It wasn't raining this time either. Charlie felt like roaring up to the sky, screaming CRY DAMNIT! CRY WITH ME! Despite these thoughts, he kept his cool.

He looked down at the gravestone in front of him with forlorn eyes. It wasn't that long ago that he was, once again, here, mourning his loss. Death is such a fickle thing, you wish for it and it takes another.

The brunette closed his eyes and he wished to go back to a time when everything was okay again. To tiptoe around the inevitable, Charlie thought of something that had made him happy.

Back to about five months ago, after the socially-awkward, 27-year-old, Charlie Bucket and even more socially-awkward, 25-year-old, Violet Beauregard shared a kiss. Charlie was so flustered, as he became aware that he had stolen her first kiss, that he offered to do anything to make it up to her. Her entire face was a bright shade of purple, reminding Charlie a little of a grape, and she merely asked to be left alone for a while. Charlie felt a strong urge to pull her into his arms again, he wanted to taste the fire again. He ignored the urge as he recognized the priority to his heart, truly was Violet Beauregard.

Violet, the human blueberry, Beauregard.

So, for the next couple of weeks, she was locked away in the Spree guest room. And every day, Charlie would bring her food and water. It started with two meals, which turned into three meals, which turned into three meals and a rose, which turned into three meals and a rose and notes that asked, 'Are you okay?' and 'Forgive me?' One time, Charlie came around the corner to find Violet nervously fidgeting outside of the door.

From where he was he could see her tangling and untangling her fingers together. Charlie also saw her jaw begin to twitch and work as if she was chewing her signature piece of gum. He observed her doing this for a while until her eyes widened in realization. She smacked herself in order to stop the familiar movement. Quickly, the girl disappeared back into the room before Charlie could stop her.

Something else was off about Violet on this particular day. Charlie noticed, as she hurriedly shuffled into her hole, large, black bruises on her calves and her upper arms. The socially inept man wondered how they came to be and realized just how much Violet has been tossed around these past few days. Pushed, thrown, and hit. Charlie assumed this was the cause of the bruises. That night, he brought a first aid kit along with a message reading 'I'm sorry'.

The next morning, Violet was outside her door again, waiting for Charlie to come with the food. Charlie was pleased to see that her wounds were bandaged and cared for. When he approached her, he handed her the tray with food on it. She took it, a small smile forming on her lips as she whispered a thank you. After that, the two simply stared at each other for a few seconds, as Charlie sensed that the girl wanted to talk to him but didn't know how to go about it. She eventually came to.

"Um, would you mind kneeling?" Violet asked in a nervous manner, stuttering. Charlie obliged, curious as to why she needed him to get on his knees. Was she planning something? He decided not to think about it as it made his head begin to spin. And before he knew it, she planted her lips upon his and the fire came back.

Charlie hadn't known just how much he had missed it until the taste was back, circulating through his senses pleasantly. Violet had her eyes tightly closed, her face slowly turning the purple Charlie remembered before.

She was about to reel back but Charlie gently grabbed the back of her head, deepening the kiss. Violet began to relax in his hold, giving in to the burning fire. After about a minute, Charlie pulled away and opened his eyes. He tried to keep himself from laughing at the sight he saw before him. Violet's face was flushed and her choppy hair tousled to oblivion. She was panting with the lack of air. When she saw the look Charlie was giving her, she snapped angrily.

"What do you think your laughing at?!" Violet asked, hands on hips, the sassiness Charlie remembered returning.

"You look so cute," Charlie laughed, putting a hand on her head before standing up. He had found that the reason he had to kneel was that Violet could not reach his lips, even on the tips of her toes. "So…What do you think?"

This statement seemed to hit Violet with a ton of bricks as her facial expression went completely blank before turning purple again. She glanced up at him, hints of shyness showing as Charlie was staring at her awaiting an answer.

"Do you think I can have more?" She asked, refusing to look him in the face. Charlie simply smiled and heaved her into his arms.

"Of course, you can." He replied sweetly before engaging in another warm kiss.

Charlie smiled at the memory that seemed so far away now. It felt good to think about the things that made him happy. The man looked down at the gravestone that read William Vern Wonka and placed a single, white rose on the head of the grave.

White symbolizing absolute purity and perfectionism. Also meaning admiration within rose form. He sure as hell was all these things. So, white seemed to fit Mr. Wonka perfectly.

Charlie walked a little bit farther away from his mentor's grave to come upon another headstone. He plunged into another better time.

