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

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

don't recognize-a simple white night

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

in fear that it almost feels comforting

to need some serious therapy, if this tiny person isn't

murder me.

Waking

and she pushes it open, revealing

she shoves me inside

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 speaking

grow to little more than bony sticks, but

God.

with

Horrible.

happening?" I whisper to

mirror has no answers. She looks as lost as

warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam

grime I can feel coating my

body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red

victim, it wasn't technically all

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

wrists and

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

with a sense of

soap on the ledge is the first thing I

at my

the

done, my skin is pink and

I take my

Waking in

brushing out the