A/n: This is my 2nd fanfic here on fanfiction. The story takes place a year after Charlie went into the wonderful chocolate factory owned by Willy Wonka. So, a little after Feb. 1st:D You might be confused at first, but it will unravel by itself soon! Oh! And here's a warning before u read. . . this whole story will contain slight rape, but not detailed, mild language, and sexual content. This 1st chapter does have a scene of rape, so if u don't like that kind of stuff, just skip the italisized section!
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I only own Bianca, Emmy, and any other characters that you might not recognize...but I due own Willy Wonka on Saturday nights:D Jk!
Chapter 1: Lonely Hearts
"Emmy . . . Emmy! Wake up! We're going on a little trip."
"This early? Where are we going?"
"Do you remember me telling you about your Aunt Arlene? We're going to go to her town for a while."
"Are we going to see her? And Charlie?"
"Maybe . . . Now, come on. Let's get you dressed."
It's a Monday morning, Emmy is supposed to go to school. But not today. I quickly grab her little suitcase and pull her dress of drawers open. I put as many clothes as the little thing could fit. I look over to see if Emmy is done getting dressed. She's all ready and waiting for me.
"Does Ralph know we're going?" she asked innocently.
"No . . . Your father doesn't know. I like it better like this . . . Not knowing where we're going. C'mon!" I grab her hand and walk quickly to the front door.
"But I thought you left him for good," Emmy inquired.
"I did . . . But he can still hurt you and me. It's better like this."
The cab I called was waiting outside. I open the trunk, and put both our suitcases inside. I see my own breath in the cold winter air. We get inside the cab, and we're off, away from our old horrifying life in hopes of a new one.
Emmy has lied down and fallen asleep. I wish I could, but then I would dream of Ralph again. Even if I did divorce him that still didn't stop the dreams. I still remember our first night as husband and wife. That's one of the many memories that stick out the most . . .
I'm sitting at my vanity, brushing my long hair. I'm wearing my white satin negligee that I got from my mother for the "special moment" after marriage. Ralph walks in and sees me in the mirror. I smile at his reflection and turn around.
"I'm ready to be made love to for the first time, Ralph," I tell him, blushing in the process.
"Who says this is your first time, Bianca?" He stares at me coldly. I stand up concerned and confused. "Ralph . . . What are you talking about? I'm still a virgin. I never slept with anyone else before our marriage," I tell him firmly.
He walks towards me and swiftly hits me across my face. "Don't lie to me, you bitch!" I cupped my cheek and looked at him shocked. I feel my cheek pulsate from the hard punch. He smiles evilly and I knew right then and there that he knew I didn't cheat on him. He's accusing me on purpose.
"Ralph . . . Why are you doing this? Don't you love me?" He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed my wrist and pushes me on the bed. He pounces onto top of me and holds my hands above my head. I scream my disagreement of where this was going, but he punches my stomach to shut me up.
He unzips his trousers and brutally makes love to me. No . . . Not make love . . . rape. I couldn't stop him, and every thrust was like a stab to my heart. The shock of seeing this side of him made me freeze, not able to move, even though he was hurting me, tearing tender flesh with agonizing strength. After he was done having his way with me, he looked down at me and said, "Clean up this mess you made. I'm going to the strip club tonight."
He left the bedroom and I openly broke down. I look down and see blood staining the bed and my white negligee. This was only the beginning of the five year hell hole named Ralph Mab . . .
"Hey, miss. I thought I'd let ya know that I stopped for gas."
I popped out of my daze and looked at the chubby cab driver. I nodded and looked out the window. "How far are we from our destination?" I asked.
"Not far. An hour . . . Hour and a half tops."
I nod again and look at Emmy. She's still fast asleep. I brush a strand of her long, black hair behind her ear. She got that hair from me, I thought. I mostly left for you, Emmy.
