Rated T for some mild language and abuse and lovely stuff like that

Disclaimer:

I own nothing but the plot and Isabell.

June 25th, 2014

I've decided to write my story, just in case. I've been in a lot of danger these past few weeks, and I've been through too much for it to just end. I don't plan on dying, but if I do, at least there will be something to prove that I existed and all that I've been through.

My name is Isabell Adira Caine. My sixteenth birthday was a month ago, on May 24th. I was born in Japan, but my parents were both raised in America. My father is half Japanese, half American, and my mother is like one quarter Japanese or something like that. Which makes me pretty much all American. But both of my parents were raised in Japanese households, learning Japanese and English at the same time. When my mother was pregnant with me, they decided that they wanted their daughter raised in Japan. So they moved here. While I'm not really Japanese by blood, I'm Japanese through and through.

My parents, Sabastian and Madeline Caine, are the infamous criminals responsible for at least fifteen robberies, five America and ten in Japan. They've killed over one hundred people, the last count I believe was one hundred and seven. The merciless ways they kill their hostages suggest that they might be psychopaths. But they fell in love with each other. They have an equal relationship, not one of them supposedly better or the top dog. That makes that theory close to impossible.

Being raised by two people supposedly incapable of feeling love automatically spells trouble. But then you add in anger issues and a stubborn child that isn't evil, and you get a whole new type of problem.

I'm stubborn, yes. I always, always refused to go along with any of their evil plans. I could have gone along on their robberies and been a criminal myself. But I refused. I wouldn't do something like that. I won't do something like that. Refusing to go along with their plans made them angry. And that led to the abuse, verbal mostly, but with an occasional slap or two.

A few weeks ago, on the day before my birthday, I ran away from home. But I didn't run away for the typical teenage reasons, being mad at my parents or some other stupid thing like that. I ran away because I was in danger.

May 23th, I turned my parents into the police. See, my parents are really good at running and getting away with their crimes. Between the two of them they have a total of one year in jail. Only one year, my father seven months and my mother five. That's nothing. But this time they couldn't run away fast enough.

They were packing up our house, getting ready for our next move so they could plan out their next crime. Having so much money made it no problem from them to be able to pay for fake papers and stuff so they can pretend to be other people, which is how they've managed to get away with this for so long.

Well I went to the police station, even though I was really supposed to be at school and told the police where my parents were currently living. I got home at the normal time and they thought nothing of it, just assumed that I was at school. They were really surprised when the police followed through the door after me and arrested them.

Surprised isn't really the right word. I mean, yes they were surprised. But they were livid, threatening me and all of that. I was supposed to be taken to the police station with them so that I could explain everything to the police and all of that, but they got distracted.

My mother, a karate prodigy, managed to slip out of the police's grasp and run. I was left alone in my house as they all left, trying to catch her.

My parents don't commit their crimes alone. They have a team of eight other people. Eight people that moved over from America with them and are their closest and most trusted friends. Eight people that won't hesitate before finding and hurting me.

I knew that, and without the police to protect me, I was very, very vulnerable. It wouldn't take long for word to get to my parent's colleagues. Once they knew, they would find me quickly. But if I wasn't home, if I was off hiding in the woods, there was less of a chance of them finding me.

I could have hidden in the city, but that was riskier. It was more likely that someone would see and recognize me, giving away my location in the city rather than the woods. So I went with the woods. I've been camping a lot. In between homes and all of that, my parents often chose to camp it out for a little while. As long as I steered clear of their chosen camping areas, I was okay.

When the police left my house, I tore through it, finding all of the camping supplies lying about. The hardest part was getting everything I needed without making the backpack too heavy.

I tried to bring as little as possible, and I still ended up carrying a lot, but as my food disappeared (as I expected it to), my bag lightened a bit. Luckily everything I brought was meant for camping, which meant that it was lightweight but durable.

Once I had my bag packed and my hiking shoes on, I left the house, not bothering to lock the door or any of that. I did however make an effort to hide what I had taken. The people that would be looking for me knew my house well and would notice when something was missing.

