AN: loving the reviews. Encouraging me to update more frequently, big time. No, in response to one of y'all, I am completely unaffiliated with SAW. Got a kick out of that.

BPOV

Twin green lights searched my own eyes.

Edward's face was devastated. At the sound of the voice's command, I had been shaken further into panic. I had been bad, sleeping on the bed lately. But it was so hard to be good. Although I know I can trust Edward, his physical presence implies to me that I ought to obey him. He is so strong and I cannot say I don't know he will never hurt me. He has before. Of course, the voice asked it of him, and he looked so pained…

But now, this last command.

He dips to my ear, breath hot against the side of my skull and making my very bones quake in terror. No one this close, please, God no. Trust or no trust. He is naked, and he has been told to… I wince. That word. That word. That word that word that

I am being lain out. He has swept my arms from behind me, where they held me up, two thin reeds holding a trembling girl. A bad girl. He knees across from me, between my legs, moving them apart with a firm hand. He is being so firm with me. Gentle, but his eyes have left me.

They spark green no longer, they are a dulled olive like a sullied gem. His hair falls before them, and he looks up at me from below my bandaged belly. His eyes almost look like they are pleading with me to forgive him, but I know that is the voice that asks it of him. I must trust him. I must.

A wave of strength washes over me, the likes of which I have not felt in years. I can trust this man. He has been kind when he can be. I close my eyes against the motion of his hand on himself. Pumping. We are both slaves here. There is nothing I can do but survive, as I always have. I survived Charlie, I survived nearly starving as a street urchin. I can survive this strange prison with the help of my sometimes abuser. He does not mean it he doesn't I know that he

inside me.

At least he is quick about it. Swift and sure, hesitant only to break the last thing in me that was never broken. My eyes fly open at the deep belly-pain, unlike anything I've ever endured before. His meet my own, shock and horror written deep in his again vibrant eyes.

He does not mean to hurt me, he does not wish to hurt me.

He is seized with a sudden ferocity that for once captivates me, rather than terrorizes me. His head dips down to mine and he presses his lips to mind. A chaste kiss, a short distance away from an animalistic act.

I feel as though I should be burning with terror. I feel as though I should be consumed with the shame of it all. I am not panicked. I am…

Each stroke inside me is like a promise as Edward moves his mouth on mine. I cannot think any longer on it or I will dissolve into tears. His hand is moving between us and it strokes a clenching sensation that… oh.

I feel my terror melt away; he is trying to help me. My lips move against his entirely on their own, while my eyes allow only tears out and no light in. Against my own will I am… enjoying this. He cradles me with one arm, and it does not feel like an invasion, like a threat that I may be squeezed for being bad. He cradles me and it is as if he is rocking me into a sweet escape. I think nothing of the room, the voice, the nightmare we live. I can only feel fullness, and an itch towards an unknown goal. Faster. I move against him; he smiles against my teeth.

"Yes, beautiful Bella. We can make it." Yes. I want to make it. I cannot respond, I think only moans and all thoughts have fled.

Like a burst of warm light, sensation races under my skin and my eyes burst open. My cry (out loud! I know this is bad) reaches its height and I can now hear the squeaking of the bed, Edward's desperate grunts. He twitches deep down there, and slides gently out of me, and it is a good thing because whatever I achieved has washed me over in shame.

A rising in my throat, a sob, no, worse, I retch. Heaving, my shoulders seem to draw together and fold my torso in half. I am bawling. I am screaming. I am dissolving.

Edward begins to cry.

EPOV

A rape. A literal snatching, a quite honest taking away.

When I felt myself break her, I nearly broke down then. None of the other girls were virgins, none. I have never deflowered a soul. It felt easier somehow, something they were not used to but could accept. A necessary variation on an act they had done before. To survive. None refused; their fatal refusals had been of other acts. This little girl could not refuse.

She has never refused anyone, I know this now. She has only been taken from, no one has ever asked. She accepted me with shock but with submission… it would have been harder if she had tried to fight me. We would have both been shocked silly, and I would have needed more time to prepare myself… horrible.

The voice could not have asked me to do something worse to her, save kill her. I feared I would break her spirit, and he would tire of her shortly… but my kiss revitalized her. I was able to get her to cum, of all things. Incredible. Perhaps only because she was too shocked to understand what was happening?

I thought things were going well, considering the circumstances. But she came out of her haze, where she was safe and was not terrified for once. Her screams drove me away. I sit in the corner of her room, trying to collect myself. It is unfair to appear this upset around her. I must be a dependable figure for her, on which this mistrustful girl can place her trust. I feel less like a solid and stable man for her and more like a sapling bent in half by the wind.

My weakness has been and will be my downfall.

I look to her, I am still in the corner (coward) and she lies upon the bed. Her legs lie open still, she is frozen in her position but her skin seems to leap about with a trembling. I blink through my tears (coward) and move towards her in an inelegant stumble. I do not stand. I cover her body with mine, I impose my physical presence once more. I can feel her center hot on my belly. The rest of her is chilled unnaturally. Skin to skin, the length of her beneath me, I can feel my presence grounding her. She is so afraid of me, but she trusts me, she cannot bear to trust me yet I provide security. Such is the nature of our captivity.

