Page 13 of Map of Pain
Consciousness crept back like cold water rising. Hospital room. Still alive. He blinked against the metallic taste coating his tongue. His body felt like something borrowed, worn out and returned damaged.
The empty IV bag hung limp above him. Nick reached for it, fingers trembling so badly he nearly knocked the pole over. The insertion site in his arm looked angry—red, swollen. His vein had blown. The familiar burn of a missed stick, tissue swelling around damaged blood vessels.Perfect.
His clothes clung to his skin, stiff with sweat, grime, and restless sleep. The clean hospital gown Luka had brought remained folded on the nearby table, untouched. Removing clothes meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant pain. The equation was simple.
Nick’s gaze fell on the medical supplies Luka had arranged. He needed to replace the antibiotics. The Society had taught him field medicine—mostly how to keep operatives alive long enoughto complete missions. Ironic that those skills would keep him breathing now.
The one-handed IV insertion was a special kind of hell. The tremor in his fingers made the first attempt miss completely. Blood pearled at the surface of his skin.
“Fuck,”he whispered to himself.
Second try. The needle slid sideways. Blood welled around the insertion point, mocking his efforts.
Third attempt.Focus. The vein rolled under his fingertips, but he pinned it this time. The needle slipped home.
Only when the IV was running did Nick notice the figure near the wall. Luka sat in a chair approximately eight feet away—the vampire had positioned himself at a careful distance. Close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to avoid feeling threatening. He was writing in a small notebook, pen moving in fluid strokes across the page.
Luka glanced up, noticing Nick’s awareness. Without approaching, he held up what appeared to be a pre-written sign:‘Good morning. How do you feel?’
The preparation of the message suggested he’d been anticipating Nick’s waking. Planning ahead. Calculating reactions. Just like Shaw. Just like Gianmarco.
No. Not the same. Different calculations.
Nick’s gaze drifted to the bottle of prescription pain medication on the bedside table. The orange plastic gleamed in the dim light, promising relief.
Chicago flashed through his mind. Pills first. Then powder when the pills ran out. The slide had been so easy, so inevitable. Then Gianmarco finding him already halfway broken.
“Poor kitten, you need something stronger, don’t you?”The memory of that voice slithered through him. The drugs had made everything easier—made him compliant, grateful,malleable. They’d loosened his grip on reality just enough that Gianmarco could reshape it.
Nick turned away from the bottle. Pain was his. The only thing that still belonged to him. The only thing they couldn’t take away.
Luka was writing again. He held up a new message:‘Pain medicine available. Your choice.’
Nick shook his head once, sharp and definitive.
Luka nodded, scribbling again before displaying:‘Understood.’
He settled back against the pillows, the fresh antibiotics beginning their slow work through his system. The beeping of medical equipment provided a rhythmic counterpoint to his thoughts.
Luka returned to his notebook, occasionally glancing up with eyes that assessed but didn’t invade. His profile was sharp in the fluorescent light—strong jaw partially hidden beneath his beard, careful fingers gripping the pen with precision.
Nick found himself studying the vampire’s movements, the concentration evident in his expression. The way he held himself, present but not imposing, was the paradox of a predator choosing not to hunt.
The silence between them felt strangely comfortable.
***
The next day brought clearer thinking. Nick had lost exact count of time in the windowless room, but his body’s recovery provided rough markers. The infection was responding to treatment, though his weakness remained.
He found himself tracking Luka’s movements with curiosity rather than the tactical precision he’d once reserved for targets. The vampire sat in his usual chair, occasionally making quickgestures with his hands. Each movement seemed deliberate, precise. Sometimes Luka’s lips moved silently as his fingers flowed through what appeared to be complete sentences. Other times, just a single sharp gesture accompanied by a slight head tilt.
Nick’s curiosity finally overcame wariness.“What are you signing?”
Luka’s head snapped up, surprise evident before his expression shifted to something that looked suspiciously like cheer. He reached for his notebook, scribbling quickly before holding it up:‘Thinking out loud. Sometimes easier in sign than thoughts.’
Nick hesitated, vulnerability battling with genuine interest.“Could you... teach me some? Basic stuff.”
Luka’s face transformed. His eyes brightened, posture straightened, and his hands came together in what could only be described as excitement. He wrote something new:‘Really? Happy to teach. Start with basics?’