"Mr. Wonka! Wake up! You don't want to be late for breakfast, do you?" Charlie knocked loudly on my bedroom door. I grumbled my disagreement. I just wanted to stay in bed, curled up in the sheets.
"Mr. Wonka!" I hear a big thump on my door, which is probably from Charlie kicking it.
"Okay! I'll get up!" I sigh and reluctantly get up. I get out of bed and go to my bathroom. I'm too lazy to take a shower today. I comb my hair, brush my teeth, and look at myself in the mirror.
I'm not that pale! Charlie needs his eyes checked! I thought and giggled softly. I walk into my closet and put on my normal attire complete with maroon tailcoat, top hat, and cane.
"Finally! You really need an alarm clock. I nearly broke my hand knocking on your door!" Charlie said to me as I opened my bedroom door. "Normally, I would've woken up around six, but I'm just not feeling like myself lately," I tell him as an excuse. It's not completely a lie though. I haven't been feeling like myself for the past month or so.
Everything was great when Charlie and the whole Bucket family moved into my factory. For the first time, I've felt like I was loved, and part of a family. Heck . . . Charlie and the Bucket's are my family! And my dad and I have started talking and seeing each other again. It was like my life was back on track.
Then, I started to observe Mr. and Mrs. Bucket. How they would kiss each other lightly on the cheek or the lips every time they would meet up or when Mr. Bucket got home from his job. How they would hug each other and talk sweetly to and about each other. That's when I sort of felt envious of Mr. Bucket. So, I asked him how he came to meet Mrs. Bucket. He explained how they met and the crazy feelings he felt around her. He also explained marriage and the eventful wedding night. I was sort of appalled at this. It didn't seem sanitary. I asked why do people make love, and he simply replied, "Because it's the most vulnerable way to show someone just how much you truly love them, as they show you how much they love you."
I want that. I've thought on it and finally decided that I wouldn't feel complete until I found someone to love me like Mr. Bucket explained. I let Mrs. Bucket show me some of her friends, go on dates with some, but none of them seem to appeal to me. The woman I want should love me for who I am, not because of my factory, business, or money. I want the woman I make love to . . . To be my wife. I have thought about starting a family, but I'm still fickle about children. I'm afraid I'll raise them wrong, and be a bad father.
"Mr. Wonka?"
"Huh?" I look around and see that we're already at Charlie lopsided house in the Chocolate Room.
"Just checking to see if you're still on Earth." Charlie opened the crooked door. Everyone is already sitting at the table eating their breakfast. I take my seat in between Grandma Josephine and Grandma Georgina.
"Good morning, Mr. Wonka. Here's your breakfast," Mrs. Bucket said happily as she placed a plate filled with strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and some toast. "Thank you," I said softly and grabbed a fork and dug in. "Oh! And here's your chocolate milk," Mrs. Bucket said quickly as she poured it into a glass and handed it to me. I nodded and continued with my meal.
"You seem a little quiet today, Mr. Wonka. You're not your cheery self in the morning," Grandpa Joe observed.
"He says he hasn't felt like himself lately," Charlie said before I opened my mouth.
"Maybe some fresh air will do you good. You can come shopping with Charlie and me today. We're going to get some food for dinner tonight, and Charlie's school supplies," Mrs. Bucket insisted.
"Yeah! I forgot winter break is over in a week. That means we really need to brainstorm for something new, Mr. Wonka." Charlie smiles and looked at me, hoping that he cheered me up a bit.
I gave in and smiled. "Well, of course I'll come with you! Just as long as I don't into Molly . . ." Charlie chuckled, but Mrs. Bucket quickly silenced him with a look. "Molly was a nice woman! And she sells the most beautiful roses," Mrs. Bucket inquired.
"True . . . But she also asked a lot about my income per year. I don't think she was interested. She was interested in my money."
I was ready for Mrs. Bucket to respond, but it never came. She was sipping something steaming in her mug. She sighs her enjoyment of the mystery beverage. "What are you drinking?" I asked curiously.