Our house backed right up to the woods, making my life a little easier. I traveled almost ten miles the first day, which was impressive for me. I had never trekked a long time carrying so much stuff. That night was awful. I set up camp, and tried to eat. But I wasn't really hungry. At all. But I had forced myself to eat anyway. I slept fitfully and I woke up sore. But I forced myself to keep going.

Within the next week, I had traveled a total of fifty miles and was on the outskirts of a tiny little town that no one had ever heard of. I took the opportunity to restock on my food. They only had one store in town, which had everything. Clothes, food, house supplies and everything else. I looked completely out of place and it was evident that I wasn't from there. I managed to buy the food I needed and disappear again with only a few questions, all of which were curious not suspicious.

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My aching hand forces me to stop writing. I wanted to get as much of it done as possible, but I only end up about halfway done. I was ignoring the pain in my hand, but it was too much.

With a sigh I throw my notebook and the pen into my backpacking before setting that onto the rock I had been sitting on. With skill, I set up my camp in minutes, the tent popping up, my sleeping bag rolled out and a small fire growing.

As I wait for my fire to grow big enough, I walk down to the creek a couple hundred feet away from my camp. I fill up my water bottle and put in the right amount of iodine before filling up a pot and carefully carrying it back up.

My fire is big enough at that point and I drag a few rocks over, all tall enough to be above the fire and with flat enough tops. I circle the fire with them and balance the pot on top, right above the fire where it will be safe, but still close enough that the water will boil.

As that heats up, I pull out my bag of pasta from my backpack. It's my last bit, but for the last few days I've lived off of the plants around me along with my last granola bars.

I'm a vegetarian, and as of recently, I've struggled with getting enough protein. But I refuse to kill an animal and eat it. Even if I did, I wouldn't know how to clean it so that I could eat it, or even cook it.

My dinner is a meager amount of pasta and a few handfuls of berries from nearby bushes.

When I was younger, I was taught by both my parents and many books what plants were okay to eat, and what ones weren't. Knowledge that has been very important over the past weeks, it's all that's kept me alive.

After putting a few more sticks on my fire and cleaning up my dinner, I walk down to the creek with all of my dirty clothes. It was an exceptionally hot day and I was soaked with sweat. The water is clear and free from any debris and dirt, so I strip and kneel down in it. I scrub my clothes and drape them over tree branches, before grabbing the washcloth and soap I brought down and quickly washing myself.

My fire has grown a good amount by the time I get back and I drape the clothes I carried up from the creek over nearby branches, where they'll dry quickly. I yank my hairbrush through my tangled hair, wincing with every tug, before quickly dressing into the one set of clothes that I hadn't washed.

I can't fall asleep with my clothes laying out, so I pull my notebook back out. I know that it's going to hurt, my hand still sore from writing so much before, but there's nothing better for me to do.

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I've lost weight since I began this trip. At least fifteen pounds. Considering that I'm only 5'1and weighed a hundred and ten pounds before this all started, that wasn't weight I had to lose. But I've gained muscle. A lot of it.

It's stolen a lot of my curves though, and that really makes me mad. It's not like I was really curvy before, but I had something and now I have nothing.

The biggest problem with this whole thing is that I have no idea what I'm going to do. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know when this is going to end. I don't know what I'm going to do or where I'm going to go when I'm not living in the woods again. Until those eight people are in jail, I'm not safe. But there's no way for me to know if they're in jail or not while I'm separated from people.

Another problem is that I'm alone. Completely alone. My human contact has been limited to the few sentences in the few stores I've visited. Humans aren't meant to be alone for extended periods of time. And if this continues, I'm going to be alone for a long, long time.

There's no winning, what so ever.

I thought I was halfway through my story, but really, I'm almost done.

As the weeks have gone by, I've found a routine. Wake up when the sun rises. Eat something, usually a smaller breakfast because I haven't once had enough food to really fill me up. Hike for hours. Take a break around noon, if I do have enough food, eat something. Otherwise I just drink water. Continue on. Around five or so, I set up camp. Make dinner. Wash. Wash my clothes and supplies. Go to sleep, normally before the sun even sets. Repeat.

Everything has been pretty much the same since I started my trip. A few times I haven't been camping in the forests. It'll get to the point where I have to walk across plains or even towns to get to the next forest. When that happens, I don't normally sleep. I just keep walking until I'm hidden in the forest again. Then I go farther in and sleep all day, before just starting my normal routine again.

