Chapter 2

Madison is seventeen today. Willy sits up straight in his bed, his hand coming to his head, squeezing his curly orange hair. Slowly he lies back down. Nope. If he does not get up, she will not age. Today will not exist. Willy pulls the covers over his head. Yes, he can just lay here forever.

But then he won't be able to play games with her, and talk, and design candy…and? Maybe he should get up. He still has one more year. Maybe she will stay…that is if he can make it the perfect day. No, because she will leave. One more year.

"Wonka," a bell like voice fills the room, "It's almost noon."

"Go away," he calls back to her, "I'm pouting. I don't want you to see me in distress."

He does not hear anything after that, but he does feel a weight suddenly join him on the bed. The covers are lifted off his face, hovering in the air for a second, before being placed back down. He turns his head to the side to meet giant green orbs…green taffy. His stomach growls.

"Will," she whispers, her candy-coated breath hitting his face, "You promised you wouldn't do this again."

"What?" He smirks.

"Disappear into your room," Madison frowns, "your depression makes the factory depressed, which makes the candy depressed, which makes me depressed."

"I am sorry for being such a bother to you," he whispers, pushing the cover up to see her face better. Her face thinned through the years, but still managed to stay round like a lollipop. He cheeks manages to keep a constant red glow, not needing that awful red powder. No freckles any longer powdered her face. It was his fault though, keeping her in the factory all the time. Overworking her. But she says she wants to be here. But that can be true. It cant. Why would she rather be here, when she can see the world. Meet people. People her own age.

"Will, where have you gone off to?" Madison chuckles, bringing him out of his clouded imagination; he watches her hand travel to the long blonde curl that had fallen in front of her face. Slowly she moves it behind her ear.

"I don't know," he finally replies.

"One day," she smiles, before tapping one of her dainty fingers on his head, "One day you will tell me what goes on in there."

"Never," he whispers back, before pushing the cover off both of their heads. Together they enter back into reality. Madison gets out of his bed then. She fluffs out her curly hair before placing her hands on her hips.

"You need to get dressed," She says pointing at his attire- peppermint pajama pants and a white tee shirt. Unlike him, she is out of her nightgown and traded it for a light blue dress with a ribbon that ties in the back. Her hair is down and messy. Willy's hand suddenly itch.

"Do I though?" he questions her, lowing his eyebrows, "do I really have to?"

"We have work today," she replies, her cheeks reddening to a red licorice state, "You have a meeting. And an interview…and then we have dinner planned. I was thinking about making this ravioli thing I found… yes, you have to get dressed."

Not once did she mention her birthday. He stares her down, waiting for her to say something, but she does not.

"Fine ," he says pulling off the covers, standing up, and crossing his arms over his chest, "FA- Ine. Fine. Bossy lemon-drop. Leave. I have to get dressed, apparently."

With that, Madison leaves him, and he can breathe once more. He hates her really. In all honesty, he wants her to leave the second she turns eighteen. Leave him forever. She can be so bossy. He was the boss. Not her. But he will miss her food.

He showers and fluffs his hair before picking out his outfit. For meetings, he actually has to dress up. If it were his decision, he would stay in his pajamas all day. But it is not. So he puts on dark green slacks, a white button up shirt, and a purple vest. He keeps the vest undone and rolls up the sleeves. Quickly he runs a hand through his hair once more before placing a dark green top hat on his head. Before leaving, he puts on his shoes, rather distastefully. Why does one have to wear shoes?

Madison says because it is the proper thing to do.

The meeting seems to last forever. These people bore him. Their words are static. Nothing about the ideas they present to him seem to bring anyone joy. Its candy, though, shouldn't that bring the ultimate joy in just its name. No. There needs substance. An idea that separates it from the other color-coated wrappers.

"Really, I love it," he says, "In a god; this is awful, let's throw it down the shooter kind of way. Is this the best you have? Gummy bears growing when you add water. That's not a treat, that's a toy."

