no, Myrtle, no, please...” he begs until she shuts up, floating over him as he raises his hands to surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone, I swear.”
“You look sad,” she drawls, tilting her head to the side after a few seconds of consideration.
“Yeah, and you look dead,” he scoffs, regretting these words immediately for they are followed by a high-pitched wail and an awful lot of nasty sobbing. That’s the most stupid thing he’s had to do yet, trying to reason with a ghost. She still looks offended, but puts a hand through his shoulder in a chilly and quite unpleasant attempt to comfort him. Ghosts are pretty much everyone he can talk to now – nobody cares about them, nobody can kill them one more time. And then, she listens, even generously offers him to share the girls bathroom with her when he’s dead. When. It seems inevitable now – Olaf knows he’s going to fail. He’s not a murderer, after all, he’s never been the type.
He skips dinner again, having no desire to so much as look at food, let alone at Bea or Kit. Instead, he goes up to the Astronomy Tower, not realizing that they’ve been there so many times it became their place or that he won’t be alone there tonight.
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