I fear that this girl is the one too many and I will be driven quite insane.

But for now I am here with her, quite here with her, and I can feel her body pooling into the stillness of exhaustion. I kiss her gently, to the crook of her jaw on her neck, and she sighs with a slow shiver. Her screams gone, she cries silently with the sweetest hiccups of a baby. She is a baby. Small, mine to protect, mine to nurture. Not for him, the voice. Not his at all. His perverse care for her that could turn any moment to torture. Nourishing her so that she might be deprived of nourishment later.

The exquisite sense of powerlessness. If something ever happened to him… no one would find us. Here we would waste away surely, dying of dehydration, starvation, long after too late.

With Bella lying beneath me, I feel that I must lend her the strength to follow his rules, play his game, wait and survive by surviving. But as much as I may appear to her, or to myself as the protector, at the end of the day I can do nothing.

I begin to hum in her ear, hanging my head over her shoulder, pressing my face into the bed. I keep my weight off her beyond what gives security, I cannot bear to part our skin. Her chill is a balm to my fiery powerlessness, here once more I care for her to serve my own need to be a savior. Having failed Tanya and those before her.

BPOV

It has been a great length of time since Edward and I were first forced to be together physically. I do not know a word that is not vulgar for what we must do. I believe it has been a great length of time, but I suppose that any length could have passed. Our periods of sleeping and waking are wildly unknowable. I am hesitant to say I have been a good girl, obeying orders, for I have become the wanton creature Charlie always knew I was. I do not panic when the voice asks Edward and I to be together. I look forward to it in the most shameful depths of my soul. I know how much it hurts him to cause my suffering and thus I am too ashamed to admit that I suffer only with the knowledge that I cannot do the right thing. I never pleased Charlie, I cannot please Edward, and the voice knows me to be the bad girl that I am.

I woke shackled to the bed a few sleeping-times ago, by chains that chafe relentlessly at my wrists and ankles. My bottom was lifted slightly off the bed by a pillow, and Edward was told to be together with me so many times that even as bad as I am, I began to cry. We were both kept in a mindless haze for a period of time, and did not speak about it upon resurfacing. The owner of the voice must have been within our rooms while we slept, because I had no dirty sheets upon waking, despite the fact I had no way to toilet.

Edward has told me that there were other girls before me. He whispers in my ear when we are together, so that the voice will not hear. His words are barely a breath of air, they slip into my mind with a dreamy quality that makes me wonder if I imagine them. He says I must do whatever is asked of me. He says if we listen, we will survive long enough to be found.

I long for the plainness of conversation. I would give a limb to chat with Edward, but our every word must be stolen while I am gasping against a burning itch in my belly. He plays with me down there, I know, to bring pleasure into our torture. But craving this rape is turning my mind.

We both have grown senseless together, it is a condition of the madness we are held in. We speak only when necessary. We touch constantly, speaking more in moans and hums than anything else. I fear he has driven us from sanity by keeping our minds in states of suspended animation.

I open my eyes.

The air feels like air again to me now, upon waking. It has not in some time. There is no stuffiness, no haze of thought, no sheen of sweat and itch of ache. I turn to the warmth beside me, and Edward lies like a fallen angle. His coppery hair a moment away from my own, I instinctively slide towards him. He gathers me up in his half sleep, exhaling into my collarbone. The harsh bite of the metal feels a little softer.

Blinking his eyes open, "Bella."

"Yes, we're back."

His eyes pop open, he is wary for us both again. Not wolfish, but like a particularly savvy deer with an old and healed gunshot wound on his shoulder. He searches my own eyes for something, and holds me too tightly with a furtive glance at the camera.

"How long this time? Do you remember?"

I do not answer. I do not like to not know the answer to his question. Something in me still shrinks away from him, lest any sort of temper make itself known to this bad girl.

"Bella."

"…no."

I wince preemptively, he frowns at me.

His lips grow thin, he moves back onto one arm on his side to survey me. I am a mottled flesh and blue, thumbprints on my hips and chafing on my inner thighs. My bandages from my stomach have been removed, my early-days incisions since healed. It has been a long time. Many periods of wakefulness and sleep, and I suspect that the sleep lasts longer than we know. He has been touching us whilst we dream in the sleep he made for us. I shudder at the thought. I shudder thrice over at Edward's furious stare at my body.

He knows that I am bad, and it makes him angry, I am sure.

He sits up violently, and I make a chirp of a scream.

"God fucking damnit Bella, look at you!"

Tears.

He turns and grabs my chin roughly. "No, baby girl, look what I have done to you."

He pulls my face down, grazes his thumb over the marks along my sides. I look at him in worry. His eyes are so sad… he is sad for having hurt me. I hum at him, and try to slip into his lap. I can appease him, I can be good and show him that I am quite alright. His palm, flat across my breastbone, may as well be a slap in the face. I freeze and retreat.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I watch him over their tops. He stands and moves towards his room, reaching his bed when the wall begins to slide down. I begin to cry, keeping the noise of it to myself lest I bother him. I do not know exactly what I have done to make him so angry, but I know I can do better in the future. Now is just the time to give him some space.

A wave of nausea slams into me, and I heave over the side of the bed. The force of it sends me flat against the sheets, and I heave again. The glass wall reaches the floor.