AN: Sorry for how short this is. Trying to give y'all something at all! Another update soon.
BPOV
When the nausea came I guess I could have known.
The voice that kept asking us to be together, the voice that came to us while we slept and cared for us in our drugged stupor. It was as though he stirred the air and world around me with a great hand, and reality oozed away from me. But we have spent time aware once more.
Quite a bit of time, in fact. I know this in my very bones, I know it without the rise and set of the sun to show me. I know it in my belly.
I know it in my belly where a living thing now curls.
We have been bad, together. I have been worse.
Edward, we made this thing.
I gasp and my eyes fly open, I am stirring but it is not me at all, it is an alien and foreign thing. Awake.
EPOV
Bella is quite pregnant.
I knew it would happen. It is why the others died. They miscarried, whether voluntarily or involuntarily. Their refusal to bear this commanded child is what killed them. Bella has done it, she has been strong as I knew she would be. I have taught the poor virgin to love, and love thoroughly, and the wanton girl craves my touch now that he keeps me from her. She does not know that it is a twisted love, a commanded love to bring about a commanded child. If, somehow (please God) we were to ever leave here, I would love her properly. Without a voice to watch us, without collars to guide us, without her often shackled to the bed like a brood mare.
I have preformed my stud services.
The worst part about getting my girls pregnant is that the torture does not stop. His games do not stop. The voice is the worst sort of paradox, he keeps us as livestock to be bred yet loves to neglect us.
Bella's stomach is not the adorable baby 'bump' of glowing mommies-to-be on the Internet. It juts out sharply from her emaciated frame. She could be anywhere between fifteen and twenty five weeks along, for all I know. I have limited experience in this sort of thing- none of the girls made it past an initial adominal hardening. The voice has provided my food as much on schedule as I know, but always with Bella on the other side of the wall. I tried to stow away a roll for her under my mattress, but my slight of hand trick did no good. My skin felt raw under the collar, he delivered his retribution with no mercy.
When she moves around the room, she has taken to the slinking of nervous prey. She moves little now, and when she does it was all at once. A darting, along the walls, knees bent and wincing. Her belly seems to push forward even when she is stationary, like the little creature wanted out of her in search of more food. Her paper-skin is stretched tight over her breastbone, but her breasts swell tentatively as time draws on. She is beautiful still, like a doll made of a slender sort of string, but she is ghoulish in appearance. The ba-thing inside of her sinks her eyes into her skull and draws the flesh in close to the ridges of her spine. It is taking whatever of her it can find. A robust thing it must be, to have survived such an inhospitable planet as its mother.
The glass wall begins to rise, and she is quite the frightened doe. Her impossibly big eyes dart to mine, lock in, and read permission there. Along the wall she sidles to me, climbing onto the bed I lie on. I stretch lazily, we have had a quiet time lately and perhaps this shall continue.
"Edward," she begins, voice raspy from disuse.
I flash my eyes to her in warning, (he can hear us). "Yes?"
"Feel, feel this."
She pulls my hands to her swollen belly in such a show of trust I am quite taken aback. Her skin is taught but soft, impossibly warm. And I feel it.
Like the wings of a butterfly breathing softly against my palm, there is life stirring under her skin. I pull back in alarm, and her eyes well up in imagined rejection. But I quickly place my hands back, eager for more of that odd tickle.
Incredible.
Biting her lip, she stares up at me, boldly and into my eyes. It is as if this showing of growth, this showing of a living thing within her has given her a new sort of strength. There is a line of determination set into her brow. She sits cross legged, encircling her ball of a belly with the whole of her frame. She has never looked quite so beautiful as now, a determined little shell around this seat of beginning, cradle of life.
I rise up on my arm and pull her jaw towards me, kiss her and make her mine. My lips search for hers and find them, she kisses me sweetly and with the sort of eagerness I could not have hoped for when I first met the scared and scarred girl.
A minor shock passes between us, not of passion but of punishment.
She flies back quickly, rising with a sureness and speed quite unlike her. She is bold and standing upright, stiff backed with her indignant belly pushing out. She cradles it, and shouts!
"You wanted this child! You ordered us to make this! How dare you shock me, it could be killed!"
Hot and angry tears drive down her face, I feel them as I clamp my hand down over her mouth. Stupid, stupid! She is giving him the reaction he wants, she is giving him reason to punish us. She is shaking now, determined in mind but her body betrays her. I lift her and move her quickly and gently to the bed.
"shh, shh, he'll…" the shock comes for me instead. Agony.