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

at the sight of my wrists, raw and a

come on. No time to waste. She tugs at my arm by the elbow,

wobble beneath me, 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 clean. I'm sure

-so many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something

much time in fear that it almost feels comforting to

serious therapy, if this tiny person isn't dragging me

murder me.

Lisa: Waking

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

can protest, she shoves me inside and slams the door

stand there, alone in the sudden quiet, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark

my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks, but

God.

with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

the hell is happening?"

has no answers. She looks as lost as

warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the

hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and the memories of... however long

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

fact, for being a kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically all

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

wrists and ankles aren't

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

with a sense of peace and cleanliness

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

at my

I could wash away the memories along

pink and raw, but I feel more like

is a tangled mess. I'm not even sure it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with

Waking

out