Here's my latest project, which came about from musing on the lyrics of "Being Alive." It's basically a cuddle compilation, but it's also more than that. After all, cuddling is never simple.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. These characters were created by Roger Corman, Alan Menken, and Howard Ashman. The title belongs to Stephen Sondheim ("Being Alive" from Company. If you don't know it, listen to Neil Patrick Harris, Raul Esparza, or this really cool group version with George Hearn, Carol Burnett, Ruthie Henshall, and John Barrowman).
With a door slam and a roaring engine, he was gone before Audrey could even move from the restrained position from which he'd freed her. She couldn't be certain which was worse: the public humiliation of bruises, cuts, scars, casts, and the like, or the private agony of knowing you're so worthless that he couldn't be bothered to spend the night after forced, painful sex.
Deep down, she knew she should go shower, try to scrub away the shame and negativity, but she couldn't bring herself to move from her bed, opting instead to simply bundle herself in her comforter. She wished Orin would hold her—no, that wasn't entirely true. She wished Orin would magically transform into a good person and hold her (not that she deserved a good guy, but she could still wish).
Really, she wished that Seymour would hold her, as impossible as that was. She certainly didn't merit Seymour's affection at all, but lord did she covet it. Audrey curled up, her knees close to her chest, beneath the covers, content to think and daydream. She knew, she was positive, that she wouldn't be good for him; the only emotion she'd steadily elicited from men was anger, and to break Seymour that way would be the death of her. But as she closed her eyes, she could practically feel his warm arms surrounding her, soft chest as her pillow, timid smile…
There was a soft rap on her door. Please don't be Orin, Audrey silently willed. "Who is it?" she squeaked nervously.
"Audrey?" called back a soft voice, "Is everything alright?" Audrey bolted upright: that was not Orin.
She flashed out of her bed, wrapping a robe around her still exposed body before running to the nearest mirror to fix her hair and face. "Uh, just a second!" she yelled to him as she examined herself: black eye, busted lip, mascara dripping down her cheeks, hair pulled to all angles…she worked as quickly as she could, resigning herself to the fact that the bruise and cut would be impossible to cover up under such a time constraint. She grabbed a band and forced her hair, still stiff from pre-date hair-spraying, into a low, messy bun behind her head; a few strands refused, choosing to hang around her cheeks instead, but strangely, Audrey didn't mind—it looked almost pretty, she thought, if that were possible. She then wiped the makeup from under her eyes, clearing away the smudges and reapplying until she deemed her face as good as it'd get; miraculously, some of her eye shadow had stayed intact, saving her some trouble there. Giving herself one last glance, she finally ran to open the door.
"Hi Seymour!" she said as she flung the door ajar, "What's goin' on?" Seymour had gasped when he saw her: though she was beautiful, her hair tied up, her robe clinging to her curves, the swollen black skin around her eye and the cut splitting her lip shocked and horrified him; he hated to see her so used. "Are you okay Audrey?" he asked gently. "I heard yelling and slamming…"
"Oh…" she trailed off, trying to think of an excuse, "Orin and I just had a little disagreement. Everything's okay, really" she said, topping off the lie with a smile. Seymour didn't buy it, she could clearly see, but she didn't want to tell him the truth. Realizing they were still standing at her threshold, she stepped aside, saying "You can come in, if you want." Seymour stepped inside, and she let him to a tiny couch just across from her bed, where she sat, him following her lead.
"Audrey, I…" he began slowly; Seymour wasn't much good at words, she knew, so she waited patiently. "I saw him...hit you tonight. And I just…well, you deserve better than that. You're kind, and beautiful, and fun, and pretty funny too, and you shouldn't…you shouldn't have to hurt anymore." In a rare moment of courage, he reached out and lightly placed his hand on hers, looking deeply into her eyes. Audrey gasped, tears brimming her eyes.
"That's…that's awful kind of ya, Seymour," Audrey breathed in disbelief; this was the most he'd ever said to her, and these were the kindest, gentlest, most sincere words she'd ever heard. Her gazed affixed on their hands, she turned hers over and clasped his hand firmly but gently, enlacing their fingers. "I just—I'm not a nice girl—I don't deserve—you shouldn't be here—" Seymour unlocked their hands, only to frame her face gently with his hands. "Shh," he quieted her, "You're more than a nice girl. You do deserve a nice guy. A gentleman, who'll treat you right, a prince, a knight in shining armor. You deserve—" he was cut off as Audrey brought her lips to his; his hands remained clasping her cheeks for a time, before he slide them slowly down her form, wrapping around her waist and back to hold her close to him; he could feel the scab of her split lip, as he attempted, little by little, to gently kiss the hurt away. Their kiss ended as sweetly as it had begun, the two of them breaking apart to remain mere inches apart, gazing endlessly at the other.
Audrey moved first; turning, she stretched her legs out on the couch, grasping Seymour's hands and wrapping their arms around her, as she rested her head against Seymour's chest. He outstretched his legs as well, letting her rest between them. Audrey lifted one of his hands to her mouth, gently brushing her lips against his fingers. In the back of her mind lurked guilt, fear, trepidation, anxiety…but they didn't matter right now, in Seymour's soft, warm, embrace. She curled up against him, tucking her knees to her chest and resting her cheek against his shoulder. This must be what safe feels like, she thought, a content smile forming on her face. He wrapped around her tighter, one arm gently stroking her shoulder while the other protectively hugged her hip. Seymour wasn't accustomed to having beautiful women in his arms, but with Audrey, it all came naturally—the words, the embrace, the kiss even. Audrey was surrounded by his radiant warmth, encircling her and driving away all the pain from before.
"Do you wanna…maybe…stay?" Audrey asked cautiously, all but holding her breath. He bent to kiss the top of her head, replying, "Sure…if you want me to." She looked up at him and smiled before burrowing her head into him once more. He was so warm, so gentle, so soft…
She awoke to the harsh lights of her room, bundled in her comforter, alone. Her hair was still a mess, her face still mascara-stained, her body still bare, her heart still broken. But for the span of a short dream, she'd been happy, warm, and safe. As Audrey crossed her room to her shower, she smiled; in a few short hours, she'd see Seymour, feel the warmth of his smile, and remember her dream, and she'd be safe, at least for the day.
