Page 89 of Map of Pain
He wanted this. He wanted to sleep in a real bed, wanted to stop hiding, wanted to let someone see him, even if that person would find him disgusting.
Nick wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took a steadying breath.
“Okay,”he whispered.“You can open your eyes now.”
Chapter thirty-four
A conversation conducted in touches and sighs...
Luka
Luka opened his eyes slowly, giving Nick time to change his mind if he needed to. But Nick stood there waiting, tears still streaming down his face, shoulders squared with hard-won courage.
The sight hit Luka like a physical blow.
He’dseen Nick’s scars before—glimpses through torn clothing, the brand on his collarbone, the carved words on his back. But seeing the full scope of whathadbeen done to himwassomething else.
The first thing Luka noticedwashow the carved words repeated across Nick’s body like a horrible litany.Good boywasn’tjust on his back and chest—itwasetchedinto both forearms in careful script, carved down his left thigh in letters that healed raised and angry. The repetition made something violent stir in Luka’s chest with recognition. Thishadn’tbeen random cruelty—thishadbeen deliberate programming writteninto Nick’s flesh like a systematic attempt to rewrite his very identity.
Luka forced his rage down, focusing instead on Nick’s face. Thiswasabout Nick choosing trust, choosing vulnerability…choosing him.
Cigarette burns dotted Nick’s thighs in precise patterns, small perfect circles. More burns marked the tops of his feet, along with three missing toenails thatnever grew back, the nail beds scarred and empty.
Some scars disappeared below the waistband of Nick’s boxers, and the beast roared through Luka with the need to hunt. The ragewasso intense it made his fangs ache, his hands shaking with the effort of staying still.
But underneath the furywaswonder at Nick’s incredible strength, at his decision to stand here and trust Luka with his deepest vulnerabilities. Each scarwasa testament to Nick’s survival, proof that he endured the unendurable and somehow remained himself beneath it all.
This brave, broken, beautiful man allowed Luka to see him.
Ours,the beast murmured, but it wasn’t possessive—it was reverent.
Luka rose from the bed and moved closer, his steps careful and telegraphed. He wanted to say so many things: that Nick was brave, that hewasstrong, that every scarwasproof of his survival rather than evidence of his breaking. But words felt inadequate for this moment, and Nick’s ASLwasn’tadvancedenough for such complex concepts.
When hewasclose enough that Nick could see his expression, Luka let all his appreciation and fierce affection show on his face. Then he mouthed the words slowly and deliberately:“You beautiful.”
The simple phrase carried everything he couldn’t sign—not beautiful despite the scars, but beautiful because of everythingthey represented. Beautiful because Nick chose to trust him with this. Beautiful because hewashere, alive, real, and present.
Nick’s sniffled, fresh tears spilling over.“I don’t know how to do this,”he whispered.“Sleep normal. I always curl up small.”
Luka nodded, then gestured toward the bed with a questioning expression.
“Can you...”Nick’s voice cracked.“Can you help me figure out how to lie down? And maybe... maybe help me stay uncurled? I want to try.”
The trust in those words sent satisfaction humming through Luka.Ours to protect. Ours to help.He moved to the bed and pulled back the sheet, patting the mattress in invitation.
Nick approached cautiously, like hewaswalking toward something that might bite him. When he reached the edge of the bed, he hesitated.“Where should I...?”
Luka guided him, helping Nick settle on his back in the center of the mattress. Almost immediately, Nick’s body began its familiar protective curl—knees drawing up, shoulders hunching inward, seeking the smallest possible configuration.
“I can’t stop it,”Nick said, frustration threading through his voice.“It just happens.”
Luka reached out, giving Nick time to refuse, and placed a hand on his thigh. The gentle pressurewasenough to remind Nick’s leg to straighten, and he let out a shaky breath.
“That helps,” Nick whispered.
Luka moved onto the bed, settling behind Nick so he could press his hand against Nick’s chest from behind.
For several minutes, they lay like that—Luka’s hand on Nick’s thigh keeping his leg from curling, his other hand pressed against Nick’s sternum, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Nick’s breathing evened out, and some of the tension bled from his frame.
