~The Man with the Purple Eyes~

Rated: M for later chapters (some violence, psychological abuse, non consensual sex, sexual situations with a minor)

Note: This story was written for amusement and out of boredom, I am NOT looking for criticism and am NOT looking to improve my writing for career/other purposes. IF however, you'd like to make a suggestion that I add something into the plot, go ahead.

Enjoy. (:

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"Billy, how would you like to be my official taste tester?"

The boy remembered that question clearly, the question that had sparked all kinds of crazy thoughts in his mind, and drove him mad with excitement and fright and anger. He remembered the look on Mr. Wonka's face when he'd said no to him...the early evening shadows bouncing off his expression.

"Well that sure is a silly answer Billy, I'm surprised at you. Of course you want to be my official taste tester!" the man had replied, wide childish orbs and blinding white grin masking a growing tension. He hadn't expected to be denied.

"I...I don't think I'm ready.." Billy had lied, biting his lip. For months now, the thirteen year old had been meeting the strange candy maker in secret, building a friendship and trying the sweets he brought every time. He'd tell him if it was too sweet, too sour, too hard or too stretchy. One thing though, his family was never to know of this. Now, he was asking the boy to come back to his factory...?

"Dear boy, of course you are! You didn't really expect me to keep traveling all this way just to meet you in the park? Don't wanna wear out my glass elevator do ya'? It would be much easier for Mr. Wonka if you'd come back with him to his factory and start a real taste-testing job." When Billy didn't answer, the man wrapped a purple gloved hand around his elbow and pulled forward gently.

"No, wait!"

"Oh, fiddlesticks, what?" Mr. Wonka groaned, dropping his elbow and placing a hand on his hip.

"My family...I can't just leave without permission."

"Of course you can! They don't give a darn about you."

Billy kept his mouth from dropping, and stared into Willy's smiling face, not sure how to reply. "E...excuse me?"

"You heard me. When's the last time you saw your father Billy?" Mr. Wonka spoke, leaning down slightly to put himself at eye level with the teen. "When's the last time your mother hugged you? She doesn't even notice when there's no food in the house, let alone candy -heehee-, does she? Now, I've never been a mother -heehee- but I'd say that's some thumbs-down parenting."

"You...you don't know anything-

Mr. Wonka ignored Billy's humiliated look, patting his shoulder. "I hate to break it to you kiddo, but no one wants you..." He frowned in a fake manner for a moment, adding suspense, then perked up with another grin. "-...except for me! So stop being a Debbie Downer and let's go back to my factory where we can have some real fun!"

Billy had denied him a second time, shoving him childishly and running off through the brush in the old London park, hot tears flooding his hazel eyes. How dare he say something so cruel. Of course his mother cared, and his father was coming back, right? They didn't really mean to hurt him. One day, it would all be better. Mr. Wonka just didn't understand this. You had to wait for the good things to come...

The boy was proud of himself for refusing to be swayed, and had gone home immediately; he'd prepared to give his mother a big hug and tell her all about how he'd never leave her, not even for all the sweets in all of London...in all of the world. Of course, this plan was reconsidered when he watched his mother clash lips drunkenly with a strange man before slipping inside their rickety old house. Billy stayed behind the tree where he'd watched from, too confused to cry. Yesterday had been the first day of his mother's new job in the cotton factory, and it was a six-day-a-week agreement. Why on earth was she drunk? She had boasted excitedly about preparing dinner tonight with the small bit of money they now had... She meant it, right?

Still confused, Billy had stumbled away, lost in hatred for his mother and hatred for Mr. Wonka. He was scared and angry, mostly because he was afraid that Willy was right... If only Billy could have realized that his mother was lost too...that she really did love him; adults sometimes need guidance too. Of course, it rarely works out that way.

Billy remembered sitting on the dirty, newspaper littered curb where he waited to shine the shoes of richer men, eyes dry and stinging. He had wasted all of his tears and was left now with only his bitter sadness, trying not to think about what his mother might be up to at this moment. The bottle of black oil and a stained rag shared his lonely spot on the street corner.

Boots that shone like beetles. A clearing of the throat.

Billy looked up slowly, and there was the purple glove, outstretched, gentle and patient. The maroon coat, silk collar...stained lips, a perfect smile that gave pity and comfort...then, the eyes: the deep purple orbs that drew you in and never let you go, the darkened childish glance that teased the boy's poor lost soul like a cool drink of water to a desert wanderer. Come... they said, everything can be different, if you'll only let me help you...let me guide you...take my hand...let me touch you... Suddenly, Billy saw something. He saw hope, he saw how stupid he'd been, and how hopeless his old life was, and he saw that Mr. Wonka wanted him...he really, truly wanted him. He saw the innocence, the goodness, the safe haven that could be his..

Take my hand...take my hand...and I'll take you to a place where no one can hurt you...

And he did.

No one...but me.

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(New chapter coming right up!)