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

to waste. She tugs at my

legs 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

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 and no-nonsense,

in fear that it almost feels comforting to be afraid of someone

if this tiny person isn't dragging

murder me.

Waking

reach a door, and she pushes it open,

me inside and slams the door

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

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

God.

look like a skeleton with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

is happening?" I

the mirror has no answers. She looks as

to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers

the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and the memories of... however long

look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to

kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically

I did 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

my wrists and ankles aren't

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

over me with a sense of peace and cleanliness I

the first thing I grab, rubbing it

at my

away the memories along with

skin is pink and raw, but I feel

is a tangled mess. I'm not even sure it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take

Waking

out the