She asked if she could take a shower. The first time, he said no. She asked again, getting on her knees. A second time, he said no. After the third time she took him into her mouth and he was saying yes, yes, yes.

Marilyn stopped almost as soon as she'd started; she was fairly certain he'd never had a woman's lips on that part of him before and it was a powerful weapon, one she needed to keep in the holster for now. The doctor looked disappointed yet wildly intrigued, as if she'd just shown him a brand new part of the world he desperately needed to explore.

And it worked. He found the tiny metal key for the padlock and clicked it open. The sound was music to her ears but she steeled herself, knowing any signs of fight or flight would be instantly noticed by Oliver's keen eye; she simply smiled at him as he unwound the chain from the bedpost and held it in his long-fingered hands.

"Just until you're in the bathroom," he assured her, and gave the restraint a little tug to imply she was allowed to leave the bed.

She wet her lips nervously with her tongue. Now that her plan was in motion she was terrified. It was like waiting excitedly in line for a ride at the amusement park only to realize once you were in the car that the roller coaster was rickety and clearly unsafe.

Marilyn placed both feet on the floor, feeling the cool smoothness of the white tiles beneath her. She was still quite high but the world around her felt impossibly in-focus. She took one tentative step, aware that her legs might be weak after a day or so of confinement, and was pleased to find her footing.

Oliver extended his free hand to her and helped her up. She noted that his face was calm but the knuckles gripping the heavy iron chain were white.

They ascended the stairs together, slowly.

He guided her with gentle pulls on the ankle restraint, careful not to move too quickly or jerk her feet out from under her. Marilyn followed him like a faithful dog on a leash, one hand on his forearm as a small comfort.

When they passed through the hallway and by the front door she made a concerted effort not to look.

At the bathroom he urged her in first, then closed the door behind them, turning the lock on the shiny doorknob into place. Marilyn's heart pounded in a steady solid rhythm, she could hear it in her ears like war drums but she was too alert to pay it much attention. This was it, her moment, her golden opportunity to flee this man's skilled hands and dark intentions.

Oliver sat on the closed lid of the toilet, blocking her exit. He jerked his head towards the shower once.

"There," he said, and dropped the chain to the ceramic-tiled floor with a clang. He was clearly high strung, uncomfortable with the entire situation. For a moment Marilyn almost felt sorry for him; he was placing his fragile trust in her hands and she was about to shatter it into fine porcelain dust.

She placed her palm against his cheek and found it flushed, but he frowned and withdrew.

"Just do it," the doctor muttered, his voice that of a sulky little boy.

She swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. She assessed the situation as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself.

The heavy iron cuff was still around her ankle, but he was no longer holding the chain.

The door was locked, but only by a simple mechanism she could turn with her own fingers.

All that stood in her way was him.

Marilyn started the water in the shower, turning over these facts in her mind like small smooth stones. When she had the temperature right, she had the answer.

"Join me," she murmured, looking over her shoulder flirtatiously. Oliver started a little.

"What?"

"Join me," Marilyn repeated, and smiled, slipping the ugly cotton nightgown over her head. She dropped it on the bathroom floor the way a burlesque dancer drops her first glove, then stepped into the warm steam of the shower.

It was a gamble. Thredson knew his way around the female body but for all his skill he still seemed to her like a teenage boy, fumbling with feelings and experiences for the very first time. Just as she'd known he'd never seen a woman's lips wrapped around his member she assumed he'd never showered with one either, and her assumption seemed to be right. But would it work? Would he take the bait?

She waited, letting the hot water rush over her body, tilting her face back to feel the steady stream on her face. It was quiet except for the drops hitting the shower floor and the iron restraint clanking wetly against her ankle. After a few minutes the curtain drew back and Oliver slipped inside, nude and hesitant.

He looked unsure of himself; this was a new side she had yet to see from him. He'd removed his glasses for the first time and without them seemed smaller somehow. His shoulders were hunched and he kept covering his crotch with his large hands as if embarrassed. The shower was barely big enough for the both of them, so she scooted forward to allow him more room.

