Standing Up Again

(Seymour's POV)

"Are you all right, Audrey?"

She's staring into space – third time today. Things are worse than I thought. That scumbag of a boyfriend must be dumping on her again.

"Audrey?"

I really can't stand the way he treats her. She deserves better. She's too good for him, much too good.

"Audrey!" I snap my fingers, and her daze is broken. She shakes her head and her eyes come into focus. "S-Seymour?"

I nod reassuringly. Should I pat her on the back or something? Or would it be awkward, y'know, me touching her…? "I'm here, Audrey. What's happening?"

"Oh, nothing" – she isn't looking me in the eye – "just spacing out, I guess." She hurries over to the shelf full of roses and starts arranging the bouquets. "Ow!" She yanks her hand away. I can see the bright spot of blood on her fingertip.

"Lemme get a band-aid." I open the desk drawer below the cash register and rummage for a minute or two, eventually coming up with a bandage, which I hand to her. "You hardly ever prick your finger," I comment, trying to pry her troubles out of her and compliment her at the same time. "You've always been really good at the job."

"Thanks," she says, smiling at me. Boy, that smile. "So've you. Sorry if I'm a little distracted." She sinks into the chair behind the desk. She looks exhausted, and it's only one o'clock.

"You seem tired."

"Yeah, that, too."

"Any particular reason?"

"Long night."

"Must have been" – I can't hold it in any longer, seeing her bent out of shape this way – "with that twisted guy you're dating."

She bursts into tears. Good going, Krelborn. "Oh, Seymour, I don't know how much longer I can take it. It's horrible, plain horrible! He hits me every night now. And the things he says…Seymour, am I really that useless?" She gazes at me helplessly.

I move toward her. "I…Audrey, you –"

"KRELBORN!"

We jump away from one another. I have no idea what I was about to do, but it probably would have made me look stupid anyway. "M-Mr. Mushnik!" I stammer.

"What've you been doing all this time?" growls my boss, storming in from the back room. "You two were supposed to be arranging roses!" He gestures toward the shelf, which is only about half-done.

"I'll finish it, sir, I promise," I plead. And I plan on doing it all. Audrey's in no condition to work. Can't he see that?

"Well, you'd better, or…" His voice trails off. I'm looking at the bouquet shelf, but I can tell he's looking at Audrey. "Audrey."

"Mr. Mushnik?" she squeaks. That dentist's made her so timid. She's even more wonderful than usual when she's relaxed, natural. I wish I could get her to be like that more often. But as long as she's with HIM, I guess not.

Mr. Mushnik sighs. "What'd he do to you now?"

"Who?"

"You know who I mean. Orin Scrivello."

"Er – D.D.S.," she adds gently. I turn around, and his fiery glare scares me almost as much as it scares her. "Sorry, sir – I mean –"

"No. He doesn't deserve that title. That guy's real trouble, Audrey."

"I know, Mr. Mushnik, I know! But I can't get rid of him!"

He apparently gives up and rounds on me instead. "All right, Krelborn, those roses are going to be done in TEN MINUTES, or ELSE!" He stalks out, slamming the door behind him. Trying to tune out Audrey's hiccupping, or at the very least hold my tongue, I set to work on the roses.

(Audrey's POV)

Everything, all the pain, all the heartache, comes flooding back and makes me want to kill myself. I'm really beginning to wonder how much longer I can take it. But what will happen when I can't anymore? Am I going to stand up to him? Ha. That's a joke. He'd murder me.

I wouldn't put it past him.

Watching Seymour, my closest friend, weave clumps of roses together into beautiful bouquets, I remember it all crystal-clear. Seymour doesn't know about my first encounter with Orin. That was a long, long time ago…almost seems like another lifetime…

[The little blonde-headed girl teetered into the daycare center, greeted by young women with smiles too big for their faces. She turned to wave goodbye, but her mama was already putting the car in gear. Tears began to form in the toddler's eyes, but she didn't want any of the kids to think she was a crybaby. So she put on a brave front and marched over to the blocks.

"Ooh," she cooed, reaching for the bright blue one. "That's pretty."

She was abruptly knocked over. "Ow!" Dazed, she glanced up at the perpetrator: a smirking, self-satisfied boy who snatched the blue block out of her hands. "Mine!" he said, and threw it across the room. It hit another little girl on the head, who started to cry.

"Now, now," scolded one of the ladies, rushing over to comfort the crying girl and casting a reproachful glare in the boy's direction. "We don't do that to other boys and girls, Orin. Please apologize."

The boy shook his head vigorously. "No."

"Come on, you can do it. Tell Cathie you're sorry."

"No!" And he picked up another block and hurled it at the lady and her sniffling charge. The lady ducked it and, hoisting Cathie on one arm, walked swiftly over to grab the boy by the hand. "You're coming with me, Orin."

The little blonde girl watched, wide-eyed. "You're mean!" she informed the boy as he grinned over his shoulder. "You're gonna get a time-out!"

Just before he and the lady rounded the corner, he stuck his tongue out at the little blonde girl. She returned the gesture.

Many, many years slipped by before girl and boy met again. Both families had been battered and bruised, and they wound up discussing this over drinks at a smoky, noisy nightclub called The Gutter. The girl worked the midnight shift, coupled with a day job at the Skid Row Flower shop, to support herself until the glorious day when she could move out. Admittedly, she was charmed by his devilish grin, greased hair, and leather jacket – but his voice…it had a blunt, bitter edge that scared her sometimes. It made her wonder about his abilities, his strength, the things he had done.

In any event, she was experiencing very mixed feelings toward him by the time her shift drew to a close. She was just having an internal argument over whether she should ask him to come again – whether she really would like to see him again – when he leaned over the bar and kissed her. The feeling was rough, jagged, much like his voice; and the moment it started, she knew she wanted it to stop. But he didn't let go, didn't pull away, and eventually the entire club's attention was fixated on them.

After what felt to the girl like an eternity, he almost leapt back in triumph, gestured toward her, and said, "My new girl!"

The crowd exploded into applause. The girl blushed and pasted a smile on her face, a million thoughts dizzying her brain. Was this a good idea? Should she try to calm everyone down and correct him? No, he didn't seem like the type to want to be corrected. He was smiling like a madman now.

Little did she know how right she was going to be.]