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

my wrists, raw and a

on. No time to waste. She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising

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

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, that makes me feel like a scolded

time in fear that it almost feels comforting

if this tiny person isn't dragging me around

murder me.

Waking

a door, and she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom.

I can protest, she shoves me inside and slams

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

my fingers grow to little more

God.

like a skeleton with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

the hell is happening?"

mirror has no answers. She looks

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

promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my

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

it wasn't technically all

thrashing around, trying to escape my chains. That usually involved falling to the floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn't

surprised my wrists

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

cascades over me with a sense of peace and

the ledge is the first thing I grab, rubbing it

at my

away the memories along with the dirt. By the

and raw, but

brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and conditioner, leaving in a layer

Waking

brushing out