There must be a way to get out of here! Emma thinks to herself.

She stares into what seems like infinite forest surrounding them on all sides. Arthur had told her that they were far enough away that no one would find them. There was no chance of calling or contacting the police. She didn't know where she was. She was a princess imprisoned in a tower, literally. She spent most of her time in what no one could call a room, it was filthy, small and damp with only a bed, nightstand, and a broken clock.

At least Arthur was not tying her up anymore. She was free to roam about the house, cleaning mostly, but also cooking for him. She wasn't sure where he was getting the food, but it was fresh enough. Many times, when she was at the stove, she wished that she had some poison or anything that might allow her to grab the keys and escape. She thought about knockout drugs or rat poison, but clearly, her captor knew better than to leave anything lethal within her reach. He kept the weapons out in his car or on him at all times and any pain killers or knock-out drugs were also kept away from her. There had to be a way to escape. She needed to get out of here before the worst could happen.

Emma's stomach suddenly turns violently again and her head begins to throb.

Not again! She thinks. She bolts to the bathroom and vomits in the toilet. It's an intense bout of sickness as Emma begins to sweat and her body is shaking afterward.

This better not be what… she says, propping her arms up against the bowl. She gazes downwards, trying to put the thought out of her mind, but it keeps coming back up.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, to stop the tears from falling.

I can't think about this! I can't give him what he wants!

Her heart pounds against her chest in agony and anxiety. She doesn't know how long she's been in captivity. Too long for any normal person, but she estimates that it would most likely have been a month, maybe a little bit more.

She starts doing the math in her head. Was she late? It could just be the stress she was under that caused a delay.

Emma stands up from the toilet and gazes at herself in the cracked and dirty mirror.

This is not happening! You're just sick of being in this hell hole! She tells herself. There's no way it could be…

Emma sees a thin woman with green eyes staring back at her. Her blonde hair is thin and limp, losing a lot of its shine from being kept inside. Her eyes were beyond bloodshot from crying and pure exhaustion and dark circles formed under each to reflect that. She was a lot thinner than before, likely from the lack of food and some of her muscles had deteriorated. She had bruises on her wrists where she had been bound and there were fading marks on her neck where Arthur had tried to strangle her. She was a ghost, a shadow of her former self. In this piece of glass, there was a woman weak and alone, having been beaten down and smashed to almost her breaking point. She never thought of herself as helpless and she always knew she'd have to take care of herself. Even when she and Neal were together, she always watched out for herself and did things on her own. It was the way her life had always been, since the day she was born. No one wanted her and so she had to look after herself.

However, now she was starting to question her capability. This man was treating her like a slave, his sex slave, leaving her vulnerable and helpless, keeping control of her with threats and on the odd occasion, actual weapons. She couldn't bow down to his pressures and threats. She couldn't develop Stockholm Syndrome. She had to keep her head.

Emma thinks about those who are missing her. Poor Henry… and Killian, and David and Mary Margret. Ruby and Regina, and all her friends, the people who cared for her. She knew she had to get back to them. Emma used to think that she never needed anyone but herself, it's how life made her feel, but now she knew she needed those who loved her, they made her who she was. They were keeping her sane and preventing her from ever thinking that this situation was a "good" living arrangement. She had to keep fighting.

The only problem was, she felt weaker now. Her body had taken so much abuse that she wasn't what she used to be. Her head was throbbing and as she leaned against the sink her arms shook. All she had the strength to do was cry.

What is happening to me? She says, fighting back more tears.

There's a knock at the door.

"Emma, are you in there?" the deep and rough voice of Arthur asks.

He has the audacity to call me by my first name! she growls to herself. Like he's my friend or something. The bastard has a lot of nerve. Then again… he is holding me hostage.

"Emma open the door!" he barks.

Emma looks at herself once more in the mirror before opening the door, pushing past Arthur and going to her room. She wanted so badly to fight him, try and grab the hunting knife he kept, but her body protested in every way possible. She goes to what could pass as a bed and lays down. Her head continues to throb and she tries to block out the rest of the world. Arthur stares at her for a long few minutes in the doorway before closing the door and then locking it behind him.

…

Nothing changes over the next week. Emma is sick each morning, leaving her weak and tired all the time. Arthur is noticing and Emma's fear grows with each passing day. She's crying a lot more. She did have a lot to cry about, but it was continuous, making her feels dehydrated afterward.

Emma would keep herself awake at night thinking about what this could mean. She kept denying it over and over, but all the signs were saying otherwise. It had been a long time since she'd had Henry, but the symptoms were so very similar. She was sixteen when she had her son, very scared, even with Neal there with her. She remembers the first few months because they were a nightmare, she couldn't keep anything down and she cried for no reason at all. Neal did his best to comfort her, but he was seventeen and didn't know any better either. The only thing he could do was hold her hair out of her face as she threw up. She was inexperienced then and she was inexperienced now, especially considering the circumstances.

Fear grew inside Emma to the point that she would shake and curl up into a ball.

This can't be happening! She would think over and over. I can't give him what he wants. If it is a baby, its life will be ruined. It will come from rape for God's sake! What will happen once I have it? Will he kill me? Force me to marry him and raise it, like some sick twisted fantasy?

This gave the woman something to cry about. She'd cry even more over the thought. She hated herself and what had become of her. She couldn't have a baby… not like this.

…

One morning, after another bout of sickness, Emma sits back, her entire body burning from the experience. She wipes the sweat from her brow.

Isn't it better to know than later? Her mind is telling her.

I can't give him what he wants! She insists. I can't bring a child into the world like this. It's just wrong!

Is it even his?

That thought stops her for a moment.

Could it be Killian's? He is the only other person who's seen me naked and it was the only consensual intercourse I've had.

Neal had been gone for three years and any dates she went on after him and before Killian did not end in the bedroom. It would either be Killian or Arthur.

Her mind races back to her weekend with Killian. It feels so long ago. She remembers the way he held her so tightly, his hot breath in her ear, his soft lips all over her body. The passion and intimacy the two of them shared the warmth of their two bodies together, arms holding one another tightly, their lips pressing against one another.

The memory makes Emma smile, feeling warm inside, but she also tears up. She tries to remember… he used protection, she was sure of that, but condoms were a one-time use. Did they have enough?

Emma's heart sunk into her stomach. It seemed unlikely that Killian would forget protection, but she couldn't be sure. They were both caught up in the moment… it was possible.

She curls up into a ball, pulling her knees to her chest. She still couldn't say and she didn't know how far along she'd be. She needed an ultrasound to know for sure, but it was next to impossible that Arthur would buy such a thing or take her see a doctor.

Emma stares at the cupboard under the sink where she'd seen that medical supplies. She didn't want to do it. Maybe it was better that she didn't know at all? Maybe if she told him she couldn't have children anymore, maybe he'd let her go… or kill her. But he'd seen her throwing up, most likely heard it too. It wouldn't work.

With shaky hands, Emma crawls over to the cupboard and opens it. She finds the pregnancy tests underneath. She opens the door and checks to see if Arthur is anywhere in sight. She locks the bathroom door and unwraps one of the tests.

She knows how it works and she follows the instructions carefully.

Her hand shakes violently once she's done. She's crying again. The same feelings she felt back when she had Henry come flooding back, only this time they are more intense.

She waits, with the test in her hand, waiting to see that sign.

You all know what's on that test. Thank you for the supportive reviews and have a good night.