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

sight of my wrists,

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

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

her breath. I want to ask questions. -so many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something about

almost feels comforting

if this

murder me.

Waking

pushes it open, revealing

she shoves me inside and slams the door

is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of exhaustion I can feel

grow to little

God.

a skeleton with some

Horrible.

is happening?" I whisper

the mirror has no answers. She looks as

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 can feel coating my skin, and the memories of... however

map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older,

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

And when it wasn't escape

wrists and

filling the small space. I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water

with a sense of peace

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, but I

I take

Waking in

out