Tangled

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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,

on, come on. No time to waste. She tugs at my

feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize-a simple

they stick in my

much time in fear that it almost feels

to need some serious therapy, if

murder me.

Waking in

pushes it open, revealing a bathroom. "In.

shoves me inside

at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark

fingers grow

God.

skeleton with

Horrible.

hell is happening?" I whisper to my

in the mirror has no answers. She looks as

eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers

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

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

victim, it wasn't

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 trying to do basic stretches and exercises to

wrists and ankles

under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed warmth that seems to seep into my very

with a sense of

first thing I grab, rubbing it all over me

at my

the memories along

is pink and raw, but

is a tangled mess. I'm not even 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

out the