Page 14 of You Can't Hurt Me

“You coped admirably, nonetheless. I guess now it’s your turn to make me suffer. I’m curious, how do you think your intro will go? Something like, ‘Nate Reid rests his elbows on the table, looking anxious and uncertain, completely out of his comfort zone,’” he parodies.

“That’s really how you feel?”

He runs the tip of one finger across his jawline. “I’d prefer to be exactly where you are right now, asking the questions.”

“We can ease into it. Why don’t we start with your favorite subject: your bookThe Pain Matrix? Where did the idea come from?” I press Play and watch his shoulders soften as he leans back.

No one really cares, obviously. But it’s a classic warm-up, indulging the interviewee as they talk up whatever product they’re plugging. It’s that time when you can let them enjoy the sound of their own voice before you go in hard with the real questions. I hmm and aah in all the right places as he explains his groundbreaking research into the brain’s “pain-modulation circuit,” the key to understanding how we all have power to control our responses.

He relaxes into his subject. They always do.

I’ll let him go on as long as it takes to feel that his ego is sufficiently stroked. Then I can lead him to riskier territory. But, for now, I nod attentively as he talks, try to observe the small unintended clues and micro expressions he is giving away. I write down my observations in shorthand.Japanese denim. Designer linen shirt. Jaeger-LeCoultre watch. Vintage trainers. Works a little too hard on his appearance.

“And what about you? Did you enjoy the book?” He gives me a long assessing look.

Way too dry, I want to say, too much terminology. What would have saved it was a ruthless editor. Maybe he’s learned he needs a little more help for his next writing project.

I enthuse about it anyway, ready with a specific detail I rehearsed earlier. “I found it fascinating, that bit where you talk about Catholics reporting less pain if they’re exposed to religious imagery before you test them. The idea that our worldview can affect our threshold was intriguing. I liked that quote you concluded on too,” I say, only to imply I’d reached the final chapter, which I hadn’t. “Nature has placed us under two powerful masters. One is pain, the other pleasure.”

“Almost. Nature has placed us under the governance of two sovereign masters. Although my interpretation is that pain is something we should celebrate as much as pleasure.”

“Celebrate? Really? Not quite the word I’d use to describe those threshold tests.”

“Maybe you should,” he muses. “Pain is a better friend to humans than pleasure in many ways, making sure we’ve survived down the centuries.”

“You seem to feel strongly about how much we should appreciate pain. I wonder if all your patients feel the same?”

There is a brief silence and the room feels somehow smaller and more airless.

“I mean, those patients who were unable to rely on that reflex to protect them? How did watching them firsthand impact your conclusions?”

He nods imperceptibly, looks into the middle distance for a long moment. “You mean Eva. Yes, it was incredible luck, really, that we met at all.”

I pause, wait for him to go on, a bit. It still surprises me how you can drop in a question that you dread asking and yet meet so little resistance, as if it’s almost a relief for them to confront whatever subject has hung over them.

“An anesthetist introduced us. Eva came into A&E after a bike accident, only because her boyfriend at the time forced her. Her arm was fractured in two places and yet she refused an anesthetic, insisting she’d never taken a painkiller in her life. Eva always knew she was different to other people, so did her family, but they never knew exactly why. My colleague realized at once she was a unique case and referred her to me.”

“So you invited her onto your research program?”

“She was happy to get involved. It was great for me because the newspapers jumped on it. I got more attention for my work and ultimately enough funding to carry on. But really, it was her they wanted, or the mythology around her. The woman who seemed invincible, who could thrust her hand into the fire and not feel a thing.”

“How did she react to all that attention?”

Nate shifts in his seat, looks down.

I smile, cross my arms.Your move.He only stares, the silence stretching interminably. I check my watch, fidget. My usual trick has let me down. After a moment of hesitating, I add, “I mean, maybe she saw it as a sign of strength, her superpower even?”

“Yes. At times, Eva would often forget about her condition, assume she was invincible.”

“So you had to be her pain reflex, remind her of her limitations?”

“You could put it that way. Protect her from herself mainly,” he says, carefully. “Eva was a risk-taker; even after living with CIP all of her life, she still didn’t realize how easily she could harm herself. She didn’t process danger in the same way as—” he pauses “—you or I might.”

“How did you feel, witnessing that struggle in her?”

The muscles under his skin tighten. “Feel? You like that word, don’t you? For neuroscientists, it doesn’t hold much weight.”

“How can you ignore that word when pain and feeling are inseparable?”

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