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

Wake Up Butterfly #2

WARNING

this chapter contains grotesque and triggering content, especially for animal / dog lovers, but unfortunately lived truths are lived truths regardless of whoever they may offend.

Reader discretion is strongly advised.

CHAPTER TWO

Ray took it upon himself to get a dog six months into our marriage.

Not your run-of-the-mill shelter dog. This was a massive, drooling, fully intact German Shepherd male Ray called after the himself.

I hated him on sight.

The mutt apparently cost Ray a whopping five grand!

"Beautiful isn't he?" Ray unlatched the slobbering beast from his leash and watched a little too enthusiastically as I was bum rushed where I was curled up on the couch.

I wanted to die as soon as the dog's huge wet sandpaper tongue made contact with my face. Not only was the animal in dire need of a good flea bath from whatever dirty puppy mill Ray had "saved" him from: he was sporting a pointy red hard-on that was currently brushing up against me.

Ray snorted.

"," he proclaimed, beaming with a sick pride as he tossed an empty prescription bottle at me, "Enough to keep a grown man ready to go all Mardi Gras weekend."

Oh fuck no.

I was halfway across the room in a flash.

"Ah, ah, ah..." Ray snatched me back by the hair and I went tumbling to the ground like a rag doll. "I thought we came to an understanding about you just running off?" He was bent down eye level with me now, still holding me tightly back by the hair. He spoke slowly and with purpose just inches from my face. "Or did you enjoy that week down in the cellar?"

Ray's eyes lit up at my discomfort.

Shudder.

That awful, awful cellar.

Oh how I wished my hatred for it alone could have been enough to light it aflame.

As bad of a prospect as what I was currently staring down was, the cellar was no place I was trying to mentally take myself. I tried to pull myself up again, and once more, I was shoved roughly back down, this time by a heavy steel boot that knocked the wind right out of me.

This time my head made contact with the corner of the coffee table and I winced, feeling a warm trickle of moisture immediately trail down my temple.

Lovely...yet another unsightly scar for Ray to complain about as if he hadn't been the one to bring it into existence in the first place. That godforsaken coffee table one of his welder friend's had custom made for him had caused me so many injuries in such a short amount of time. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was almost as much of a tyrant as Ray was.

Hell, that was probably the motivating factor behind him buying it on his little come up tour, main sponsor: my underage vagina.

Absolutely everything new and expensive in his life had to have exactly the same dark and hellish energy as he exhibited, from his furniture, to the upper crust company he suddenly kept.

Ray, on the other hand, didn't care that he had made me bleed in the slightest.

In fact, he relished in it.

Completely ignoring my injury just as he had every one he'd ever caused prior to it, he towered over me in a warden-like stance as if daring me to once again challenge him as I tried my best to overcome the flood of muscle memories I was being overwhelmed with at his mention of the cellar.