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

the sight of my

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

feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize-a simple white night dress that is several sizes

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

time in fear that it almost feels comforting to

therapy, if this tiny person

murder me.

Lisa: Waking

reach a door, and she pushes it open,

she shoves me inside and

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

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

God.

skeleton with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

the hell is happening?" I

has no answers. She looks as lost as

to march over and slam open the

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

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

for being a kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically

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 keep up my muscle mass-hard

surprised my wrists and

on, steam quickly filling the small space. I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain

water cascades over me with a sense of

is the first thing I grab, rubbing it

at my

scrubbingkin as if I could wash away the

done, my skin is pink and raw,

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

Waking in

out the