I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Tupik-Ra has reviewed the story thus far and agrees that I am portraying Oompa Loompa customs and cultures in a positive light. Yay me! We're going to get a little darker here - time to start earning that M rating folks. – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 12
At the same moment that Willy was dropping into a deep sleep, Veronica was feverishly working not to do the same. She sat, hunched uncomfortably on a stool, over the countertop. Her hands tingled with a painful pins and needles sensation and she paused in the delicate work to shake it out.
It was the most delicate work she had ever done to date, building a music box motor out of tempered sugar. Every tiny piece had to be forged, sprayed with preservative, filed to perfection and finally placed with tweezers into the tiny compartment that would sit at the base of the giant cocoa bean sculpture.
More pieces had shattered in the process than had not – multiple disassembled music boxes provided her guidance – but also taunted her. She would make this happen.
It was the sound made by the sculpture at the competition that had given her the idea. The horror of the shattering had passed, and for months she had reflected on the sound made as it crashed to the ground - like glass wind chimes.
Veronica's conversations with Willy had inspired her to these insane heights of creation. No one was crazy enough to attempt this, she thought to herself.
She was painstakingly punching holes in a slender ribbon of candy, trying to hum the song under her breath to make sure the notes were in the right place as it passed over the microscopic tong that provided the musical note.
Then it shattered when it got to the lowest note – again. Veronica resisted the violent urge to throw the tiny tools across the room an instead set them on the velvet jeweler's cloth with infinite care. Then she stood and stretched – her eyes burning from the long hours focusing on such tiny work. The dark shadows of the kitchen seemed to gobble at the small circle of light upon her attention had been fixed.
She sighed and switched off the light and was immediately plunged into deepest night. She felt comfortable enough walking across the room to the keypad where the she keyed in her code from memory and heard the door open with a "snick".
The tired artist trudged down the flight of stairs to her apartment moving as if in a coma. Carefully locking the door behind her, she turned to regard the plain apartment – candy globes gleaming in the scarce light. Ignoring the lights, she decided to take a shower to try and relax before crashing.
Realizing how tired she really was, Veronica decided to take a special measure to ensure sleep. Flipping on the bathroom light she opened a bottle of Tylenol PM, took two and swallowed them with a glass of water from the sink. She turned on the water, minutely adjusted the temperature to just shy of scalding and pulled the knob to activate the shower. As the water warmed, she quickly stripped and stepped in, yelping from the heat. She quickly closed the curtain and stood under the deluge with her eyes closed.
Veronica finally let herself think about what she had been avoiding all day with her frantic – frankly idiotic – work to make a music box motor for the sculpture.
She was starting to suspect that she had deeper feelings for Willy.
Let's see…would I feel badly if I never saw him again?
The thought weighed heavily on her heart confirming that she would.
Do I really care about what he thinks or feels?
Most assuredly – it was the conversations that punctuated the end of the day that kept her going. His ever-present cheerful self, his enthusiasm and light-hearted way of seeing the world was a relief.
Veronica braced herself, placing palms flat against the wall and tilted her face to the spray. Now for the really hard question…
Do I think he is attractive?
Conflicting feeling bubbled up. Lust and fear made for a nauseating mix. She forced herself to swallow. Taking deep breaths – concentrating on not inhaling water instead, she took a moment to quell the conflicting emotions and try to establish their root.
It was the force of spirit that really appealed to her. His beautiful way of looking at the world in all of its horror and pain and seeing only the beauty and ways to make it a better place. Most people would classify it as childish - but she knew intimately that there was a difference between willful innocence and selfish self-absorption. She could imagine spending years with this man and still not really touch his depths.
Yes, she was desperately attracted to the Chocolatier. His shining hair and dancing violet eyes appealed to her. His lean body concealed in its velvet and silk-blends was hard with muscle and moved with grace and economy of movements. She could all too easily imagine it moving in other more intimate ways with her.
Veronica remembered the cool strength of his hand as it cradled her chin regarding her black eye - the silent intensity in those amethyst eyes. She longed to feel him pressed closer, to feel that marble flesh… she wanted to feel more, see more.
