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

lurches at the sight of my wrists, raw and

my arm by the elbow,

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 clean. I'm sure it's

to ask questions. -so many questions-but they stick in my throat.

it almost feels comforting to be afraid of someone

therapy, if this

murder me.

Waking

pushes it open, revealing a bathroom. "In.

me inside and

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

grow to little more than bony sticks, but my

God.

skeleton with

Horrible.

happening?" I whisper

mirror has no answers.

to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers to all my

of washing away the grime I can feel

I peel 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,

being a kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically

falling to the floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it was me trying to do

my wrists and ankles

the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced

of

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

at my

as if I could wash away the

done, my skin is pink and

tangled 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 a layer of conditioner in hopes it will

Lisa. Waking

brushing out the