Tangled

Unshift 242

Unshift 242

242 Lisa: Waking in Comfort

LISA

Waking up in a bed is too comfortable.

My brain wants to wake, but my body wants to keep sleeping.

If this comfort is little more than an elaborate trap before I'm murdered, just take me away. At least I'll be going in bliss.

A sharp poke in my side jolts me from my half-asleep musings. I crack open an eye, squinting against the sudden brightness. A face swims into view, so close I can count every wrinkle etched into leathery skin.

"Up! Up, you lazy girl!"

The voice is shrill, grating against my eardrums. I blink,

40 focus on the owner of that

voice. It's a woman, impossibly small, with a nose so red it could guide Santa's sleigh.

I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. Before I can form words, a stinging slap lands on my calf. The pain is sharp, unexpected, and I jerk away, nearly tumbling off

the bed.

"Ow! What the-"

"No time for your nonsense," the tiny woman interrupts, waving a hand in front of my face. Her fingers are gnarled, reminding me of tree roots. "You stink. Shower. Now"

I sit up, head spinning. The room tilts and sways around me. Where am I? How did I get here? The last thing I remember is... Darkness, Cold. A strange man who brought me out of my personal hell. The tiny woman's groan snaps me back to the present. "Look at this mess. Filthy! You've ruined

the sheets."

I glance down at the bed. The once-white linens are stained with dirt and... is that blood? My

sight of my wrists, raw and a

time to waste. She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising for

and the floor is cool against my bare feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize-a simple white night dress that is several sizes too big, soft and deceptively

across the room, muttering under her breath. I want to ask questions. -so many questions-but they stick

fear that it almost feels

therapy, if this

murder me.

Lisa: Waking

and she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom. "In.

me

the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of exhaustion I can feel

watched my fingers grow

God.

like a skeleton with some skin hanging

Horrible.

hell is happening?" I

answers. She looks as lost as I

me wants to

the grime I can feel coating

off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to sickly yellows and greens. Marisol

victim, it

to the floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it was me trying to do basic stretches and exercises to keep up my muscle mass-hard to do with heavy

wrists

I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed warmth that seems to seep into my

over me with a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't

on the ledge is the first thing I grab, rubbing it all over

at my

scrubbingkin as if I could wash away the

is pink and raw, but I feel

even sure it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and

Waking

out the