He would be beautiful in moonlight, she thought leisurely. She stroked her own skin with light tantalizing touches, like in her dream. She could imagine his pale naked skin reflecting the cool moonlight, shadows highlighting tantalizing dips and curves of his form – long lean limbs lightly peppered with dark lacy hair thrown out in delighted abandonment. She could feel the strands of his soft mahogany hair brushing across her face as she leaned over to run her tongue along the salty-sweet column of his throat. Violet eyes darkening with rising passion, strong arms reaching, pulling her closer…
…crushing her in his grip. Large hands leaving dark bruises on her pale skin…
Panic welled at that thought and Veronica gasped and yanked her hands from their idle stroking of herself.
Trapped in the flashback, she remembered Marcus, his hard body pressing against hers, crushing the breath from her lungs, smothering her into the mattress – the way blackness pressed against her vision as she fought for consciousness.
Veronica forced herself to draw a long slow breath and pressed her hands into her solar plexus, feeling her diaphragm rise and fall. She concentrated on the sensation of the hot water beating against her skin and forcing tense muscles to relax. The Tylenol PM was starting to work, her limbs were shaking with exhaustion and the aborted panic attack and she reached for the shampoo/conditioner to give her hair and body a quick scrub before she collapsed.
Utterly weary of yet another episode of her dysfunction, Veronica tried approaching the subject from a different angle.
What kind of dancer would Willy be?
Thanks to Reggie's coaching, she wasn't as bad as she used to be, but considering that Willy had been isolated from popular culture for the last fifteen years – did he even have a clue what he was getting into?
She'd seen his antics, and she'd caught him jamming to music off her I-Pod more than once. He'd hurriedly sit down or pretend to be stretching when he'd noticed her presence, but the man could move if he wanted to. Willy had a good sense of rhythm and if he could relax enough at the upcoming festivities, he would have a good time.
The water was turning colder by the second, so Veronica rinsed quickly and shut of the water. She drooped in place, carelessly throwing out an arm to snag the ratty towel to dry herself. Flipping off the light and shaking, she wrapped the towel around her body and staggered into the bedroom, the siren lure of sleep too much to ignore any longer. She collapsed onto the bed hoping that she'd finally worked herself into true exhaustion and her last movement was to pull the blanket over her chilled body before dropping off into sleep.
She did not dream.
--
Outside the building, the streetlights gleamed off of the few parked cars that lined the road. One was occupied. Jake noted the time the light had switched off in the bathroom. As the sole occupant actually living in the building (against code, he might add) it had been easy to track her movements throughout the night – she'd shut off the light in the upstairs work studio and less than five minutes later, the one in the bathroom flipped on.
The building itself was cakewalk to get into – he'd already done so. Simple locks were no challenge to him and while she was upstairs, he'd crept in and explored her apartment at length, getting a feel for when the opportunity would arise to "meet" with her.
Not proud of himself, he did take the time to explore her medicine cabinet and lingerie drawer at length. No birth control, prescription medication or sex toys – plain jane underwear and bras. This was a woman with no prospects in her life and not looking for any. That was alright, he was more than willing to provide them anyway.
Cabinets were fairly bare and one bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey was still mostly full completed the impression that Veronica was a quiet mouse of a woman who wanted to fade into the wallpaper.
Jake pondered what she could have done to piss Victor off so much, but knowing his friend like he did, knew that it wouldn't have taken much.
He was just getting ready to leave and was scanning the apartment to ensure that no trace of his presence was left when he noticed the invitation on the refrigerator.
It was to some event this upcoming Saturday night involving someone with the same last name – a brother or cousin probably. A fag, judging by the other name as well.
A bonding ceremony – how cute, he sneered.
He'd quickly memorized the details and left, re-locking the door behind him.
As Jake sat in the car, he planned. He figured that when the cute redhead returned from this event, she gave every impression of returning alone. He would just have to ensure that she had company when she returned. He smiled grimly at the prospect. The uptight bitch would get loosened up and learn a little in the process.
The phone in the passenger seat rang and Jake picked it up with a smile.
"Hey honey! Yeah – I'm just finishing up. I'll be home in a bit. Do I need to grab something…toilet paper? Okay. See you soon. Love you too. Bye."
Time to head home. Business would finish up here Saturday.