Charlie and Violet sat within the Sweet Tart Study; her, reading and he, fumbling with a broken radio. Willy had said that the device had been busted ever since the 70's which made Charlie wonder just how old was Mr. Wonka.

Violet asked him why he as even trying to fix something that had been broken for such a long time. He simply smiled and answered with a hint of cheek.

"It worked with you, didn't it?"

She threw her book at him and an annoyed pout rested on her face. Charlie chuckled at the sight, rubbing the arm where the book had made contact. He looked back down at the task at hand, fumbling with the transmitter and the wires. Charlie pulled up the transmitter to full height and connected the red and green wire. Hearing a bit of piano, amongst the static, the man pulled the rabbit ear this way and that until he received a clear signal.

'Good afternoon everyone and welcome back to 96.9. After Matthew's spiel about our upcoming Iheartradio festival, we will be giving you a chance to win some free tickets to this awesome event!'

The two stared at the radio in surprise. Not only does it work but it picked up signals all the way in Boston! Violet muttered a "I can't believe you actually fixed it." Charlie nodded in agreement; apparently, neither did he.

'But before that here's 3y3brows with "I love you too."

Charlie looked over to Violet, and stood up, radio still in hand. He set the radio on a nearby bookshelf.

It wasn't that long ago

I saved you from that hell you call a home

Charlie offered his hand to Violet. When she did not take it right away, he took her indigo one in his own. He pulled her up, off the velvet couch, and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer to him. She gave him a look that read 'are we really going to be doing this right now?' He gave her another one that said 'yes, yes we are.' Violet rose an eyebrow at him, but put her hand on his shoulder.

I picked up when you fell

Back then you were just a shell

Charlie guided the smaller girl around the tiled floor, closing his eyes and humming to the music. Violet let a small grin crack her wish to remain stoic. Charlie took it as a challenge.

But now you're more

The silly heir dropped to his knees and extended his arms, as if serenading the blue woman. Violet giggled a little bit at told him he was being ridiculous. Charlie wiggled his thick eyebrows and caught his other by surprise by lifting her up in the air.

And now you soar

Twirling her around in the air, Charlie became satisfied with the wide smile that broke onto her face. She laughed, liking the feeling of being tall. He set Violet down gently, his eyes glimmering with happiness. He held her hand again, gazing intently into her big, blue eyes. Charlie began to guide her across the floor once more.

I am happy, I am true

You are sad, you are blue

Charlie spun her away and back into his arms and he held her there, rocking her back and forth.

Forget the past!

Time runs fast!

And I want to be there

Violet looked up at him, holding his face with one hand, she smiled. Charlie leaned down, still holding his love in his arms to sing softly to her.

To catch you when you fall

To be the only one to call

He brushed a gentle hand through her lavender hair, and went down to her back, tracing the ugly scars with his finger. He wanted to let her know that he loved even the ugliest part of her. Her past. Charlie quickly removed his hand from her back when he noticed fresher bruises scoring the delicate skin on her neck and shoulders. She didn't seem to notice so Charlie disregarded them. He continued to sing to her. His hand came to stroke her cheek.

To wipe away your tears

To chase away your fears

She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling, and whispered. "I love you." Charlie's cheeks tinged pink. This was the first time she had ever said it back to him as he had said it to her before. He wrapped both arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. And whispered back.

To say I Love You Too.

Everything now can never add up to anything then Charlie thought bitterly. He placed a red rose on a grave that read Veruca Jane Salt. Red being the color of passion and bravery but also blood and sin. A mixture of all four described this misunderstood young woman.

Now, time seemed to move in slow motion as he came upon a third grave. Charlie took a deep breath. He remembered the time when Violet had first told him her story.

She explained that when her and her mother returned home, her mother never accepted her daughter from that point on, ignoring her on all occasions. Which, the blue girl offered, was not too bad as she learned to take care of herself but had still made her sad. No one was there for her when she needed it the most. She felt so alone. And so blue, she hated it. She hated herself. Violet recounted chopping off all her hair and cutting away at something that wasn't hair.

Charlie felt a lump form in the back of his throat, the overwhelming feeling of overprotectiveness and anger became solid. He attempted to swallow it back because Violet had not noticed his change in facial expression and continued.

After about three years of this, one day, Violet woke up to the smell of cinnamon. She arose from the bed and shuffled into the kitchen, curious. Her mother stood, cooking breakfast. Shuffling eggs around mindlessly, she then turned her attention to the golden pancake that was slowly rising. When Scarlet finally noticed Violet standing in the kitchen and she smiled slightly.

