The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

8

I knock on the door to Doctor Crane's office.

"Come in." He glances up from his desk. The light shines from his glasses as he appraises me. "Good afternoon, Sienna. Take a seat, I'm just finishing some paperwork."

"Intake form?" I ask, recognising the files on his desk. I catch a glimpse of a mugshot — green hair, clown makeup. It sends shivers across my spine.

"Remorseless serial killer and jewel thief," Jonathan tells me as he writes in his neat scrawl. "He arrives tomorrow. Word of advice — don't let him get inside your head. You'll find it's not so easy to get him out again."

Ripples of unease spread through my stomach. "Good to know."

We sit in silence as Jonathan finishes up. He caps his pen, files the paperwork. Links his fingers together and glances me over.

"You're afraid. Why?"

I release a small, nervous laugh. "It is strange to be the one psychoanalysed for once."

He gives a flitting smile. "You can understand, I take it, that I am very perceptive to fear."

"I suppose I could understand that. Yes."

He leans back in his seat. His lips are slightly parted, his cheeks flushed. "Why are you afraid, Sienna?"

Because it's a serial killer in a costume.

"I suppose I'm naturally an anxious person," I answer quietly.

Jonathan nods, staring at me intently. Seemingly pleased. "You are consumed by your fear. Which is why you have the greatest potential." Then, "I'm very excited to see what you become."

"Thank you, Doctor Crane," I whisper.

"You like it, don't you?" He tilts his head. "You like to be praised, and adored, and told you're a good girl."

My mouth suddenly runs dry. The anxious ripples in my stomach feel different than they did moments before.

"You feel that?" He asks. "Fear and ecstasy... They're the same thing, Sienna. A burst of adrenaline. An illumination of the centres in the brain. That's why my treatment is so effective. I've never treated someone so bound by fear as you are. So capable of transformation."

"This won't be in the dissertation... Will it, Doctor?" I ask quietly.

He stands up, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. "No. It won't. But it's vital you do the work. Feel it for yourself. I usually begin with twelve weeks of prescribed therapy and, if necessary, medication. Give my subjects the tools to manage the fear when it arises. I'm going to assume you already possess such tools, yes?"

I try to swallow the dry lump in my throat. "Yes, Doctor."

"Good." His voice softens. He pulls medical equipment from a cabinet — heart rate monitors, blood pressure cuff. Gestures for me to take a seat in the clinical chair, set up in front of the bookshelf beside the door. "We'll be starting softly today. Gentle. We may not even use the toxin at all."

I settle myself into the chair. Focus on slowing my pounding heart.

My efforts are not helped when Doctor Crane slips his fingers beneath my shirt, his fingertips igniting heat in my muscles. I clear my throat quickly, embarrassed, goosebumps searing across my skin as he positions the heart rate monitors. His gaze flashes to my own. I swallow and stare straight ahead.

Once he's satisfied everything is positioned correctly, he takes a clipboard and jots down a few notes.

"Are you ready to commence?" He asks.