RAISE YOUR HAND

Chapter 1

!TRIGGER WARNING! THIS BOOK CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, DOMESTIC ABUSE AND CRUDE LANGUAGE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER WARNINGS MOVING FORWARD. 

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"Raise your hand. Put a finger down if you have at least one friend. Put a finger down if you're married. Put a finger down if your spouse is a monster. Put a finger down if your one friend helped make a plan to escape. Put a finger down if the plan ended in failure."

Play back. Watch. Erase. Even the attempt at making a TikTok was a failure. Why even make one? Was she out of her mind? Making this wasn't the answer. Trinity bit the inside of her cheek, her eyelid twitching from lack of sleep. Maybe it was lack of sleep giving her idiotic ideas. Surely, her husband had the popular app too. What if he stumbled upon her one minute video? Then what? Was it even a question, because the answer was plain and simple. It was one word. Death.

Then there were the suggestions. Get help, Trinity. Run away, Trinity. Stay with me, Trinity. Even...call the cops, Trinity. One problem. He is the cops. Cops are a brotherhood. They protect one another. So the last suggestion her bestie made was probably the worst one the good intentioned girl had yet to date.

Their last escape attempt, the stay with me one, only led to Trinity's husband coming to her only friend's house. Sure, he had been cordial. He kicked down the door, grabbed her by the hair and threw her into the truck. No need to guess what happened next. A sound beating was a surefire way to keep a wife in her place.

A week had passed since then. One would guess she wouldn't be thinking of new ways to get away. Fantasy sure was a useful means to stay alive. It provided entertainment, she mused.

"I wonder what Becky's doing," Trinity whispered to herself plugging her phone into the charger and setting it onto a small table situated next to her chair in the tidy living room.

All the chores for the day had been completed. A pot of chili boiling on the stove created a mouth watering aroma. Warm bread was baking in the oven. The meal should make for a quiet night. Only thing left to do was freshen her makeup and hair, and don a clean dress. David liked a well put together woman.

Brushing out the tangles, Trinity swore at her appearance. Slaving over the stove all day melted her makeup from the morning. She would need to start the entire application process over again. Great. Thank goodness for makeup wipes.

Once her face was clean, she was ready to reapply. Moisturizer, primer, foundation, concealer, setting powder, contour, blush, highlight, brow gel, eyelid primer, shadow, mascara, eyelashes, lipstick, perfume. Done. Nope. Not done. Deodorant. Trinity squinted her eyes at her reflection in the mirror. Was that sweat breaking through her setting powder?! Oh, hell no. Not today. What gives? Trinity looked over all the makeup spread over the bathroom vanity. Crap. She forgot setting spray. That's fucking why. Son of a bitch. Exhausting.

Grabbing the powderpuff, she dabbed at the sweat til her face was matte again, then finished with the setting spray. Never forget setting spray. There. Perfect.

Becky would think she belonged in a magazine. She'd heard it all before from numerous people, including her husband, about how gorgeous she was. When the makeup was off, the mask, she looked pretty average in her estimation. What was all the fuss about? Two eyes, a nose and a mouth. Everyone has the same parts, yet some are deemed more beautiful than others according to society. Dumb.

Sighing, she quickly cleaned up, put her makeup away and went to her closet to pick out a dress. Her makeup was warm earth tones. Maybe a sexy black dress. Not that she was in the mood for what the dress would undoubtedly elicit, but it would happen sooner or later. May as well get the deed over with. Now for strappy stilettos.