"Good Morning." She bid, not looking at her daughter directly. Violet was taken aback. The first words her mother had said to her in 1,102 days (she counted). "You hungry? I would imagine so since it is 10:00!"

Violet quietly muttered an apology and went to the fridge to grab the milk and the syrup. She didn't understand it but she wasn't going to refuse it. She wanted someone in her life again.

All throughout that day, Violet spent time with her mother. They played games, they watched movies, they baked. Everything they had missed out on in those three years. At the end of the day, Violet showed her mother her scars, the ones on her back and then the ones that were self-afflicted. Tears welt up in her mother's eyes and she held her daughter close. Similar tears ran down Violet's face as she realized how much she missed her mother. Her mother whispered in her ear, telling her earnestly that she loved her and continued to hug her for a little while.

The next day, she was gone.

The house was completely empty.

Violet awoke to an abandoned house. All her mother's belongings were missing as well.

The scared girl ran through all the rooms in the house, crying and screaming for her mother to show herself. Even after an hour, no reply graced her ears. Violet collapsed into a pile on the floor, begging her mother to come back amongst repeated apologies.

She was alone, inside her mind; much like how Charlie was when Wonka had passed.

Violet told him that she ran away after that, running from all the memories inside the house. She's been running ever since.

The look in Charlie's eyes bored into Violet's soul. An awkward silence fell over the two. The soft sound of silent sobbing received Charlie's attention. He looked at her. She looked at him, begging him to tell her something. Something that would make her feel better. Tell her that he won't leave. Tell her that she wasn't alone anymore. Tell her it wasn't her fault. Tell her that there is nothing wrong with her. When Charlie couldn't think of anything to say, Violet dove into him, clutching his torso tightly. Charlie stroked her hair steadily and listened to her hiccups slowly decrease in size and frequency.

"Better?" He asked, evenly. She made a noise in the back of her throat, not ready to speak yet but wanting to let Charlie know that she wanted to hold on a bit longer. Charlie chuckled a little, being reminded of a grade schooler grasping onto their mother for dear life on the first day of school. A question popped up in the back of his mind. Before he could determine whether or not to ask in such a tender moment, the words escaped his lips.

"How did you get the scars on your back?" Immediately after, the oblivious man mentally slapped himself for asking such an insensitive question in such a sensitive moment. A light chuckle emitted from the girl in his arms. She looked up at him, glossy sheet of hormones still dancing on the edge of her seeing tools. Violet smiled, looking more pained than amused.

"They had to get the juice out somehow."

Charlie's heart plummeted as images of giant tubes covered in red and blue, and bloodied saws came to his mind. That's what they were for, he thought forlornly. His hand moved to grasp her shoulders and he looked down to face her, a million thoughts running through his mind and a million emotions crossed his face.

"Are you okay?" He asked seriously. "and don't give me any 'I'm fine' bullshit. Because I wouldn't be fine with it, so that means your not allowed to either." Charlie said in a low voice, dangerously close to a growl.

At first, she merely looked up in surprise, but soon after and light smile graced her purple lips, making Charlie's heart stop. "I wasn't before, but I am now."

Charlie stopped in front of the grave, twiddling with the last rose in his hand. With his other hand, he pulled out the pistol that had been with him this entire journey. He admired the craftsmanship and the detail put into the lethal device. He, curiously, looked down the barrel to see utter blackness with a glint of copper from the bullet. Charlie's mind wandered while looking death straight in the eye.

Charlie was rummaging through Mr. Wonka's old room. Before he simply could not have entered the room without having rage and depression take hold of his breath, seceding his rational thought from his normally level-headed nature, leaving only the color red. He supposed correctly that after time and with Violet here, he'd be able to do what he needed to do.

The shaking, emerald-eyed man had already cleaned out his drawers and was moving on to the closet, only to trip over a shoe box that had been hidden behind one of the drawers. Upon first discovering it, Charlie disregarded it as Wonka had been one to misplace things in the strangest of places. But, after dislocating the top of the box with his foot, he took interest.

It was full of tapes, pre-recorded tapes to be put in a tape player. To Charlie, the box was incredibly strange, he read the labels on the tapes. 'Experiment1', 'Cure', 'Blood', and more question-irking names. However, the one that struck Charlie the most was the one on the top, unlabeled.

He called out to Violet, telling her that he will be in the TV room. When he received no reply, he deduced that she was sleeping. A new habit took Violet in as she began to sleep and sleep more during the day. Charlie found it curious but harmless.

