Chapter 1

I was born with a rare emotional-processing disorder that caused severe alexithymia and an abnormally muted response to pain.

When people mocked me, I never fought back. At funerals, I could never cry.

For our fifth anniversary, my boyfriend, Adrian Foster, gave me a fitness tracker that monitored my heart rate.

He promised that one day, he would teach me what love felt like.

Then his first love, Natalie Hayes, came back to town.

When all three of us were trapped inside a burning convention center, Adrian scooped Natalie into his arms without a moment's hesitation.

"Stay here and wait for the firefighters. Natalie inhaled too much smoke. I have to get her out first."

I sat quietly amid the flames. I did not cry. I did not scream.

Half an hour later, Natalie's sugary laugh drifted through my phone.

"I win, Adrian. I told you. You could leave that freak in the worst nightmare imaginable, and she still wouldn't shed a single tear."

Adrian answered with careless amusement. "She's missing whatever part makes a person human. Why bother competing with a mannequin?"

Flames swept across the back of my hand and charred my flesh.

I stared down at the steady sixty beats per minute that had defined my entire life.

Then the anniversary tracker shrieked.

My heart rate shot to 180.

A single hot tear rolled from my eye and struck the raw burn.

The moment my emotions finally woke up, the first thing they taught me was abandonment.

...

When the firefighters broke through the convention center doors, I was calmly studying the blackened flesh on the back of my hand.

A young firefighter carried me out, his eyes red behind his mask.

"She must be in shock. She never even called for help."

An ambulance rushed me straight to the emergency room at Midtown Medical Center.

The doctor used surgical scissors to cut away my sleeve, which had melted into the wound.

There was no anesthetic.

When he pulled off the dead skin with forceps, I did not so much as flinch.

The ER physician gave me an uneasy look.

"This is a full-thickness burn. Are you telling me you really can't feel any pain?"

I glanced at the unwavering sixty on my tracker and started to answer.

A commotion erupted in the hall.

Adrian strode into the emergency department with Natalie cradled in his arms.

She buried her face against his chest, sobbing.

"I was so scared. I thought we'd never make it out."

He held her tighter, his voice gentler than I had ever heard it.

"You're safe now. As long as I'm here, no one will hurt you."

Then he turned and met my level gaze.

He stopped cold.

His eyes dropped to my mangled hand. Instinctively, he snapped at a passing nurse.

"Get the silicone burn dressing from the specialty cart. Don't put dry gauze on her hand."

He stepped toward me and reached out.

Before he could touch me, Natalie dissolved into a violent coughing fit and went limp in his arms.

Adrian immediately pulled his hand back and caught her securely.

When he looked at my expressionless face again, irritation flickered across his features, along with the confidence that I would simply understand.

"Clara, if the firefighters got you out, why didn't you text me? You know Natalie is claustrophobic. She nearly passed out in there."

I studied his indignant face.

The strange sensation from the fire surged up my throat again.

Natalie lifted her head from his chest and covered her mouth in counterfeit shock.

"Oh my God, Clara. What happened to your hand? Adrian was just frantic about me. Please don't be angry with him. Besides, you can't feel pain, right? A burn must be no worse than a mosquito bite for you."

The malice beneath her concern was not even subtle.

Adrian did not correct her. Instead, he said coldly, "She can't even cry. What could she possibly feel?"

I looked quietly at the man I had loved for five years.

"Adrian, the anniversary tracker is broken."

I raised my charred right hand.

The screen had shattered. Its heat-warped frame was embedded in my flesh.

He had fastened it around my wrist himself on our fifth anniversary.

He had told me it would record every beat of my heart.

Someday, he said, he would make the number soar and teach me what love was.

Now it was a piece of burned-out metal.

He only frowned.

"Don't look so miserable over a fitness tracker. I'll buy you the newest model tomorrow. Natalie needs a complete examination after what she went through. Finish getting patched up and take a cab home."

Without another glance at me, he carried her toward a private treatment suite.

I watched them disappear with their bodies pressed together.

I did not cry. I did not make a scene.

But somewhere inside me, something that had held firm for five years cracked clean through.

The doctor lifted his forceps to remove what remained of the anniversary tracker.

"I need to numb this. Otherwise, the pain could make you black out."

I shook my head.

"Don't. I want to remember how this feels."

This was the first lesson my emotions had ever taught me.

I intended to keep it.