The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

27

The scarecrow slowly moves his hands across the bedsheets. I wait, nerves pooling between my legs, the steady hands I've seen so many times on Doctor Crane grazing across me until he's holding my jaw between his fingers.

"Are you scared?"

Wide-eyed, I give my head a quick shake. No. A blatant lie.

He chuckles quietly. "A shame. You're so pretty when you're scared."

I whisper, "Maybe you should ask Doctor Crane for some fear toxin."

His eyes darken. "You want some?"

My heart pounds. A soft noise escapes my throat, and I can't tell if it's arousal or fear.

The scarecrow reaches into his blazer pocket, eyes wide with excitement. He pulls free an inhaler and brings the plastic to my lips. I taste it, along with lemon. Along with Doctor Crane's scent.

"Breathe in, Sienna."

I do as he says and he administers the dose. Almost instantly, the edges of my vision begin to blur. Everything becomes distorted. He groans softly and the noise vibrates through me, terrifying, every part of me that makes me human begging me to run. To fight back.

"Your eyes have gotten larger already," he murmurs, turning my face in his hands. "So fucking beautiful." He says the words slowly, deliberately. "Calm your breathing. I want you conscious for what I'm about to do to you."

I cannot speak as his fingers drag down my throat, lightly grazing the delicate skin. He explores the contours of my neck, my collarbone, the ridge of my shoulder. Toys with the thin strap of my tank top before slowly pulling it down my arm. My legs clench together and the muscles of my arm clench beneath his touch, the trail his fingers have drawn still tingling.

He traces the soft curve of my breast and my back arches from the mattress in response. It feels like everything is on fire, my brain numb from all the mixed signals of terror and anticipation and pleasure.

The scarecrow pulls up the hem of his hood, but before I can see his face, his lips are on my neck. Soft, so soft, with his tongue dragging across my skin. I gasp, and he grazes his teeth across my throat, clamping a hand over my mouth to quiet my whimpers.

He says, "Concentrate. The toxin is distorting your perception of volume."

I'm a little busy concentrating on something else.

But I try to behave for him, reaching out and clutching his arms as I silence myself. His lips drag lower, until they reach the hollow of my throat, until he buries his head against my chest and rips my tank top down to my abdomen in one movement. I gasp as the cold air washes over me, and my nipples stiffen to hard peaks, craving his touch. This feels so real.

The Scarecrow's hand moves from my mouth to wrap gently around my throat. A warning. "You were being such a good girl for me, Sienna," he sighs. "I'm going to need you to be quiet."

I nod, showing him, promising him I can behave. I whisper, "Please don't stop."

He says, "You're such a good whore for me. Letting me do this to you."

I struggle to comprehend how he expects me to stay quiet when he says things like that, but in my terror of this ending, I manage to keep silent. And it's worth it, when he palms my breast in his free hand, softly groaning. Without thinking, I slip a hand beneath the back of his hood, caressing his thick hair. He groans more deeply.

"Who needs to be quiet now?" I ask, in a taunting whisper.

He slowly tilts his head to glance at me threateningly. I gulp, the fear toxin heightening all my senses into overdrive.