Page 131 of Deep Cover

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Annie

Shower over, I was finally warm again. The whole time he'd been punishing me, I'd been cold.

It felt like I was never going to warm up again.

I didn't know if I was cold because of something physical, either being outside without my shirts or a physical trauma, like everything my body had just gone through.

There were other choices. It was possible I was cold because I was so unsure of everything. That was new and it was intentional on Cole's part and even if he was right, I hated it.

There was no proof he was right. He was a doctor, yes, under his degrees in pharmaceuticals and his billions of dollars of pharma business, but that didn't mean he was a psychologist. For all I knew he was fucking me up far more than anything being deep cover had ever done to me.

It kind of felt like it. I had never been the kind of person who looked at the floor and mumbled yes, sir until I was grabbed by the chin and ordered to say it loudly and clearly. I was always the rebel, the at-risk kid who never stopped asking Why and Why should I?

There was no need for me to have swiped my record at PD (though I did) to read that this made me a better deep cover operative. I didn't have the military mindset or the cop brain. I still thought Why should I and Who says? when told what to do. It might make it harder for people in the chain of command to work with me but when I was deep cover, I didn't have to think twice before fitting in.

Suddenly I was unsure about so many things. Should I ask Cole before I went to the bathroom? That was one of his rules. But if he was terribly busy, would it be better for me to make the decision on my own? The way I'd been doing since I was what, four years old. He'd see that I'd gone into the bathroom if he reviewed the tapes, but honestly that seemed like such a small thing when taken in context with everything else.

It could completely detour my concentration for half an hour before the need became too great to put off making a decision.

It wasn't just that I still considered nonsense like that. It was also a constant feeling that I was supposed to answer to someone. And that I wasn't quite competent enough to make my own decisions and run my own life.

Biggest problem: I wasn't fighting it. Being safe from fentanyl, being away from temptation, going through a cure that was working - It was all worth it to me.

And there were the times he touched me. The times my head exploded along with my body the way it only ever had when Jesse rage-fucked me.

Then there were times I'd think of Mark. Who I never got permission to call. And my father, who I was in contact with about once every ten days. They'd get into my head and I'd wonder what they'd think if somehow, hideously, either one of them ever knew about spreader bars and leather restraints, fire hose straps and tire tread paddles and –

They'd never find out. Never.

I would work my way back out of this. Being off the opiate gave me myself back even if Cole's training stripped me of it. Being off China white meant I could think again and plan again and I knew I'd be going back into law enforcement, though the idea of not going back to Seattle wasn't as daunting as it had once been.

I could go somewhere else. I could join DEA while I still looked young enough to infiltrate high school and if not that, then college.

The one thing that had given me courage, even pleasure when the straps were doing their damage to my backside, was that Cole didn't know about Tad Charles and my continued communication with the outside world and the inside world of PD. My taekwon-do workouts were as important to me as I'd told him they were, but even more so, the idea of being in the loop again, of working out a way to make a difference without breaking this particular deep cover and exposing not the operation but my own recovery, that was giving me strength. It was a decision I'd made on my own and something I was doing by myself. Without getting caught.

Wrapped in the thickest, warmest robe, planning to put on some of the hoodies I wore to run as well as tights and sweatpants, I padded out of the bathroom.

To find Cole sitting on the edge of my bed.

For a horrible moment I thought he was there to give me my first dose without even letting me go to him in the dining room. Not that I wanted it there – or at all, not that way – but I'd let the shower give me time to think my own thoughts and had planned that the walk into the dining room would be time to psych myself up for what was to come. A sort of whatever it takes to get healthy and get out of here mentality.

Then I saw his face and realized the thing I'd just been thinking, the strength I'd just been considering mine from my secret, was over.

The urge to run was so intense, I don't think I could have fought it if I had already dressed back in the bathroom, but the steaminess made it hard to pull on tights and jog bras. It was easier in the bedroom and now it was too late.

"Come over here and kneel at my feet. You may keep the robe."

"Sir?"

"You were cold. I saw that."

For a second I thought I didn't, after all, have autonomy in the bathroom. Then I realized he simply meant outside after the run and while he was punishing me. He just hadn't seen fit to stop and do anything about it. Actually, that would have been strange anyway. Here, let me beat some pain into you but let's wrap you up snug and warm first.

I kept my face impartial. Despite that wayward thought, I had never felt less like smiling. I anticipated being punished again, second time in one morning, but Cole was calm and thoughtful.

"This isn't a game, Annie." His voice was disappointed and I hated that I cared. But he didn't raise the tone. There was nothing of the frenetic sadist who sometimes frightened me and nothing of the eagerness he sometimes displayed. There wasn't even the anger that seemed to burn.

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