Page 6 of You Can't Hurt Me

“It was agonizing,” I say instead, because it’s the straightforward answer, the one he expects. “I felt sick, frightened too.”

“Of?”

“Of what would happen next.” I shrug. “It was all fine in the end. A&E. Four stitches, acetaminophen.” I hold up my hand and he touches the ivory ridge of scar tissue at the top of my finger.

“Well, I promise you that nothing here today will feel as bad as your contretemps with a sharp knife. These are simulations, acute but brief. Shout and I’ll stop.” He pauses, his expression growing intensely serious. “So, we’re going to stick some electrodes on you to monitor each region of your brain and they’ll flash up on those screens over there in different colors, depending on how you react.”

“I think I can guess.”

“Doubtful. No one knows how they’ll respond to pain until they’re up against it...”

“Can we just get on with it?” I interrupt.

He looks at me quizzically. “You look worried, why?”

I see all sorts of assumptions flicker in his eyes.Female. Red-haired. Oversensitive. Likely correlation with low-pain threshold, higher-complaint score.

Nate’s directness unnerves me, a clinical candor. It’s not that I’m afraid of pain. But the idea of being studied as I’m experiencing it is unsettling. The last person I want gazing into my brain and drawing conclusions, I realize, is Dr. Reid. I’m not sure he’d like what he found there.

“No, not all.” I try to sound bright. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“Okay. What I’m going to do is rub some capsaicin here, a chemical that you find in the hottest chili. It’s the part of the pepper that gives you the deepest heat.” After outlining a circle on the inside of my arm, he lathers it on, scrutinizing me as the gel starts to tingle. “You’re okay?”

I grip the chair as a burning sensation ripples through me, aware that he’s noting my reaction.

“It’s intense, right? Capsaicin is one of our most efficient conductors, it reacts with the nerve endings really well.”

He presses what looks like a metallic circuit board, the size of a SIM card, onto the gel.

“This will help to kick it up a bit and give us more control, like a volume button. I want you to rate what you feel out of ten. So zero is nothing, five unpleasant and ten pure agony. We’ll try not to go further than five.”

“Try?” I echo, as a flash of pain shoots along the inside of my arm.

“Too much?” He turns it down instantly, but the volt of his smile disconcerts me. “Okay, now? Out of ten?”

“Er, four?”

He increases the power and I flinch, terrified now that he’ll ramp it up further. I want to tell him to stop.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

I nod, gritting my teeth.

“Score?”

“Eight.” Mercifully the pain begins to recede and I compose myself, determined to steel it out in front of him. “Out of interest,” I ask cooly, reaching for a glass of water, “has anyone tried this experiment and not responded at all?”

We both know there’s only one person who was oblivious to these simulations, however agonizing. I remember reading in one profile how he’d brought Eva here soon after she agreed to take part in his research. He probably couldn’t wait to entomb her in the scanner so he could peer into her brain, all those neurons firing up for him to see.

“You’re referring to my work with CIP patients?”

I continue looking at him until he breaks eye contact.

“Believe me, watching someone unable to respond to these tests makes one profoundly grateful to experience any sort of pain,” he says, with maybe more feeling than I’d anticipated. He glances down at his tray of implements, briefly lost in thought.

“But finding a cure for pain, rather than helping those who can’t feel it, has that always been your aim?”

“I guess the answer to one lies in the other. Pain is more complex than other senses because unlike, say, taste, hearing, smell, vision or touch, it’s a warning sign—a distressing sensation with real or potential damage involved. Someone once described it to me as the white-hot core of human experience, and I think that’s accurate.” He pauses, checks his watch. “Okay, let’s try the next test.”

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