𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐘 (on HOLD)

ii. 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒

𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦
𝘴𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴

𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘥
𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵𝘴
- 🧷📼♟🥄

CAOIMHE laid on her bed, her head against the soft pillow, a long blanket draped across her body. Beneath the blanket were leather straps, constricting arm and leg movement. After the night she witnessed her father kill a man, he decided to tie her down to her bed that way she couldn't get up throughout the night. As she turned her head to the left, a digital clock came into view, the red digitalized numbers reading 9:00 pm. Soon, her ears picked up the sound of a key turning. That indicated that her father had locked the door. Then, she heard a long line of keys turn.

Lawrence called these procedures "safety measures." He tied her to her bed as if she were undergoing an experiment and installed five additional locks to her door. All the time, he'd assure Caoimhe that it was for her safety. It made her feel like she was insane. The innocence had been wiped from her eyes the moment the trigger was pulled.

In truth, Caoimhe was an adult; she was twenty-four years old and still under the roof of her father, a drug lord. She could leave if she really wanted to, but if she were to leave, she wouldn't have anyone to protect her, nor would she have anywhere to stay. Lawrence most likely would not give her any money if she chose to leave her home. Minus the occasional visits from her father, the little "good mornings" and "goodnights" from Janet, Caoimhe never talked. She had no social skills, and in a world like the one she lived in, she needed to talk. Talking to others was often difficult.

During the day, she wasn't tied down; just locked in her room, the maid, Janet, handing her food and supervising her showers. Caoimhe felt like a prisoner inside her own home. Everything she did was spectated, even something as simple as going to the bathroom. She was afraid to object, especially because she knew ber father owned firearms.

The TV in front of her played softly, enough for her to hear. It was her only friend in the night, even if she heard things she didn't want to hear. The channel playing was the news channel. It was her only way of knowing what happened beyond the locked doors and pale curtains.

"Right here, we're at Star Labs, about to watch the Particle Accelerator in action!" the woman exclaimed excitedly, crowd chants audible from beyond her. "Here we have some protesters against Star Labs and then we have the man himself, Harrison Wells!"

She went on to talk about his achievements and his goals for the particle accelerator. Caoimhe wasn't much of a science fan, but she was still intrigued. She forgot she was strapped down to the bed, so she tried to get up, only to gain a metallic clang instead.

"Why try if there's no use?" her father's voice boomed, from the speaker atop of her. The words stung like bees. "You're not strong enough. So why try?"

Lawrence was super controlling of his household. He had cameras at every angle of the house. If Caoimhe ever tried to get out, he'd remind her that she lived in his house, not hers. Usually, he'd only watch her until she slept when he was free, which was literally never. His team prowled the streets, taking drug dealers off the street and bringing them to the basement in order to recruit them. No one had come to negotiate costs for drugs that night, Caoimhe guessed.

She was surprised that his operation hadn't been shut down. Lawrence had been selling drugs for over three decades, longer than Caoimhe's life. From what she heard from her TV, the Central City Police Department usually was good with catching small time drug dealers like the ones that drugs on the schoolyard and in shady alleyways.

"OH MY GOD!" the news reporter's voice shouted, clear as glass. "Something has gone terribly wrong! The particle accelerator exploded!"

word count: 668
march 12, 2020