"Yes, Mr. Wonka," one of the brunette men introducing the idea pipes up, "We're sorry, sir, for wasting your time."

"No, I apologize," he says, "I was harsh. Explain the bear again."

"Well you can even add dye and it can change colors…"

"But will it change taste?" Willy interrupts, "I'm sorry. I tried. You can leave now."

And they do. The interview doesn't go well either. All they want to know is about his personal life. Yes, he is one of the most creative men alive and yet all they care about is if he is seeing anyone. If he wants to settle down. Not the candy. The real reason they are talking to him. The media, ladies and gentlemen.

He is done. Exhausted actually He pulls off his hat at he makes his way to his project room. The smells of chocolate hit him the second he enters. Definitely, he is going to have to do something about that. It needed to smell like cotton candy, but the stupid chocolate river was dominating all senses. Madison is not the biggest fan of chocolate, unless it was dark. Much more of a taffy girl, but she likes the smell of cotton candy… I am never going to finish her candy land, he thinks to himself, falling to the grassy floor.

Maybe it was a sign. A sign for something. No matter what he did, what he built, it never seemed to be finished. The world he created for her refuses to come to life. He pulls at the grass and places some in his mouth. He could not even get the grass right… to gummy. Slowly, he falls to his back and looks up at the ceiling. That is the one thing he managed to do correctly. It was a 3D screen that curved around the dome room. Wind and weather played to a timer, matching the outside, but the rain would never truly fall, but the sensation was still there. It is real, but without the unfortunate side effects.

Willy closes his eyes. Life seemed to grow past him. In a matter of a year, his candy ideas exploded and he finally had enough to open a factory. A real factory. He had workers, sure, but they came and left…never entered the personal half, where he and Madison live. Madison. She was a rumor in the factory. A young girl living in the ultimate fantasy- a mansion, rich bachelor, and all the chocolate she could eat. But is she really happy? Just being a common mystery and not going out into the world. Who would be happy with that.

The factory has become her life. He brings in tutors for her. She cooks the meals. She orders her clothes from magazines. She only sees the world she once knew through papers. He hated her. She is going to leave. He will let her leave. That thought refuses to leave his brain today. No matter what he does, she enters his mind, only to leave… to leave his mind, his life.

"Wonka?" an angered female French voice fills his room. No!

"Wonka!" she calls out again, he hears he rushed feet come towards him, "You jerk. You fucking jerk."

She looks different from before. Her blonde curls are pulled to the side in a ponytail, tied by a red ribbon. The red does not end there. She is wearing a short, short red dress that fluffs around her milky white thighs. He stands up, his arms crossing in front of his chest. Her lips are red too, like she had been sucking on a cherry pop for too long. Her green eyes, brighter than usual, however this time in anger, and circled by black. He walks up to her, now arms length apart. Her small feet are bare however, but the toenails do not skip the color scheme.

"Why am I a 'fucking jerk'?" he questions, raising an eyebrow.

"You missed dinner," she says, before speaking rapidly in French. Willy doesn't bother to translate, nor does he think he can.

"So you're angry, because I missed dinner?" with that she slaps him.

"I made us dinner, this time, by myself," she crosses her arms across her chest, "Without cook's help. I got dressed up. I placed the table. I did not wear shoes. And you forgot."

"Its not like I haven't forgotten before," he replies, watching a single tear fall down her face, causing his hand to itch again.

"Willy, it was supposed to be a special dinner," she lets more tears fall, "We were going to eat, and talk, and…and we planned this. You were supposed to dress up to. Remember? You said you would as long as you did not have to wear shoes."

"Talk?" Willy only hears her intent, "What did you want to talk about?"

"No," she says stomping her foot like a child, "You can't just ask me that. You're going to apologize first. A real apology."

