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

She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her

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 it's a mess on

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, that makes

fear that it almost feels comforting to be

therapy, if

murder me.

Waking in

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

she shoves me

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 circles underneath them speak of exhaustion I can feel in my bones. And

my fingers grow to little more than

God.

a skeleton with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

the hell is happening?" I whisper

mirror has no answers. She looks as

it warily. Part of me wants to march

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

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

kidnapping victim, it

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 up my muscle mass-hard

wrists

I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed

of peace and cleanliness I haven't felt since... well,

on the ledge is the first thing I grab, rubbing it all

at my

scrubbingkin as if I could wash away the memories

my skin is pink and raw, but I feel more

Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and

Waking in

out