"I saw it the other day and had to get it. It reminded me of Bianca. She always loved to make coffee in the morning for everyone."
"Aunt Bianca?" Charlie asked.
"That's right, Charlie. My dear sweet Bianca Rhiannon. She's Arlene's younger sister," Grandpa Joe as he saw the confused look on my face.
"Oh! You never told me you had a sister," I said to Mrs. Bucket.
"I haven't seen her since she got married to Ralph. She was twenty-two then, so she'll be twenty-seven now," Mrs. Bucket said as she continued to sip her coffee.
"Yes, she stopped calling, sending letters, and visiting us four years ago. It's like she disappeared," Grandma Josephine said.
"Well . . . She did say she and Ralph were having problems . . . Bad problems," said Mrs. Bucket. "Her last letter said she had great news to tell me, but it wasn't the right time to tell me. She never sent or called after that."
"I knew there was something wrong with Ralph Mab, but Bianca seemed to love him so much. I remember she used to sing all the time. She has the voice of a nightingale. I'll do anything to hear her voice and see her again. She's very beautiful," Grandpa Joe said briefly.
"Maybe one day she'll come back to visit," Charlie said optimistically.
"She won't. She never will because she's forgotten all about us," Grandpa George said grumpily.
"Pops! Don't say that! Bianca is too sweet to be like that," Mr. Bucket warned.
"I'm sure she's very nice as you say," I say to put a little bit of happiness back in the air.
"She's an angel," Grandpa Joe says quietly. Everybody nods and it's silent until Grandma Georgina says, "What about the mixed nuts?" Everybody smiled and ignored her sweetly.
"I think," Grandpa Joe began, "I'll go shopping with you. I feel my joints getting a little stiff, and need the exercise."
"All right. Well . . . we need to go now before there's a mad rush in the streets. I heard there's a new club opening tonight, and they're going to have people perform in the street in the morning before it opening night," Mrs. Bucket said as she grabbed her coat.
I quickly finished my breakfast and sat up. I grabbed my cane and top hat, and waited for Charlie and Grandpa Joe to get ready. I thought about Mrs. Bucket sister. Bianca . . . such a pretty name . . . too bad she's married and hasn't talked to her family in such a long time. Hopefully, she wasn't like me and thought a family was a waste of time.
"I'll see you later, darling," I hear Mrs. Bucket mumble and kiss Mr. Bucket on the cheek. I feel the envious twitch in my gut and look away. I just don't want to die alone and have no one mourn my death like a wife does.
"Everyone ready? All right, let's go!" Mrs. Bucker leads us out the door. She lets Charlie and Grandpa Joe take the lead. I had the suspicion she would.
"So . . . Willy . . . still feeling a little alone?" she asked.
"Yes . . ." She only uses my first name when we're alone. I also do the same thing, but I don't know why. "I was thinking about your sister . . . Bianca . . . she sounds very nice."
"Yes, but she's married. And I don't know where she is. But if she wasn't . . . I could see her with you."
"Why do you say that?"
"Before she was married she was so . . . eccentric . . . and very effervescent. But the times I saw her after . . . It was like her personality was drained out of her."
"What was wrong with her?"
"She wouldn't tell me. She said she didn't want to lose me."
"What does that mean?"
"She wouldn't tell me that either. I was sort of hurt because we used to tell each other everything. Now, it's like she's too scared to tell me anything . . ."
I nod and ask, "What does she look like?"
"Long, black hair. Ivory skin . . . like an angel. Sparkling blue eyes, like sapphires. A little bit taller than me."
"She does sound like an angel," I say as we step outside, the frosty, winter air instantly blowing onto our faces.
Well . . . tell me what u think and review! I'm also open to suggestions and some criticism. But plz . . . not too harsh of criticism (flame in other words). Your suggestions and criticism will make me a better writer. I really need to practice my skills and REALLY need some help! So plz review!