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

of my

tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength

bare feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize-a simple white night dress that is several sizes too

herds me 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

in fear that it almost

serious therapy, if this tiny person isn't

murder me.

Lisa: Waking in

pushes it open, revealing

protest, she shoves me inside and

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

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

God.

a skeleton with some skin

Horrible.

happening?" I whisper

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

me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers

of washing away the grime I can feel coating my

peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to

kidnapping victim, it wasn't

ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it

my wrists and ankles

quickly 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

with a sense of peace and cleanliness I

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

at my

could wash away the memories along with

done, my skin is pink and raw,

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

Lisa. Waking in

out