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 a

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

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

across the room, muttering under her breath. I want to ask questions. -so many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something about her demeanor, gruff and no-nonsense,

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

if this tiny person isn't

murder me.

Waking

reach a door, and she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom.

can protest, she shoves me inside and

wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of exhaustion I can feel in my bones. And speaking of

watched my fingers grow to

God.

skeleton with

Horrible.

hell is happening?" I whisper to

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

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

washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and

shaking hands, I peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale

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

chains. That usually involved falling to the floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it

I'm surprised my wrists and ankles

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 seep

a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't felt since...

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

at my

if I could wash away the memories along with the dirt. By

is pink and raw,

it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and conditioner, leaving in

Waking

brushing out the