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

the sight of my wrists,

my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising for

against my bare feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize-a simple white night dress that is

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

much time in fear that it almost feels

need some serious therapy, if this tiny

murder me.

Lisa: Waking in

she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom. "In. Shower. Make

she shoves me inside and

wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them

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

God.

skeleton with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

is happening?"

in the mirror has no answers. She looks as lost as I

the shower, eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the

the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and

underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to sickly

victim, it wasn't technically all that

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

my wrists and ankles aren't

I turn it on, steam quickly filling the small space. 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

a sense of peace

thing I grab, rubbing

at my

I could wash away the memories

done, my skin is pink and raw, but I feel more like

take my time washing

Lisa. Waking in

brushing out the