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

time to waste. She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising

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 it's a

many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something about her demeanor, gruff and no-nonsense, that makes me feel like a scolded

much time in fear that it almost feels comforting

need some serious therapy, if this tiny

murder me.

Waking

door, and she pushes it open,

shoves me inside and slams

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

my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks, but my

God.

skeleton with some skin

Horrible.

hell is happening?" I whisper to my

answers. She looks as lost as I

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

larger part craves the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I

I peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh,

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

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 stretches and exercises to keep

I'm surprised my wrists and

turn it on, steam quickly filling the small space. I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water

a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't

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

at my

could wash away the memories

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

Lisa. Waking

brushing out