Occasionally, when I'm near towns, I'll go to the grocery store and restock my miniscule food supply. Once I stopped in a book store and bought a book, one that was relatively light but would last longer than a day. That book lasted a week, since I only allowed myself to read a few chapters a night. Once I finished it, I used it for my fires.

It's rained a few times, which led to miserable nights. They were cold, even though it's warm even at night, and wet. Obviously. Everything gets soaked and I have to walk the next day in wet clothes and wet socks. Which is the worst thing in the world.

I haven't had any scares, where I thought someone was following me or I was in any sort of danger at all. There hasn't been any times where I've been scared. It's been too easy and I'm beginning to get too comfortable. I'm less cautious and I know that I can't afford to do that. But without anything to scare me into being careful so I'm not found, I can't force myself to be.

There's been bugs and plenty of sunburn. Lots of hunger and some dehydration. But no real danger. No plants that I've accidently eaten. No dangerous animals. No people. No wasps to sting me. Which would kill me, since I'm allergic to them.

I know writing that is likely going to jinx me, since that's just how it works. You say something has never happened to you and then it does. But honestly I almost want something to happen. I'm bored out of my mind. I'm seriously considering just going back to the place I had called home and waiting for them to find me. I have no idea what they're going to do to me, but I'm getting to the point where I just can't care. There's nothing else for me to do.

There's nothing left for me to live for and the only thing that's keeping me going is that I'm too stubborn to actually give up.

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Water drips down onto my paper, and I look up at the sky, expecting to see rain clouds.

But it's clear. Just the fuzzy gray sky that means the sun is setting.

It's me. I'm crying. Throwing my book to the ground, I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face in them, allowing myself to just cry. I've wanted to many times, but I refused to let myself. I grew up being told that crying makes you weak. That it's something pathetic people do. And I know that's not necessarily true. But I personally do think that crying makes me weak. I have no excuse to do it.

But here I am, sobbing into my knees, holding myself because I'm alone. Alone in the forest. A stupid, stupid thing to do. I'm alone. No one knows where I am. If something happens I'm absolutely fucked. And I just can't care at this point.

After a long time, my tears finally stop. I'm still sobbing though, my body just can't produce another tear. But I force myself to stand up. With the diminishing light of my fire, I pack up my book again and pull out my washcloth and water bottle.

I wet the cloth with water from my water bottle and dab at my face. I feel all puffy and gross from crying. That's shoved back into my bag and I pull out my pillow case, stuffing it with my now dry clothes. I then pull out my flashlight and turn it on before stamping out my dying fire. I drag my bag into my tiny tent with me and zip up the door.

I'm only beginning to fall into a fitful sleep, when I hear the thunder.

A string of words that I wouldn't dare say in front of my parents flow out my mouth as I begin to prepare myself for the hell filled night ahead. I climb out of my tent and perch my flashlight onto the rock I was sitting on before so it illuminates my working area.

My tent is placed in the middle of a few trees so I climb up one of them, my tarp and rope in hand. Gripping a too skinny branch with my knees, I manage to string the tarp and tie it onto the one tree.

The rope in hand, I climb down the tree and up one of the other nearby ones. Slowly, the storm growing dangerously close as I work, I manage to string the tarp over my tent, raising the middle slightly so that the water doesn't pool.

As I jump down from the final tree, I see lightning flash, thunder following a second behind. The storm is really close now, and I quickly grab one of the nearby rocks, using it to hammer down the stakes holding down my tent. They were in the ground, but if it got really windy, there was a good chance they wouldn't hold. Once that's done, I snatch up my flashlight and hide back in my tent.

My tent is water proof, but only for a certain amount of water. A small rainstorm, it can handle that. But a thunderstorm, if it's a bad one. That's a whole other story. There's no way in hell it can block out that much rain. Which is why I strung up the tarp.

I'm surrounded by trees, which isn't exactly the best place to be in a thunderstorm. But there's nowhere else for me to go. The only clear area is close to the creek, on the other bank, which is really not where I need to be. Besides, I would rather a tree get struck and fall on me or catch on fire or something rather than being struck because I'm the tallest thing in the area.

