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

13. Samantha

"Happy Birthday!"

I was woken up by Mark sounding happier than he had the past couple of weeks. We were somewhere in Oregon at this point, in some seedy motel. The accommodations Mark was taking us to were getting dodgier and dodgier.

"What?" I said, as he sat on my bed to wake me.

"It's June 27. It's your birthday! Happy birthday!"

"Oh," I said. "Thanks."

I rolled over. I didn't want to celebrate my birthday. Not with him.

"Hey, come on!" He said, trying to turn me back over. "I got you a cake and everything!"

I rolled over and saw he did, indeed, have a cake. 

"I don't have enough insulin to cover that," I murmured and turned back over.

"Sure you do. I got you more insulin," he said.

"I'm not in the mood to celebrate my stupid birthday, uncle Mark," I said, emphasizing the word uncle. He wanted me to call him uncle but I didn't have to like it.

"You're 18 though! It's a big year! You should want to celebrate!"

And I did. At home. With my friends and my family. Not in a seedy motel in Oregon with a so-called uncle who kidnapped me and is keeping me from my parents. I wanted to be home with my sisters. I missed Rosie's smile and jokes and Junie's laugh and dance moves. A tear rolled down my face and landed on the pillow. I couldn't stop them and soon I was crying fully.

"Oh, Sam," Mark said, putting his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off. "Don't cry, sweetheart."

"Why the fuck not? You kidnapped me Mark. You took me from my home. My friends. My family."

"When will you learn it's Uncle Mark?" He raged, throwing the cake across the room, rolling me over and hitting me in the face. Again. I couldn't handle much more of this. I didn't want to be here.

"You're no uncle," I said. "You're a monster. A psychopath. What's your end goal, Mark?"

"It. Is. Uncle Mark!" He said. I didn't even see his fist before it collided with the side of my head. But I did see stars. Then nothing.

I opened my eyes and I was back in the crate. We were moving again. Driving from the rhythm I could feel. I didn't have the energy anymore to fight. I just lay in the dark, waiting. For what, I'm not sure.

My head hurt, my stomach was upset and I was dizzy. I closed my eyes again.

"Sam? Sam, wake up. Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

A voice was infiltrating the darkness.

"Sam, come on. Wake up sweetheart," the voice said. I couldn't tell who it was. Was it Dad? Uncle Josh?

I opened my eyes.

It was Mark. My heart sank.

"Come on, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you!"

"If it isn't my parent's driveway, I don't want it," I said, staying curled up in the stupid box.

"Come on, Sam. It's your birthday! I want it to be special. Come on."

He pulled me out of the box more than me helping him. I looked around, blinking at the light. Another seedy motel. I didn't want to know what the stain on the wall was.

"I thought we could go out for dinner for your birthday!"

I looked at him. Was he out of his mind? I'd heard the news on the car radio. There is a warrant out for him. The FBI is involved. But then I thought, this might be my chance!

"Okay. Yeah. Let's go out for dinner," I said.

He smiled, clearly pleased, I guess, that I was 'coming around'.

"Great! Go take a shower, and get changed.  We'll leave in, what, twenty minutes?"

"Sure," I said. I looked through the bag of clothes he'd gotten, pulled out a T-shirt and jeans, and went into the washroom.  The shower was clean-ish looking. I sighed, took off my leg, and sat on the tub ledge while I ran the shower. I leaned over and washed my hair. Mark had cut it short. I hated it.

I washed quickly and then got dressed in the bathroom as I toweled myself off.

I put my leg back on noting that I'd have to wash the sock again, and checking my stump didn't look like there was anything going on there. That was good. I don't have anything here to deal with anything serious. 

I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror. The T-shirt was too big for me, but not huge. It did hang off me a little bit.  The jeans were okay, but clearly men's jeans. Which was fine. They fit over my prosthetic and I actually have pockets. Not that I have anything to put in my pockets.

I made my way out of the bathroom and Mark smiled at me. I did not return his smile. 

"Come on, Sam. Cheer up. You're 18!"

"Hardly something to celebrate," I mumbled. I saw his smile falter for a second, but then he seemed to take a second and his smile returned. It looked a little forced now. 

"Come on. Let's go," he said. 

I headed towards the box.

"Sam, I'm not going to take you out for dinner and make you go into the box. That's just for when you aren't listening.  Come on. Let's go out to the truck and we'll go to a restaurant nearby that I found."

I followed him outside and looked around. If I was able to get away from him, I needed to be able to describe where we were. But wherever we were was completely non-descript. It was a single-story motel on a highway, surrounded by trees. There was a gas station beside the motel and that was it. 

Mark grabbed my upper arm and squeezed tight. 

"You are not going to make a scene. You are going to stay quiet and you are going to behave. Right?"

"Right," I said. 

"Good. We're going to have a good time," he said, sounding jovial, but keeping his grip on my arm.

He led me to the truck he'd been using and I climbed into the passenger seat. I looked around as he pulled away from the motel and drove down the highway. Somehow I had to make myself known.