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

15. Samantha

"Hey, Samantha, let's go. We've gotta move," Mark was shaking me awake again. I felt like just as I was getting some decent sleep, he'd wake me up again. I was perpetually exhausted. I could tell I was losing weight. My leg didn't fit properly and was uncomfortable. I had a sore that had developed because the leg and the sock were rubbing. It hurt and I couldn't get it to heal. 

I didn't have crutches, so I couldn't move around much without my leg. 

I felt sick all the time, too. My blood sugars weren't in good control because Mark couldn't get the right amount of insulin for me all the time. I don't know where he was getting the insulin he did get because it wasn't always the same kind. 

Sometimes it was pen needles, which I was used to. He was clearly stealing them because they weren't always full pens. 

Sometimes he had vials. I suspected when I was either asleep or locked in the trunk, he was stealing them from somewhere. Pharmacies? Hospitals? I have no idea. But it's probably the only reason I'm not dead yet.

We lost the glucose monitor two weeks ago when he thought he saw a cop looking for him and made me get in the trunk, pushed me into the car, and left the motel we'd been at then. We'd been there for a couple of days. 

Now I was down to only a couple of outfits, two pairs of jeans a pair of sweatpants, and two t-shirts.  He said he'd get me more clothes, but that was then. I've been stuck in the same clothes for two weeks. 

I didn't care though. I didn't care about anything anymore. Nothing matters. He's probably going to kill me anyway. Whether it's by design or because he can't get insulin for me regularly, I don't think I'm going to see my 19th birthday. Or the start of my senior year. I'm not sure I'm going to see the end of the month, to be honest. 

It was mid-July and we were somewhere in Idaho, I think. Or Iowa. I don't even know anymore. He found an abandoned farmhouse and we'd been staying there because no one came around. 

"Sam, did you hear me?"

"Yeah, I did," I said. "Give me a minute."

"We don't have a minute.  Come on. Get up," he said, pulling me off the couch I was lying on. I didn't have the energy for this. 

He pulled me up and dragged me more than I was walking on my own. 

"Uncle Mark, slow down. My leg really hurts," I complained. 

"Shut it. We gotta move.  Once we're in the car you can take it off and rest. But we gotta move. And we gotta move now."

I wondered if I managed to slow him down, was someone coming? Could I be looking at a possible rescue?

"Uncle Mark, I need a minute. Please. I don't feel good."

"And I told you, we don't have a minute."

He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, pushing his way out the door to the van. He opened the passenger door and sat me on the seat, slamming the door. He ran around the front of the van and got in, driving away as quickly as he could. 

"Now where are we going?" I asked, not really caring. But I was trying to keep track of where he took me in case I needed to. But I couldn't remember much anyway. I know we went to Oregon. And I think we spent a night in Washington, but now I don't remember. 

"Wherever the wind takes us," he said, turning on the radio and singing along - badly I might add. It did not do good things for my headache. 

"Breaking News," the radio announcer came on. Mark turned off the radio. 

"Bah, who wants to listen to boring news?" he said, pulling off the dirt road onto a paved road that looked like it was maintained, which meant it might be busy. Busy meant people. People meant maybe I could find a way home. 

And in answer to his question, I did. I wanted to know if we'd been seen. I wanted to know if my parents were still looking for me. I wanted to know what was happening. 

I sat back and let the rhythm of the car lull me to sleep. It was all I had the energy for, anyway. 

I woke up when we jolted to a stop. I opened my eyes and looked around. Mark was backing up and turning around. Why?

"What's happening? Why are you turning around?"

"I feel like going this way now," was all he said. 

I tried to look behind us. There were some police cars up ahead. But I didn't know whether they were there for a specific reason. 

"You know, eventually they'll get tired and realize you're better off with me," Mark was saying. His words were fluid. 

"No," I said. 

He slammed his fist into my chest. 

"Shut up! Even you know you're better off with me! We're doing fine, aren't we?"

I coughed, trying to catch my breath from his assault. I wasn't sure but I thought he might have broken a rib. It really hurt to breathe. 

"Yeah. We're doing great. You can't keep enough insulin around, I feel sick all the time. Please, Uncle Mark, please just let me go."

"Samantha, what would your mother, my sister, say if I just abandoned you somewhere?"

"She'd tell you that you finally made a good decision," I spat at him. 

He punched me in the face this time. I didn't have the energy to stay conscious and let the darkness envelop me. 

"Let's go," I heard a while later. We'd stopped. I looked around. I didn't see anything.

"Where are we?" 

"Just a place. We'll be okay here for a while, I think."

He opened the car door and I could smell the woods. We were near some sort of cabin or something. I got out of the car, but couldn't stay upright. I fell to the ground.

Mark picked me up but I'm pretty sure I was unconscious again before we got to the door.