I can hear the rain begin to fall. My tarp is just big enough to cover my tent, but I know that it's not going to block all of the rain. I slip into my sleeping bag with a sigh and pray that the storm won't get too bad.

The thunder progressively gets louder and the wind begins to pick up. Water proof tent, yes. Wind proof tent, no. Even though I'm in my sleeping bag, I find myself shivering after only minutes of the wind blowing.

Gritting my teeth and bracing myself, I sit up and dig through my backpack, pulling out my rain jacket, an extra pair of socks and my space blanket. Quickly I slip out of the sleeping bag, sending more shivers racing through me, as I slip on my socks and rain jacket. I tug on my hiking boots, which I had taken off to sleep because I didn't want to get the inside of my sleeping bag dirty. I awkwardly wrap the blanket around me before wriggling back into the sleeping back. Being exposed to the slicing wind made me a lot colder, and even with extra layers on, I'm freezing.

This is another reason why I need someone else with me. Body heat. And this storm would be a little easier to bear if I wasn't alone.

I hadn't thought I would need warmer clothes. It's currently spring, summer approaching quickly. It's hot. I shouldn't need warm clothes. But there must be a cold front coming in, explaining the storm and pushing away the ungodly heat from the past week or so. It would be wonderful tomorrow, but right now, it's hell.

Eventually my shivers subside and I manage to fall asleep. But I must have only been asleep an hour or so when the rain begins to seep in. I had been waiting for it but I hadn't expected it to come so quickly.

The tarp can only hold off so much rain before it begins to lose its shape, the ropes slipping from the weight. Which means my tent isn't covered as well, allowing the rain to drip onto it.

Slowly the floor begins to form puddles. The damn fabric doesn't let it back out once the water is in. I groan in frustration and curl up into a ball, away from all the puddles.

But it's hopeless. The water flow increases and more spots where my tarp has failed appear, allowing the rain in from every direction. The wind blows at my tent, lifting it up slightly and sending the water rolling right towards me.

With a groan of defeat, I pull my knees up to my chest as I had earlier and bury my face in them again. I refuse to let myself cry this time, that would just make me even more miserable. I sit like this for a long time, ignoring the aching of my back, butt, and joints from holding such a position for an extended period of time.

I had hoped the storm would die down, but as the endless night progresses, it seems to just grow more and more powerful. The thunder is loud enough that sleeping is literally impossible, not that I could anyway, and the lightening illuminates everything, allowing me to see the rain blurred shadows of my drenched surroundings. That creeps me out, the trees looking more and more like people every flash.

But I know it's just my mind playing tricks on me and I stop looking after a while, burying my face into my knees again.

There's nothing for me to do. There's nowhere to go that's drier or warmer. I have to pee but that just means I would get soaked. Writing would be pointless, since my journal would just get wet. I can't sleep, not with the flooded floor of the tent or the roaring thunder.

A small sob escapes me, even though I tried so hard not to cry, and after that, my walls just crumble. I spend the rest of the night crying, miserable, wet and cold.

The sun mocks me in the morning, refusing to show itself. The storm ended around four, only hours before the sun rose, and my tent was completely flooded. But I wasn't going to go out in the dark, wet forest alone, so I just cried for the next two or so hours until the sun rose.

It shines off of every drop of rain left on everything, making the morning seem so much brighter and just so much more miserable. There's no way I'll be able to make a fire to dry off everything because all of the wood is wet. As I walk over to the creek, I know that's hopeless too.

It's risen a good ten feet on each side, roaring and muddy. No longer quiet and crystal clear. Debris fills the top, and where you can see the water, all it is, is a muddy dirty mess. My water bottle, only half filled, isn't going to get refilled with that water.

I can't go anywhere, since everything has to be dried before being shoved into my backpack again but I can't make a fire to speed up that process. No less everything else is wet and will just drip onto my drying supplies.

With a scream in frustration, I sit down on the wet rock I had used multiple times yesterday, propping my elbows on my knees as I bury my face in my hands.

I sit there for a while, not doing anything to try and fix the awful mess I'm in, instead just brooding over it all.

Eventually I force myself to stand up and start thinking.

