I have no idea where I'm going with this thing (current working title)
an excerpt

Their relationship bloomed slowly. ben tended toward the shy, Lauren tended to be recalcitrant. They broke each others barriers one meeting, one sentence, one touch at a time. Lauren learned Ben liked his coffee with honey, and in return, Ben learned that Lauren preferred tea. Their first deliberate touch happened one night after a marathon session of coffee and debate. As Ben walked Lauren back to her small apartment in the Avenues, she reached across and brushed his hand with her own. His reflexively wrapped around hers, and hers tightened in response. They walked hand in ahnd the rest of the way, not speaking, just enjoying the sensation of touch. Their first kiss came soon after, and their first bout of lovemaking was as tender as the giant man and the elf-sized woman could make it. Sleeping wrapped around Ben that night, Lauren a runing tab of how often he snuggled even closer. by the end of the night, they had trouble separating one limb from another.
Lauren felt it was important, once their relationship had gone from the realm of affection to truly physical, to share some medical truths with Ben, in case something should happen while they were together he would understand that there truly wasnt much he could do to help her except be there. Lauren had epilepsy, and though she hadn't gone grand mal in years, she knew she could at any time. She maintained one medication, the Zarontin, which had minimal side effects for her. Her doctor would certainly have preferred to treat with multiple medications, but she preferred to keep some dignity in her treatment. Therefore, she was prone to partial seizures at any time. Zarontin also had the nasty side effect of nausea and weight loss, and Lauren tried to be constantly ahead of her negligible appetite.
Ben listened quietly to her explanation of her condition, making the right noises at the right times.
"Alot of things make alot more sense now," he said when she'd finished.
"What do you mean?" Lauren ran a shaking hand over her tight, dark ponytail. Her tremors this time came from the rush and fear of sharing such a monumental problem with a man she still felt she barely knew. She knotted her trembling hands in her lap, eyeing her cigarettes on the coffee table.
Ben saw her trailing eyes. "Please light up, Lauren. It's ok." He nodded toward her cigarettes, and reached for the lighter, nearer on the table to him than to her. "I mean," he said as she pinched the cigarette between her teeth and he flicked the bic, "that that first day I brought myself to come out and bring you your coat, to talk to you, you seemed so unsteady. I thought maybe it had been because you'd been fcusing so hard on that window." He watched the smoke trail from between her lips. he still couldn't look at those lips without feeling overwhelming urges to wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she couldnt breathe. Either that or run for cover. "and then there's the insistence on making sure you eat at least every couple of hours. I figured you might just have a high metabolism." She snorted a cynical little laugh through her nostrils and his lip curled in a half-grin. "and I always womdered how anyone who was so damn beautiful," his hand cameoff the back of the couch to grab the back of her ponytail and yank it a little "and seemed to ahve everything she could want caould be so damn melancholy."
Her eyes widened. "melancholy? You think I'm melancholy? Why?"
This time his grin was real. "Umn, sweetie, have you looked at your own art?" He gestured to the oil painting hung above the narroe mantel of the gas fireplace. In it, blues and deep reds predominated, though the scene was pastoral. To him it always looked like sunset in a feild near an abbatoir. Yet, sespite it's grim appearance, the picture had a calming effect on him, because it came from her.
She stared up at the painting, trying to see it from other than the artist's eye. "I dont see it. it's a field of flowers. how is that melancholy?"
"In blue and dark red? I always though artists had to know alot about the psychology of color."
" I paint what I feel." Her blue eyes had taken on a dark glint, and he could see anger riding just below the lines of her face, preparing to twist them.
" I know you paint what you feel. The picture is beautiful. You were feeling serene when you painted it. But as with all your pictures, theres something dark there. the dark colors always remind me of a bloody secret. Maybe something on this side of the canvas that no one's supposed to see but that bleeds through anyway." He tried to put his plea into his eyes. "Don't be mad. I'm jsut psychoanalyzing a little. The epilepsy just explains the darkness and sadness in your paintings. Please," he touched her again, a soothing handwhich lookedso hge on her delicate neck. "Please don't be mad."
She expelled smoke through her nose and looked up at the painting again. "I'm not mad," she said. Her voice had lost the edge of anger. Her voice was small. " I jsut didn't think that anyone could see into me like that." Do you think that everyone sees that when they look at my art?" her eyes held the plea now.
His hand fell from her neck to her hand and he drew her in close. "I think they see the art of someone who sees the darkness in the world. That's what I saw before I gotto know you." He couldn't help but think about how natural she felt curled into his side. "You don't have a dark soul, Lauren." Her face tilted up so she could look in his eyes. Her quick kiss tasted of smoke and peppermint tea. she leaned over and stubbed out the last of the cigarette in the pristine glass ashtray on the coffee table, then leaned back into his and went back to staring at the painting above the mantel. The silence was confortable between them again.