"It was just dinner, Maddi!" he yells, "We do this every night. Dressing up does not change the intent of eating. I hardly eat anyways. Now you want to talk- so get your words out now, so I can go to bed."

Madison's arm wrap around her waist now, defeated, "Really awful apology. At least for my birthday, you could have faked sincerity, mon amour."

The dreaded statement arose. Therefore, she did not forget the date.

"You're right," Willy replies, "You're always right. I should have come through for you today. I am sorry."

"Better," she says whipping her tear stained face, "Ugh, now I have made a mess of myself."

She whips her face once more and then pats down the fabric she calls a dress. Slowly her green eyes meet his, "You had a long day. I shouldn't have made a scene."

"It's your birthday; you have all right to make a scene!"

"No," she says, "I'm not a child anymore. I can't throw tantrums."

He takes a step closer to her, "But that's the thing. You are a child."

"No, I'm not," she replies defiantly, "Which is why we were suppose to talk tonight."

"You know what," he turns away and begins to pace around her, "I can sum up our conversation would have sounded like-

'Wonka, im not a child'

'Of course you're not, Maddi. Have you looked in the mirror recently?'

'Duh…something in French…and that is why I will be leaving. I am done with candy. I'm done with you and your forgetfulness and your insane ideas and your rules about shoes'

'So you plan to leave me. I can change, Madison. I can get use to shoes and unclutter my head'

'But you can't. You have gotten old and you know what they say- you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. I need to find a new dog. I mean, it will not be hard. I am pretty and have money'

'But you can't touch your money until you turn eighteen'

'then I will leave the second that happens…"

"See," he says, stopping in front of her, "and you will leave before I can finish your candy land."

Madison finally looks around her then. Her eyes widen. He actually did it. Something stupid she said when she was a child and he made it real.

"I don't plan to leave you, Willy," she says, this time, her taking a step towards him.

"Yes, you do," he replies, "anybody would want to."

"I'm not anybody."

"No, you're not," he says in agreement. She places her hands on top of his chest, her eyes brighter than usual. He feels something in his stomach… a feeling that could melt chocolate instantly.

"I wanted to discuss staying actually," she says, her eyes lower to his lips, "Discuss my future hear, with the factory…the business… you."

"And what is it you want with the factory?" he questions, his eyes lading on her cherry lips, suddenly causing the itch to move from his fingers to his mouth.

"Actually visit the other side, give a face to the rumors."

"And with the business?" he continues.

"Have more control. Go to some of your meeting. Help with ideas…"

"And with me?" he finally asks. Hesitantly she looks into his eyes.

"Surely, you must know, Mr. Wonka," her accent becomes thicker with each word. Suddenly they are kissing. Who kissed who first was unknown, but it did not matter at the moment. Madison fills Willy's senses: her touch, her taste, her smell… never had candy been able to do that before. He feels as if he is floating and sinking at the same time. He feels complete.

Willy pulls away from her first and removes his arms he had not realized had laced around her tiny waist. He looks at her, eyes wide. Her face becomes pale and her large eyes water once more.

"Merde!" she says, "merde, merde, merde!"

Willy is speechless.

"I did not mean for that to happen," Madison says, "I swear. I shouldn't have done that. I mean…No. I am so sorry. I… just… merde!"

With that, she runs off.

Willy's mind swarms with thoughts. Why did I do that? She does not like me like that. I kissed her. And she ran away. She must hate me. She will want to leave earlier than eighteen. Hell, she will probably leave tonight. I have to let her leave. I'm awful. Disgusting. She is a child. How could I do something so… so awful. But her lips were so red. She tasted better than cherries, better than chocolate. She will not be able to look at me again. I will not be able to look at me. I will not be able to look at her. What? No. no. no. no. no. no.

Willy walks back inside, unsure of where he is going, but when he ends up in his office, he is not disappointed. He opens a hidden cabinet behind his desk and pulls out the rum. He sits in his rolling chair, a frown on his face and uncaps the bottle.