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,

my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising for someone so

against my bare feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize-a simple white

many questions-but they stick in my throat. There's something about her demeanor, gruff and no-nonsense, that makes me feel like

that it almost feels comforting to be afraid of

some serious therapy, if this tiny

murder me.

Waking in

a door, and she pushes it open, revealing a

can protest, she shoves me inside and slams the door

in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion

watched my fingers grow to little more than bony

God.

look like a skeleton with some

Horrible.

the hell is happening?" I

answers. She looks as lost as

the shower, eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march over

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

scrapes. Some look

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

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

I'm surprised my wrists and ankles

hot water

with a sense of peace and cleanliness

I grab, rubbing it all over me until it turns

at my

I could wash away the memories along with the dirt.

is pink and raw, but I

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

Waking in

brushing out