Page 108 of Seth
“It’s a rare genetic disorder where people are insensitive to pain and temperatures and are unable to regulate their body temperature due to lack of sweating.”
“Wait. Are you telling me this motherfucker doesn’t feel pain?” Gustavo ducked his head. A bright flashback from the fight in the glass factory surfaced in his memory. Seth’s palm pressed against the scorching metal … the steaming flesh … the scent of burnt meat … dry, red skin … a blank expression without a single hint of pain. “Fuck my life, he can’t feel pain. How’s it even possible? Is it some kind of nerve degeneration?”
“Not really. People with CIPA don’t have sensory neurons in the dorsal root ganglion. Those are responsible for carrying nerve impulses from painful and temperature stimuli. In other words, people like him have no awareness of being hurt. They could burn alive and wouldn’t feel it until someone tells them, or they see flames.”
“What about pleasure? Can he feel it?”
“Pleasure?” Haas cocked a brow.
“Yes. Sexual pleasure. Touches, kisses, caresses. Can he feel it?” Gustavo placed the clipboard on the plastic chair, eyes boring into the doctor.
“Why are you asking? Who are you, once again, and what’s your interest in him?” Haas knitted his brows.
“Isn’t it obvious, doctor? Personal. Why else would I be here?”
Haas blew out a breath, and his palm ran over his glistening forehead. He looked at Seth, at Gustavo, then at the clipboard. “Doesn’t he already have a lover?”
“Has that ever stopped anyone from trying? Tell me, doctor, what about pleasure?”
“People with CIPA feel touch just like you and me—pressure, textures, vibrations. Just not temperatures, not pain.”
“Can this disorder cause impotence?”
“No?” Haas ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at it. “Even completely paralyzed people can feel sexual pleasure. It works on a hormonal level.”
“Then why can’t he get hard?”
“This isn’t something I can or should be answering, but maybe you just don’t excite him?” Mocking notes sneaked into Haas’ voice, but his face remained a dispassionate mask.
“Huh?” Gustavo’s lips stretched in a grin. “Don’t excite him... I was right. It can’t be love. By the way, why isn’t he waking up? Shouldn’t he be coming around by now?”
“He won’t wake up. Not today, not tomorrow. He is heavily sedated and will stay like this for at least a week.”
“Why? I thought the surgery went well.”
“It went fine. The knife didn’t cut organs, but it scratched the large intestine. There was a massive hematoma in the retroperitoneal space. He is in a stable condition and will recover, but he won’t wake up anytime soon. You are wasting your time.”
“Then why is he sedated?” Gustavo felt like an idiot. “You just said he can’t feel pain. What’s the point in sedating him?”
“That’s exactly the reason why he has to be sedated.” Haas snapped his gloves on, circled the bed, and checked Seth’s vitals. “You see, any other person with these injuries would stay in bed because moving would be painful. Seth will try to leave as soon as he is conscious. Hyperactivity and emotional instability are common for people with his disorder. And this is also a warning for you, Herr…”
“Gustavo DeSilva.”
“Go home, Herr DeSilva. I’ll let him know you stopped by when he has healed enough to be released.”
“Hmm…” Gustavo glanced at the sleeping face, then at the doctor. He was about to walk out of the door, but changed his mind, picked up the clipboard, and took out his phone.
“You aren’t allowed to take pictures of that.” Haas stepped toward him, reaching to the clipboard.
“Fine. I won’t.” Gustavo easily agreed, passing the clipboard to the doctor. “But satisfy my curiosity. The file states he has no allergy reactions. Is it a mistake?”
“We don’t make mistakes here.” Haas accepted the file and shoved it under his armpit. “I’ve been his physician since his birth.”
“What about his alcohol intolerance? Isn’t it an allergy?”
“He doesn’t have alcohol intolerance.”
“Are you sure?”
