A/N: This chapter is relatively short and it is pretty pointless. But its giving me plenty of leeway for the next chapter. I needed one that kept the mood and meaning but didn't have much action. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight saga or its characters.

HUMAN TRAFFICKING PART 12: IRREVERSIBLE AND UNCONTROLLABLE COMMITMENTS

EPOV

With my head in my hands, I sighed angrily, nearly growling as Jasper tried to reason –an admirable feat on his part seeing as I was nowhere near as calm as I had been I confronted him in the first place.

"If we call the police, they will contact the right people and get the job done. There's no need to get any more involved in this than we already are."

You're wrong, I wanted to shout. It's already too late. We're already stuck.

Of course, pessimism wouldn't help at this point. Any sane person would have easily assumed that I was upset about the mud that I had unknowingly gotten myself stuck in. That's how normal people think. That's how it's supposed to be. Apparently, I lost my brain while inhaling cigarette smoke, exposing my eyes to flashing lights and listening to a techno/pop mix.

Boredom and content had ruled my life to this point. Things that I might have found challenging previously now seemed dull and lacking the dazzling glow that was supposed to shine around the life of someone who was successful and happy. Maybe I hadn't noticed it before –such is the nature of a selfish human, after all– but now that I had seen true misery and pain and hate and fear in the eyes of someone other than myself, I could clearly see that marring scar penetrating the glow that was now much more visible around me. And it infuriated me as much as it humbled me.

I couldn't ignore what had happened, no matter whether it truly involved me or not. From this point on, I was going to thrust myself into this. Never mind the consequences or the possibility that I was biting off more than I could chew. If only I could get Jasper to understand this.

"So you want to risk the lives of all those girls and their families just because you're too lazy to help me find out who will actually be helpful in this situation? Is that it, Jasper?" I knew I'd gotten him caught in my well-placed trap. Jasper hated being put down in any manner. He'd gained that peeve from all his time in the military. As a soldier, you were never allowed to be lazy or to do anything less than the best. And Jasper always held himself to that standard.

Jasper's eyes narrowed and his mouth set into a thin line.

"I didn't say that, Edward. I'm just saying that if we didn't just rush in to help like a couple of rebels in a mine field, we might actually accomplish something other than getting ourselves trapped into a corner," Jasper said, restrained anger keeping his voice low.

"I get that Jasper, I really do. But we can't call the police. If we called and someone found out, we'd be in huge trouble. King's got the town wrapped around his finger. He knows everything." I internally groaned. I'd lose my job over this for sure.

Jasper didn't speak and I decided to keep my head down. My neck ached from the stress of the day and I had yet to actually sleep. Emmett on the other hand had found refuge on my couch and was now snoring loudly –his mouth wide open– and comfortably after his three-hour long tailing of a suspicious looking black van that led him to a series of rentable storage houses. Strangely enough, the place wasn't as hidden as we had expected. But all doubts were cleared when Emmett described a man walking into the warehouse; coincidentally the same man that had been next to the red-headed woman at King's party. That was proof enough that we had been following the right people. We could step in if need be.

Suddenly, Jasper jumped up. His seat nearly fell over from the force that he used when he stood. He shot toward his cell phone (which laid, having been haphazardly thrown, on the counter) and began clicking buttons at an alarming speed. This was saying something seeing as Jasper absolutely loathed cell phones. In his mind, handheld radios with satellite and radio transmitters were still something to be considered modern and, by all means, preferred. It was something about never worrying about losing your cellular signal and never having to be lost. It made no sense to me.

"I can't believe I didn't think of him before," Jasper mumbled, his brows furrowed. His fingers fumbled and he sighed angrily, growling. He tossed his phone to me. I looked from the phone back to him questioningly.

He sighed again. I'd never seen Jasper have to calm himself down before. It wasn't reassuring.

"Look up Peter. We're going to call in a favor."

BPOV

If I was being honest, I'd felt worse physical pain. Broken bones and numerous concussions normally resulted in pain. I could handle it. The burn beneath my skin was nothing to what I'd felt before.

But my physical maladies weren't exactly the problem right now. However, my pride had taken a pretty awful beating. And my dignity. And what little self esteem I had was definitely gone now.

Turns out that I had lied, to myself and the temporary pain-relievers (A.K.A Edward and Emmett) about being strong enough to handle what would happen to me. I wasn't strong enough. Because as far as I knew, I had cried and screamed and whimpered when I had been held down in that bed with nothing but shame to keep me from biting my tongue so hard that I would bleed out on the bed. After all, it would be pretty shameful of me to leave my comrades and the children just because I was desired by one of our captors. Boo hoo for me. I'd never been a good liar anyway.

