Tangled

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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

She tugs at my

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

muttering under her breath. I want to ask questions. -so many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something about her demeanor,

fear that it almost feels comforting to

going to need some serious therapy, if this tiny person isn't

murder me.

Lisa: Waking in

door, and she pushes it open, revealing a

can protest, she shoves me

is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of

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

God.

with some

Horrible.

the hell is happening?" I whisper to

has no answers.

wants to march over and slam open

grime I can feel

underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh,

kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically all that bad,

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

my wrists and

the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed warmth that

me with a sense of peace and

thing I grab, rubbing it all over me until it

at my

as if I could wash away the memories along

done, my skin is pink and raw, but I

a 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

Lisa. Waking in

out