Tangled

Chapter 166

166

166

166 Lisa: Fevers and Dreams

LISA

How long has it been?

A few days?

Weeks?

The sun should keep me oriented, but a fever gets me the first night I'm there.

The girl, Marisol, comes by every so often. Always with food. A few times with bowls filled with some noxious liquid that has my nostrils trying to close, avoiding the smell coming from within. She's expressionless as she shoves it down my throat, and I'm too weak to fight her off.

It's medicine, I think.

I think that because I slowly get better after the third bowl,

In between moments of lucidity, I dream.

Normal life. Home. Mom and Dad.

Working with Ava at Beaniverse.

Flirting with that cute guy who accidentally wandered into our professor's Eng Lit class instead of some sort of philosophy class

two doors down.

Cozy, happy dreams, of a place far from here..

An escape from the reality that chains me.

17:37

At some point the dreams turn from happy comfort to something uneasy and dark.

Sunshine warms my face as Ava and I relax at our favorite cafe,

sipping lattes and chatting. For a moment, the world feels right again, like I'm back where I belong

But then the shadows come

edges of my vision, dark tendrils snaking across the ground. I try to warn Ava, but my voice

behind her.

reaches for Ava, engulfing her, dragging her away as she kicks and struggles. I lunge for

joke about the turbulence. I reach for her hand to comfort her, but the

Impact.

Pain sears. Ava's hand. slips

each more horrific than the last. Ava, drowning in a

55000

unseen monsters. And always, I'm helpless to

watch as she suffers.

wake up. The horrors play out again and again,

mercifully, I do wake

in sweat. My throat feels raw, my limbs heavy and weak. Marisol kneels beside me.

liquid hits my tongue, but I force myself to swallow. Anything to chase away the lingering

torment.

often has the

surprised by the question. "Just once," I rasp out, wincing at

shouldn't be this strong, not for a single feeding." There's something in her tone, an undercurrent of emotion I

you

face as she mutters, "He must favor y greatly,

to that. The idea that this monster might

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room, tie lase mast but no words coming

weten, my mind dealle

Mariel's

aut all I want

ere will die

mure endle

wees to care about my

me agan her hate prodding at my skin with

detach that make

my neck, my wrists, my ankles.

voice rough from disuse and

as if tasting the words. "But the withdrawal... it's so strong. He must have taken

respond to that. The memory of his fangs sinking, the agonizing pain, and the sickening

return.

hard, trying to push

back on her heels, crossing her arms and resting her check on them as she stares at me. There's something wistful in her expression, a longing that I can't quite comprehend. "When did you know? she asks

Fevers

For

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