Reya watched the funeral with dry eyes. She didn't cry, she couldn't cry. There had been too much of it the last three days since the hospital. She hadn't seen Willy Wonka at all during that time, and hadn't even tried to comfort herself with even a bite of a Wonka bar. It was her fault her father was in that casket, and she had no right to desire comfort or hurt about it. She had made the bed, and now she had to lay in it and pay for what she had done. Her body was covered in cuts, fingernail scratching, and now burns. But it was not enough anymore. The pain was not enough, and she knew she needed to feel more. She had to suffer for what she had done. It was all her fault.
Her mother still did not know about the cutting, and she kept it that way, feeling she had to suffer through it alone. She hated herself so much, and she had been thinking about suicide a lot more lately. No one could know about it. She had to keep it secret if she had any hope of making it through this.
When the place was almost completely cleared out, almost two hours after the funeral, she stood alone by the grave and watched as they lowered the casket down. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's all my fault. It was supposed to be me in there, not you"
"You don't mean that," said a voice. She turned and looked at Willy Wonka darkly. She had known he was standing there. She had seen his reflection on the polished wood. "Dear, dear, Reya, when was the last time you slept?" he asked in concern.
"Stay away from me!" she spat, stepping back. "And stop pretending that I'm a victim like my mom. I killed him! I lied and because of it he died! How can you still act like it's all going to be alright"
"Reya, I"
"No! I don't want to hear it! I don't want you to tell me about how everything happens for a reason, and that it'll all work out, even though I can't see it now. I told you before that I hate lies! I hate them!" He stayed calm, and watched as she ranted on, almost as if he understood. "I want you to go away! Go away and never come back. Don't come near me again, don't talk to me again! Just disappear back into your factory like you had before!" She finished and stared at him, shaking, her hand in fists, and tears forming around her eyes. He didn't yell, he didn't get angry. He simply nodded, sadly.
"If that's what you really want," he said softly.
"Yes"
"Then, young lady, I promise not to bother you again." He turned and started to leave, but then stopped, and glanced over his shoulder. "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." He left her standing there, and after the heat had passed and she was thinking clearly again, she ran her hand up her forehead, and got her finger tangled in her hair.
"What have I done?" she whispered.
-
Reya lived in her room after that day. She left the door locked most of the time, and spent the days sleeping mostly, or scribbling meaningless things in her notebooks. Sentences with no ending or words that made no sense. Nothing made sense to her now. The lights were always off in her room, and the shades where always pulled down to keep it somewhat dark. There was a blanket draped over her mirror so she wouldn't have to look at herself, and her favorite clothes were sweatpants and sweatshirts. One of them was a University of Pheonix, that had belonged to her dad, and she wore it the most often.
The inside of the sweatshirt was bloodstained from cuts and burns, and her mother still didn't know about it. She had also taken to pulling out her hair, strand by strand, so her hair was very messy and torn. Her mother had to have noticed that at least. Her sister was handling it a lot better than she was. She had already started going back to school, and her mother had started going back to work. Reya was going back to school the next day, and was afraid. She didn't want to face any of the mean people at school, and definitely none of the teachers, who were more than likely going to offer words of comfort on her first day back.
She was laying, curled up on her bed, shivering because the heat was not turned on. Sleep was creeping over her again, and clutched in her hand was a Wonka wrapper. It was from the last bar he had given her before she had told him to get away from her. She still regretted saying it, but it was too late to go back now. By now he probably hated her and didn't want her to come back as a burden. He was better off without handling her problems.
When she fell asleep, there were no dreams. Just the real pain from the self injury that carried on into her dreams.
-
She had survived school, much to her surprise. The teacher had tried to comfort her, and she put on her mask, pretending to be greatful of it, neglecting to mention whose fault it was that her father was gone. She knew her mother wasn't home yet, so she went to the candy store for the first time in almost a month. She needed a Wonka bar so much now. The store manager didn't seem afraid of her this time, and she walked up to the counter.
"I'll take a Wonka bar please," she said softly. "The regular kind"
"Are you sure you don't want to try his new one?" asked the manager in his usually cheery tone. "The Wonka Healer Bar, specifically made for those bad days." She shrugged.
"Okay, whatever." She paid for it and sat down on one of the stools, tearing into it and taking a bite.
"I don't mean to pry," said the clerk after a minute. "But aren't you the daughter of that poor fellow who died in that hit an run almost three weeks ago?" She nodded.
"Yes," she answered. The clerk shook his head and gave her a look of pity.
"That was a very unfortunate event. I can't tell you how sorry I am for you and your family"
"Why?" she asked. "It's not like it was your fault," she added darkly. She took another bite of the bar, and suddenly felt a little happier, surprising her. "What's in this?" she asked.
"If I knew that, I'd make my own, sell them and become a millionaire," he said in a tone that let her know she had asked a stupid question. "You simply cannot ask why a miracle happens. You just accept it like everything else in life"
"I'd hardly call a bar of chocolate a miracle," she said softly, smiling a little.
"But miracles don't have to be big, young lady. They come in all forms. Willy Wonka seems to know how to make them just right. Some people turn to chocolate for comfort, so he gave it a boost for those who need the extra help, especially in situations like your own." She finished the bar, and felt as though half of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Here," said the clerk. "Have another, and this one's on me. My way of offering condolence to you and your family." Reya forced a smile as she took the bar.
"Thanks," she said softly, and left. She stepped out onto the sidewalk and started to unwrap the bar when someone brushed past her, muttering a quick, "'scuse me," as he went by,and just walked on as if he'd barely noticed her. She looked up and tears came to her eyes. It was Wonka.
"I'm sorry," she mouthed out, but couldn't find the strength to say it out loud.
-
Reya stood in the doorway to the kitchen, trembling, and sweating. She had made a promise and had to keep it. Why did it have to be so hard? She wanted to be able to talk to Wonka again, but didn't want to have this ugly load to throw on him. Her mother was sitting at the table, reading, not even aware that she was there, and Reya played out what she was going to say in her mind.
After five minutes of fidgeting and debating, she stepped into the kitchen and pulled up a chair, bringing herself to face her mom.
"Mom," she said softly. Her mother looked up from her book and looked at her, giving her a soft smile. Reya took in a deep breath, knowing she had to get it over with, and said slowly, "There's something I need to talk to you about"