Marilyn felt a twinge of sympathy for this powerful man so out of his element, so suddenly shy and yet opening himself up to her, putting himself in this strange situation for her benefit. Again, she couldn't help but think this seemed like a cruel prank.

She turned to face him and put her hands on his shoulders as if they were dancing at prom. The water rushed around them as he lifted his eyes to hers, hopeful and a little worried.

"This is... nice," Oliver said, a smile surfacing on his face. She didn't know what to say so she pulled him closer, letting him share more of the hot water, planning her next move.

Eventually he found himself more comfortable in the shower with her; the doctor began running his hands along her body, palms slippery against her soaked skin. Marilyn waited until he was deeply engaged in this activity and growing aroused yet again to strike.

"Oliver," she purred, tipping her head towards his. He met her gaze instantly. "Do you have shampoo? I'd like to wash my hair."

Thredson stared at her for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then turned to fetch a bottle of Top Brass from the shower shelf. When he faced her again she had her palm outstretched.

"Just a little," Marilyn said, her brain buzzing in her head, knowing this was it, this was her moment.

He uncapped the bottle, squirted a thick dollop into her hand, and then it all seemed to happen at once.

She shoved the shampoo in his face as hard as she could, mashing the undoubtedly foul-tasting mixture into his mouth and eyes. There was a loud click as his teeth cracked together and he began to stumble backwards; his long limbs flailed helplessly as he slipped once, and again, then finally fell off his feet completely, head striking the side of the tub with a sound that reminded her of a baseball hitting a catcher's mitt.

Marilyn leapt from the tub, nearly tangling herself in the half-torn shower curtain that he'd managed to grab on his way down. The iron restraint around her ankle clattered endlessly as she stumbled for the door.

He was howling, a terrible keening noise, it echoed through her ears and tore holes in her drug-addled brain but she clambered for the doorknob desperately. Her shampoo-slick hands could barely grasp the lock - she tried once, twice, three times, but she couldn't get the fucking thing to go, oh god, she could hear him behind her, he was getting to his feet, oh Jesus Christ please...

At last she seized the lock with two fingers and turned hard, then the door was open and she was flying, she was tearing down the hallway, slipping on her own wet feet, leaving behind a long trail of shampoo suds and water.

Marilyn fumbled with the front door for what seemed like forever before finally bursting outside and running as fast as her legs could take her. She was a wet naked mess but it didn't matter, she was free, she was in the cool evening air and moving like she'd never moved before, sobbing like a crazy person as she bolted down his driveway and towards the road.

She swore she could hear him still, the anguished cries of a defied predator, but there were headlights coming; she threw herself at the oncoming car, already begging for help, please, there's a man back in that house, he's going to kill me, he's going to-

"Marilyn?"

Her eyes popped open to see Oliver, bottle of Top Brass in hand, staring at her with deep concern.

Water from the showerhead ran down her hair and into her face; she scrubbed at her eyes, still consumed with the terrifying details of her escape fantasy.

"Are you all right?" the doctor asked gently. Marilyn nodded, numb, and he extended the shampoo towards her. "You wanted this?"

She swallowed hard; it seemed like breakfast was trying to come back up her throat. She was suddenly and completely overwhelmed by a strange sense of grief.

"No," Marilyn said, and it was like someone else was speaking, but that was her voice, wasn't it? It sounded faraway and hollow but it was her voice, and it was her hand pushing the bottle towards him again, and it was her voice now saying, oddly, "I've changed my mind."

"Oh," he replied, confused. Oliver replaced the bottle where it belonged and she stared dumbly at him, still not sure what had just happened within her; what was different, what was new? What had just slipped through her fingers so effortlessly?

The doctor took her face in his hands, tilting her head back so the water ran down her spine and away from her eyes. They locked gazes and his was so intense, so dark she nearly looked away. But she didn't.

"I've looked for you," he breathed, studying her as if memorizing each feature, "everywhere."

And for no reason at all, Marilyn said, "I know."

The doctor pulled her mouth to his in a hungry kiss; as he tangled her wet blonde hair in his fingers, as she pressed her breasts against his firm chest, as they molded their bodies together once again, she thought to herself, I can try again, this isn't the end, there will be more chances, I can try again-I haven't lost yet.