The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

37

In the darkest hours of night I wake, and my gaze instantly shoots to the doorway, expecting the Scarecrow after so long of waking up to him.

It takes me a moment to regain my bearings. To remember the warm body flush against me, the soft breathing across my forehead, the arms encircling me — they belong to Doctor Crane.

There's wetness and an ache between my legs. I squirm, feeling his fluid leak from me, and deciding I need to wash off the sticky mess. The air's cool as I lean up on my elbows, watching Jonathan's face as he sleeps. So at peace. His lips lightly parted, his dark eyelashes a fan casting shadows. His hair lightly ruffled. I could stare at him for hours and never tire of his beautiful he is, could still find new details like the faint scar on his chin, the thickness of his eyebrows. The silvery marks across his shoulders and his chest from where the crows must have pecked at him for hours on end.

It is with great reluctance I tear myself away, tiptoeing quietly across the bedroom wrapped in a sheet until I reach the bathroom — or at least, that was the plan. In reality, my gait is unsteady and I'm walking side-to-side, a combination of my legs somehow still shaking after how hard I fell apart for him, and the dull bruising from how hard he slammed into me.

I run the hot water into the bathtub, deciding a soak might be better to soothe my body. And sure enough, Jonathan's stocked up on my favourite bath salts. I tip a generous handful in, clip my hair up, and sink beneath the water with a soft sigh.

"Were you cold?"

His voice startles me, and water sloshes over the rim of the bath as I turn. I laugh softly at myself, hand on my chest. He stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Glasses on. Eyebrows raised.

"No," I say. "I just felt a little... sticky."

He says. "You should have told me. I'd clean you up myself."

I sink a little further below the water. "I didn't want to wake you."

"And yet, I'm awake."

He walks across to the bathtub, eyes remaining locked on mine as he reaches out and gently tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear. I feel almost self-conscious beneath the intensity of his gaze.

He asks, "May I join you?", and my responding nod is eager.

He tugs at his robe, removing it and hanging it neatly on the wall. He stands bare before me, unguarded, a light dusting of hair at the centre of his chest and a trail at his navel. He's half erect and growing every second.

He steps into the water, and it rises as he settles behind me. The sensation of his body sliding against mine sends shivers of excitement through me, my stomach swooping as he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me snugly against his chest.

I ask, "Will you tell me about your childhood now? We're not eating anything."

He tenses behind me. "I don't want to think about my childhood when I'm with you."

I place my hand over his, resting on my navel. "I'd like to know you Jonathan. You know everything about me."

"That's not true."

I turn to raise my eyebrows at him. "You know everything from my shoe size to my favourite bath salts."

His eyes dance with amusement as he covers my shoulders in warm water. "I know your present, Sienna. But sadly I've not been able to glean much about your past, beyond what happened to your family." He kisses me on the shoulder. "You moved in with your grandmother?"

"I'll tell you about my grandmother if you tell me about yours."

"Alright." He pauses. "You begin."

I roll my eyes, but relent. "She was an alcoholic ballet teacher and ex-dancer who drank too much brandy and chain smoked cigarettes."