The Surgeon by Tracy Davidson

For someone who spends so much time wielding scalpels, a sudden attack of haemophobia is somewhat inconvenient.

My therapist shares my fear. She talks me through her coping mechanisms. She’s good. I feel the panic and anxiety leaving my body. Hands stop trembling at the merest thought of scarlet oozing over my gloves. She’s really good. I’m me again.

Alas, for her, she proves too good a listener. She now knows I’m a serial killer—not surgeon. My fear has gone. But hers returns.

I show mercy by blindfolding her. Oops! Seems she’s afraid of the dark, too. Oh well.