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

my wrists, raw

my arm by the elbow, her

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 clean. I'm sure it's a

want to ask questions. -so many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something about

in fear that it almost feels comforting to be afraid of someone like

if this tiny person isn't dragging me around

murder me.

Waking

open, revealing a bathroom.

shoves me

staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of exhaustion I can feel in my bones. And

face is gaunt. I've watched my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks, but

God.

like a skeleton with some skin

Horrible.

the hell is happening?"

answers. She looks as lost as I

it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding

a larger part craves the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime

look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to sickly yellows and greens. Marisol didn't

being a kidnapping victim, it

I did do a lot of thrashing around, trying to escape my chains. That usually involved falling 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

my wrists and ankles

under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades,

a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't felt

the first thing I grab, rubbing it all over me until it

at my

I could wash away the memories along

my skin is pink and raw, but I feel more

mess. I'm not even sure it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and conditioner, leaving in

Lisa. Waking

brushing out the