WAKE UP BUTTERFLY: A SURVIVOR'S STORY ON MIND CONTROL AND INDUSTRY ABUSE

Wake Up Butterfly #1

FOREWORD

Certain details in this true and ongoing weekly serial have been changed to protect the innocent.

If you're ever in public and a young girl gives you pleading eyes...don't hesitate.

Take Action.

It just may save her life.

CHAPTER ONE

I was never what anyone would classify as a good mother.

From my formative years on, love, for me, was never something concerned with nurture, but instead, a collective group necessity to survive what could only be described as the unsurvivable.

The abnormality of it all reared its ugly head for my own children early on.

At eight, my oldest son, Miles, walked in on me getting violently fucked by a man that wasn't his father, and it was pretty much all downhill from there.

Apparently, school had let out early for the day.

Some punk had brought an AR-15 onto a college campus halfway across the country and had done his absolute worst.

32 dead, 17 others injured.

An American tragedy of the highest regard.

Trauma porn at its finest.

And the reason my formerly innocent son had caught me getting railed over our kitchen counter by what was to him a complete and total stranger in the middle of a school day.

We locked eyes, and in that moment, I watched the last bit of innocence in him die.

Not that there was much left in the reservoir to begin with.

I rushed to pull down my dress, to right that which had gone so breathtakingly wrong...but it was too late.

The damage had been done.

What was left of my son's childhood met its end that day – put to death by his own mother.

Miles didn't know – or rather, couldn't know – that I was only doing what was absolutely necessary to keep a roof over his and his brother's heads.

By then, their father Ray had long since removed the mask he had been wearing the day he first asked my mother for my hand in marriage, revealing to me a cutthroat man that would do or say anything he needed in order to get what he wanted out of life.

What he needed.

What he felt entitled to, for reasons that would remain more or less a mystery to me over the course of our marriage.

Evidently, that included exploiting his own wife to pay the bills.

"God didn't bless you with a face like that and a body that fuckable just for you to slouch around the house all day watching Court TV, eating bon bon's and doing fuck all," Ray reasoned just three days into our marriage.

I was fifteen at the time, a stark contrast to his thirty-one, but what was common decency in a town like ours, anyhow? Hadn't it left the building the moment my mother got it into her pretty little head that I was some kind of commodity to be auctioned off to the highest bidder?

Ray was one of many clingy losers mama had given the time of day back in high school, back when, if you let her tell it, her tits were four times the size they were now and twice as perky, which of course, she never let me and my younger sister, Angel, live down ruining.