Worst Summer Ever... (Book 7 of Adopted by Jenna and Tyler Joseph)

10. Samantha

We drove for a while. At least, I think we did. The dark and the motion of the car had lulled me to sleep. There wasn't much point doing anything about being locked in this trunk while it was in whatever type of car or truck Mark had. No one would hear me and it would probably just make him mad.

I didn't feel well, either. I'm pretty sure my blood sugar is tanking again.

At some point, Mark stopped the car. I heard him get out of the driver's seat but he didn't open any other doors. I listened to see what, if anything, I could hear.

There were some banging noises and then a sound like liquid. I guessed we stopped for gas.

I kept listening. I didn't hear anything at all.

Then I heard the driver's door close and the car start up again. Mark pulled away and kept driving.

I decided I needed to risk annoying him. I tapped on the lid of the trunk.

"Mark?" I said. "I mean, Uncle Mark?"

Nothing. No answer. And then the music on the radio got louder. What if I was trying to tell him I needed sugar? Which I think I do.

I sighed and tried again, louder. He turned the volume up more.

"And now, a KMOV St. Louis News Break," I heard. We're near St Louis?! Where the hell is he going?

"Columbus, Ohio police are still looking into the disappearance of seventeen year old Samantha Joseph? The adopted teenage daughter of Twentyone Pilots frontman Tyler Joseph.

Samantha went missing Friday night at an event in Columbus where she was meant to introduce the recipient of the scholarship she set up in the name of one of the students slain in last summer's shooting at South Columbus High School.

The teen is described as approximately 6'2" with brown hair, blue eyes and fair skin. She was last seen wearing a black Twentyone Pilots band shirt, blue jeans and black and white converse.

The teenager has a tattoo of a sun on her left arm and has a prosthetic right leg.  It is believed she could be travelling by car. At this time, police are not releasing any information on suspects as the investigation continues."

"If anyone has any information on our daughter's whereabouts, please contact your local police department or the hotline set up by Columbus Police at 1-800-555-1234," I heard Dad's voice.

"Samantha—."

"That's enough of that shit," Mark said, turning off the radio. I sighed.

I wound up falling asleep, or passing out again.

"Jesus. Get up!" Mark slapped me awake. I was groggy and felt like my head was full of cotton.

Mark pulled me out of the trunk. We were in another motel room. He threw me on the bed and moved the trunk away.

"What is your problem?!" He asked. I barely had the energy to move.

"I think... my sugar..."

And then I passed out.

I woke up to Mark slapping me across the face. Again.

"Drink this," he said, pushing a can of Coke into my hand. He helped me guide a straw to my mouth. I barely had the energy to drink it.

"Samantha, you have to drink it all," he said.

"I can't keep doing this like this," I said. "I need insulin. My pump is empty."

"Insulin. Okay. That can't be hard to get," he said.

"You need a prescription," I muttered as I felt my grip on consciousness slipping. I was trying to fight it, though. "And I need real food. I haven't eaten since you took me."

"Food. I can do that. Do you want pizza?"

"I don't care," I said.

"Can I trust you not to run if I leave you?"

"No," I said. I wasn't really sure what he'd said.

"Then back into the case you go," he said, pulling me up and pushing me back into the trunk. At this point I didn't care what was happening. I wasn't in control and I just wanted to sleep.

I heard him close and lock the lid. I didn't care. I closed my eyes and let unconsciousness take me.

Someone was shaking me. I opened my eyes. There was someone else in the room with us.

"Hi, Emma? Your dad said you're not feeling so great. You're diabetic and feeling a little low?"

I frowned.

"I'm not Emma," I mumbled.

"She's confused," I heard Mark say. "She gets confused when her sugar goes low. We had to leave in a hurry and I couldn't grab her insulin or her glucagon. We only have a monitor because we always carry one on us."

"I see," the other voice said.

"Emma, I'm going to give you some glucagon, okay?"

I nodded.

I felt a pinch in my stomach and let unconsciousness take over again.

When I next opened my eyes, I felt more clear headed. Almost better.

"Hey," Mark was sitting on the other bed. I was tucked into the bed I didn't remember getting into. "There's pizza for you. And I got you some insulin. It's in the fridge."

I looked at Mark. What was his plan?

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"That's not something you need to worry about. I'm here to take care of you now."

"Okay. But where are we going?"

"Don't worry about it, Sam," he said.

I sat up and noticed I was wearing a white t-shirt that didn't fit me.

"I had to change your shirt. Too many people might recognize the tour shirt you had."

"Where is it?" I liked that shirt.

"I got rid of it. I'll get you some more clothes soon. How are you feeling?"

"My face hurts. You can stop hitting me any time," I grumbled.

"Watch your tone. I'm sorry I hit you. You need to listen to what I tell you to do."

I frowned at him.

"Sam, I want us to be friends. Well, more than friends. I want you to trust me. I promise. I can keep you safe. Safer than Tyler and Jenna have. But you have to give a little, too. You'll see. You'll see that you're safer with me."

Yeah. Because not having any of my medications was a great thing.