Playing the tape in a vintage tape player, which had taken Charlie forever to find, the heir discovered that his previous mentor was recording an experiment. Willy talked quickly and sharply.

"8 hours and twenty minutes, past mid-day. Test subject 87 has not taken any of the previous attempts at cures and is showing signs of recovery." After a long pause, he continued to recount his findings. "However, there is a substantial amount of bruising of a black discoloration. The subject appears to not notice or feel these injuries, perhaps due to the resistance of nerve sensors and epidermal layers provided by the experiment in the first place."

Charlie didn't understand most of what his friend was saying but supposed that the subject of the test had black bruises but couldn't feel them, and it was because of the experiment he performed.

"87 also has been prone to sleep these last 72 hours. Often falling asleep while performing the most mediocre of tasks. Narcolepsy may be due to the body trying to repair damage to the body and brain." Another long pause occurred and when Wonka's voice returned to Charlie's ears, it sounded worried. "Why has he fallen? Is he awake? Try to wake him up! I don't know, he just collapsed! W-what is that purple liquid?"

Charlie was taken by surprise as the urgency in Mr. Wonka's voice, normally his elder remained calm, no matter what the circumstances. Charlie's whizzing thoughts ceased when the voice returned, sounding shaky and aghast.

"The subject is dead. Number 87 to test the Three course gum perished due to multiple hemorrhages all throughout the body, exposing the remnants of the juice in their system to blood, decomposing their muscles and skin after…5,632 days. 15 years, 5 months, 13 hours and 12 minutes."

The winner of the factory stood, frozen. His body refused to move, but that didn't matter much because his brain refused also to correctly process the information. Mr. Wonka's tone went from uneasy to shaky to horrified.

"What have I done?!" The sound of his voice was cut off by shuffling papers and a click. Signifying the end of the tape. Charlie looked at the time stamp of the tape and shivering at the date on the said object. August 25 at 8:23 pm. The day he died.

Suddenly something clicked in Charlie's brain. Three course gum, black bruises, sleeping a lot.

15 years, 5 months, 13 hours, and 12 minutes

Charlie bolted, dislodging the tape player from its upright position, resulting in it falling to the floor. But by the time the device hit the floor, he could not hear it. All he could hear was the frantic pounding of his heart. He pleaded over and over again in his mind for her to still be okay, for her to be just sleeping out of exhaustion and not to slip out of this mortal coil. He slid into the room he believed her to be laying in to find her crouching in a corner, head turned upward and a frightening amount of bruises all over her body.

Blood dyed purple leaked from the bruises and her breathing was rapid and shallow. Violet did not seem to see Charlie enter the room and therefore wasn't able to acknowledge his questions which were distorted and fuzzy in her ears. She couldn't move, shooting pains throughout her entire being prevented her from standing, or moving her head; even opening her eyes hurt, so they remained closed.

Charlie thundered over to her, grabbing her shoulders, desperately shouting for her to wake up. Violet went numb, her eyes fluttered open but squeezed them tightly closed at the terrible pounding inside her mind.

Once he knew that she was still alive, Charlie scooped her up in his arms. Terrified to find just how much lighter she was.

From this point on, the world was a silent movie. Charlie barged into hospital after hospital, begging for help. Pleading to help save the fleeting life incased in his arms. Yet, each and every doctor refused to help. She was blue. She might be radioactive. If she is that cold then she is already dead. It's a monster. So, he ran, he ran so far away. Charlie fell to his knees. The voices rang in Charlie's head as tears helplessly ran down his face. He screamed.

Violet became aware of a wetness on her forehead and opened her eyes, forgetting to feel the pain. She looked to see a blurry Charlie sobbing and screaming. Confused, she attempted to speak, to comfort him but found that she was not able too. So, she stared at him, her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier.

When Charlie finally took notice of Violet's waking, her lids were already half closed. A small smile of relief came to his face, which was quickly erased when he saw large drops of blood begin to leak from her eyes. His stomach did a summersault and he was struck with more depression when he read the words on her lips. She had been mouthing to him ever since she had woken up.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

The last sparkle retreated from her eyes and she went limp. Becoming colder and colder.

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his hold on the dead girl in his arms. Wake up, he told himself. This is just a dream. Just a dream. A dream inside of his mind. Inside.

Inside the bullet chamber, Charlie could see life and death. He dropped the blue rose in his hand. Unnaturally beautiful were the perfect two words for Violet.

Charlie took the gun away from his eye, both of which were dull with grief and pain. He positioned the pistol at his temple and took one more breath.

Death is such a fickle thing, inside your mind.