I can't hang anything on the tree branches. They themselves are wet, and the twinkling leaves will just drip more water onto my already wet stuff. I purse my lips as I stare at my drowned camp.

Swiftly I take down my tent and turn it inside out, pouring out all of the water trapped in it. Then I climb into the wet trees and sit there for a while, slowly untying the knots holding up the tarp.

I let one side down first so that the water pooled in it can dump out. The ropes had all slipped, leaving just a giant puddle of water floating above my head last night. If that had fallen on me, I would have stabbed myself right there and then.

Once the rope is free, I drag it behind me as I go looking for a relatively clear area. Thankfully I find one, not close enough to my camp as I would like, but it's as good as I'm going to get.

I tie the rope to a tree on one side, and bring it over to the other side, tying it onto a tree over there. I have enough rope left to tie it again on the original side, forming a sort of triangle.

My knots are better than last night, and the ropes hold everything I drape over it without slipping. It takes me a while to drag everything from my camp, the tent, tarp, blankets, my clothes, the towel, and other stuff from my backpack that is now wet, to the rope but I manage.

Because the area is clear from trees, the ground is already kind of dry. I spread out everything from my backpack that I can't hang, so that it can be dried by the sun. Most of it, like my hairbrush and deodorant, could just be wiped off with a towel. But because that's soaked, it'll just have to air dry.

A good two hours later, I stand near the edge of the small clearing and allow myself to admire my handiwork. Only for a moment, because then I allow myself to realize that there is nowhere for me. I'm not sitting on the wet ground, but it's chilly and I need my jacket. There's no rocks nearby and I can't sit in a tree, since everything is wet.

I let out another scream of frustration and bang my forehead against the tree next to me, leaning against it.

"Why. Why. Why does this happen to me" I moan, being overdramatic as I try not to cry again. I went from not crying this whole time period, to crying three times in a twelve hour time period. Realizing this just makes me cry more. "I just want to go home" I mutter between sobs, "I just want a home."

This continues on for a while, me being as pathetic as possible, until something interrupts me. Or, someone stops me.

"You look like you're having fun."

I look up in shock and turn around, looking for the source of the voice. When I don't find one, I start whispering to myself again, "I've officially lost it. I'm hearing voices now."

"You lost it earlier, when you let yourself cry. But you're not really hearing voices you dumbass."

I recognize that voice and turn to my left, where it's really coming from. There, standing to my left, are my parents. They stand between two trees, the sun shining on them and making them look as if they're gift sent from heaven. The two of them are holding hands and smile at me.

"Isa, dear, we've missed you." My mother smiles wider, if that's possible, and holds out her arms, like she's asking for a hug.

I know I shouldn't go near them. That this is a trick. If they really are there, which I truly doubt, that means that I'm in trouble. A shit ton of trouble. But I can't stop myself. I crave human contact.

So I walk towards her, stretching my arms out to hug her back. I'm a few feet away from her, when I realize that what I'm doing is an awful idea. It really hits me that I'm in a lot of danger. So I do what I should have in the first place, I run.

Hey y'all. Long time, no see. I've been writing a lot (like A LOT) recently and I've started tons of different stories. I just never finish them. Ever. Like never. But I'm determined to finish this one. I don't know how well that's going to work considering that I'm going into the worst year of school ever (Three AP classes, Pre-Calc, all of that lovely stuff. I can't wait.)

Meet Isabell, who I think is my favourite character ever.

Not really.

She's just kinda a character. I haven't really decided how to develop her yet. Considering that this chapter is just her, I have time to decide.

I'm going to make it a goal to update every week or so. We'll see how that works.

That's enough from me. Please let me know what you think. If there's anything you want me to change or stuff you want to happen later, tell me in a review!

Lots of love, Sam

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Please review. I'll love you forever if you do.

Also I apologize for the really long list. I love lists.

Jk. There was a list but it didn't copy right and yeah, so I just took it out. I apologize if you read this before while that disaster was still in here. It's gone now.

I'm looking for a beta for this story. I've read over this chapter like a million times but I would like to apologize for any grammar mistakes you see. Or spelling, though I really (really) hope that there isn't any spelling errors. So if you'd like to beta for me, just message me.