All this proved was that I wasn't worth shit now. Fine, I could work with that. I hadn't ever really seen myself as a patriarch of purpose, anyway. I was just Bella. Now I was less than Bella. I was me. It was harder than I'd thought it'd be to accept that. But I would.

For something that was worth shit, I sure did feel like it. Puking into the toilet bowl wasn't pleasant, especially since it wasn't really a toilet as much as it was a Rent-A-Can. Wherever we were, there weren't good showers here like there were in New York. What we had were stalls made up of plastic curtains and thin metal pipes that connected to a water supply that we couldn't see. It wasn't much and the water wasn't warm but it was distracting when you didn't want to think about what was going on around you. I didn't even want to think so it worked out. But I still couldn't get clean.

My stomach clenched and forced whatever it could up my throat and out. It angered me that I couldn't focus on any one thing. I couldn't even focus on the burn. My head was spinning too much.

Someone came and held my hair out of my face. I didn't turn but I could tell by the length of the nails and the smoothness of the hands that it was Rosalie. Her hands were tough but smooth, calloused so perfectly that you couldn't tell until you actually saw the scars across her palms and fingers. Her family had owned a small farm and her father had worked on cars, she had said. She was good with her hands and had learned everything she knew from her father. She regretted a lot.

I turned away and wiped my mouth as best I could. My mouth tasted disgusting and I just wanted to rinse it out. Rosalie pulled me away from the seat and took me to a plastic sink. That too was portable and looked like it had been used beyond its lifetime. She turned on the metal faucet that had rust all over it and let me cup the water in my hands to gargle. Afterwards, I still felt disgusting but it was better than nothing.

"The sickness will stop soon, once your body gets used to it. The pills they give us aren't always this harsh but sometimes, they are painful." Her hand went to her stomach as she gave it a small, unconscious rub. I, however, understood.

"They've been giving us the Morning After Pill." She sighed with a wince and nodded. Her hair was pulled back now. The bruises across her face were covered up now with the make up the girls were given to make themselves presentable to the men. Most of the women didn't like using it –a sort of tribute to the life they had before they had been thrown into adulthood– but some couldn't stand the sight of shadowed hands across their flesh. I couldn't either.

"And long-term contraception. A higher dosage than is safe, I presume. They want to ensure that we don't have a child, no matter what," she said, her words short and curt. "I'm Catholic. Contraception is against my religion. I'm killing my children over and over again. It's sick." I nodded but didn't really agree. I didn't want to have a stranger's child. But I wasn't sure if my opinion would be the same if I was pregnant or ever had been. I wasn't sure of a lot of things anymore.

"How's Vanessa?" I asked suddenly, my thoughts drifting to the bronze-curled child in my bunk. Rosalie looked at me questionably. "You've named her?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to call her 'Girl', Rose." Rosalie smiled and grabbed my hand, leading me back to the bed. I think she liked my sarcasm. It gave us something to laugh at later, especially since most of the other girls didn't understand it. It made us closer even though Rosalie still resented me for being here. I still didn't know why and I didn't ask.

"She's been sleeping. No nightmares, no crying, just peaceful sleep. The other children aren't so lucky. She's special and so are you. She likes you the most." I shook my head.

"She probably only likes me because the other children were herded to the other girls. She's probably just shy," I reasoned. When we reached the bunks, my hand drifted to the curls that were draped across the thin sheets. Rosalie was right. Her face was perfectly calm and relaxed, her eyes just moving behind the lids as an empty sleep took her over. Rosalie nudged me.

"Children do not sleep like that unless they feel safe. You are lucky. She feels safe with you. Perhaps you remind her of a mother." I shook my head again.

"Motherhood constitutes some sort of commitment, doesn't it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you unwilling to protect this child or are you afraid of commitment?" I shook my head, eyes back on a sleeping face.

"I never said I wouldn't protect her."

A/N: As you can probably see, Bella's attitude probably reminds you more of Jacob's in this chapter. It's my way of making her freer in her feelings towards bad things. You can't exactly repress bad things when they are being repeatedly forced upon you. So she's resorting to other methods. She's not being herself right now.

That's it for now. I'll update again soon. Promise. Please review. I'm tired.

Sovoyita

Authors are friends, not food! Don't flame them (and eat them). That, children, is known as cannibalism and is frowned upon in most societies.