"Krelborn!" The deep, harsh voice of Mr. Mushnik pierced loud through the noises of the bustling street outside the store. It was the thirteenth time today that name had been squawked out angrily, which might just have been an improvement compared to the day before. I had been counting. The glass door was propped open, letting in the warm, August evening air. Business was slow, as usual. It was five forty-five. We closed shop in fifteen minutes.

"Krelborn!" Mr. Mushnik bellowed again, walking out of the storage room. Fourteen. "Do you plan to keep dropping the merchandise everywhere and then expecting customers to buy it?" He grabbed a broom from behind the front desk and rushed back into the back room. After more stomping and yelling, and a few nervous apologies from the employee, he made his way back into the store room.

"Mr. Mushnik, don't you think you're being a little hard on Seymour?" The answer to that question was clearly obvious, but Mr. Mushnik wasn't always skilled at seeing the obvious.

"Don't you think you should get to work?"

I looked back down at the vase of roses in front of me. "Yes, Mr. Mushnik."

"That's what I thought, Miss Fulquard," the older man said with more than enough sarcasm before stepping out of the room. "I'll be in the back, if you need me. Try not to ruin anything"

I was exhausted. I'd gotten less than two hours of sleep the night before, after staying out on another "date" with Orin. He had been exceptionally violent lately, but I felt lost deciding what to do about it. It would be useless to try and defend myself, considering how dangerously strong he was, and how pathetically weak I was. I sniffled a little to myself. The last thing I needed was to break down crying in front of Seymour and Mr. Mushnik. The obvious bruises on my wrists had made them suspicious enough today.

But it wasn't like I disliked Orin. There was good in his heart, somewhere underneath what he liked to show me, and I knew it. He chose to spend time with someone like me, and that was nice enough. Besides, I couldn't leave him. He'd get too angry.

My mind was brought back to real life when Seymour stepped back into the display room. He looked a little shaken, like he'd just had to clean up another mess of spilled flowers. I sometimes felt bad for poor Seymour. If only he were a little less clumsy, he wouldn't get into so much trouble with Mr. Mushnik. A part of me didn't mind the clumsiness, however. Actually, I found it a little cute.

I bit my lip. You can't think things like that, Audrey! Voices in my head argued with themselves. You're dating Orin Scrivello, D.D.S. You're his, Audrey. He's told you that too many times to count. You can't think about other men. That's practically cheating, Audrey!

But I did think about Seymour. In fact, I thought about him a lot. I had a lovely image of the two of us together, even though he was much too sweet, considerate, and special for me. We would live in a little house together, somewhere far away from Skid Row. I thought about him all day at work, even when we weren't speaking to one another. I thought about him after work, too. Sometimes I even thought about him when I was with Orin, and then I didn't have to-

"You alright, Audrey?" I had been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed Seymour staring at me strangely.

I felt my cheeks heating up. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said, frowning a little and looking down. "Just a little stressed, that's all."

I could tell by Seymour's halfhearted grin that he didn't believe me. But what could I say? I couldn't tell him that everything in my little life on Skid Row felt like a mess. I couldn't tell him that my boyfriend was abusing me. Tears welled up in my eyes again. Stupid tears. Orin isn't abusing you, I told myself. He's the only guy you've got! You're being greedy again, Audrey!

"Well, just let me know if there's anything I can do for you," Seymour said with another weak smile. Of course he could do something for me, but I couldn't ask him for help. It wouldn't be right. He had always been so wonderful to me: offering to help me out around the shop, holding the door open for me whenever he could; he was sweet in the smallest, sweetest little ways. Seymour treated me like I was special...but I wasn't special, and that's what made me feel so pathetic and guilty around him.

I looked down awkwardly and Seymour shuffled over to the display window, where he gingerly prodded at some hopelessly wilting petunias. I couldn't help but watch him with sad eyes.

"Seymour," my mouth said without consulting my brain, "what do you think of me?"

He looked up, dumbstruck. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I didn't know what I meant. "I mean, do you notice me?" Of course he noticed me. We worked together! I wasn't thinking about what I was saying. Stupid Audrey. Stupid.

"Well, sure I notice you, Audrey. Why wouldn't I?"

"Gee, Seymour. I don't know." I looked down.

"You're not okay, are you?" He gasped. "Something's wrong!"

I couldn't suppress the tears anymore. They welled up in my eyes, and a few rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away, knowing they would leave trails of mascara on my cheeks if I didn't. Orin would notice. I couldn't cry. Not now.

"Audrey, what's wrong?" Seymour gently put his hand on my arm, and my breath hitched. I wasn't used to people touching me, or at least not touching me in a nice way.

"Nothing's wrong, Seymour," I lied, looking away. How pathetic could I get?

He stared at me in meek disapproval, and I knew I had to be honest with him. "It's my boyfriend," I said with a sigh, wiping a few more tears away. "He's been a little difficult lately, but it's not really his fault. It's my fault, I know, but he's-"

"I may not be the smartest guy around," he interrupted, "but I can tell when things aren't right. You've been coming into the shop all bruised up quite a lot lately, and I'm worried."

I wrung my hands together, but my mouth just kept spilling the truth. "It's the handcuffs, Seymour. It's Orin, and it's what he does when he's angry…"

"He's hurting you. That's wrong! You need to call someone or do something."

I raised my voice, and it cracked madly. "What can I do, Seymour? I have no options anymore!"

I stared into a pair of hazel eyes, muffled through thick glasses. No one had ever stood up for me. Not for as long as I could remember. Why was Seymour Krelborn so wonderfully perfect, and why did he stand up for a weak little mess like me?

With great resolve, he took a breath and replied. "I don't know, Audrey. I just know that a nice person like you deserves better than some creep."

"Orin is not a creep," I lied. "He's only a little misguided."

"Well, he sounds sadistic," Seymour said before immediately regretting it, which I could tell by his expression. I was thinking of how to respond when Mr. Mushnik came back in from the storage room.

"Ready to close shop, kids?" He yawned, grabbing his unstylish wool jacket from the rack and throwing it over his shoulders. "Seymour, get your jacket. We're heading over to Shmendrik's to pick up something cheap for dinner." I hid my face from his view and quickly wiped away the last of the tears.

"You alright there, Audrey?" Mr. Mushnik frowned, tilting his head curiously.

"She's fine, Mr. Mushnik," Seymour answered loudly, distracting him. "I accidentally fell and hit her with the watering can, is all."

Through my harsh anxiety, I felt myself laughing a little on the inside. Seymour was an awful liar, but he tried so hard.

"You hit her with a watering can in the face?"

"Clumsy me!" Seymour shrugged ridiculously, accidentally really hitting me the arm in the process. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Audrey! I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright, Seymour." I smiled distantly. "I should go."

A very embarrassed Seymour peeled his eyes away from me and looked at our boss, who appeared more irritable than ever. Seymour meekly headed over to the coat rack to grab his own jacket. I did no such thing, considering I'd been wearing my sweater in an attempt to cover my bruises.

I wasn't ready to leave work. I had another date, and I didn't know how much more I could take. I had only just gotten over a pulsing headache caused by last night's two hours of sleep. But I had to go.

I almost trudged out of the shop. It may not have been very nice, but I felt at least moderately safe when I was in Mushnik's Skid Row Florists. The door had been propped open, so I opened it the rest of the way and stepped through.

My black stiletto heels clacked loudly on the cement sidewalk. I took a deep breath, and then another. I couldn't seem to ever feel better about Orin. Every day seemed worse.

I may have imagined it, but as I was looking back into the window of the shop from the outside, Seymour mouthed two caring words: "Be careful."