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

Wake Up Butterfly #5

CHAPTER FIVE

The days after Miles walked in on me were a blur-an endless cycle of whiskey, regret, and Ray's ever-tightening grip.

It was all unraveling faster than I could manage.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my son's face-his wide, innocent eyes shattered in an instant. I couldn't get it out of my head, the look he gave me that morning, as if he saw me for the first time-truly saw me, not as his mother, but as someone else entirely.

But I couldn't stop.

There was no pause button, no rewind.

The bills still came.

The pantry was still half-empty.

And Ray-he was a leech I couldn't shake off, constantly sucking away at whatever was left of me. He didn't say much that day when he came home. But his eyes... those cold, calculating eyes told me enough. He had known. He always knew when I stepped out of line.

That night, I locked myself in the bathroom, sitting on the cold, cracked tiles, trying to drown out the sound of the TV blaring in the next room. My stomach twisted with shame. I was nothing. I was no mother, no protector. Just an empty shell doing what I had to in order to survive.

The house creaked with every breeze, its old bones as tired as mine.

I felt trapped, not just in the house, but in this life, in Ray's world.

There was no escape-no way out for me, and worse yet, no way out for my boys. I tried to be strong, tried to fight for them, but how could I when I could barely stand on my own?

It wasn't always like this. I used to have dreams, used to believe in more than just making it to the next day. But Ray had a way of breaking down any hope, any glimmer of light, until all that was left was the darkness he nurtured inside me.

He was always there, watching, waiting for me to mess up, to remind me of my place.

But tonight, it wasn't Ray I feared.

It was Miles.

The silence from his room gnawed at me.

I needed to talk to him, to explain, but what could I say? How do you tell an eight-year-old boy that his mother is nothing more than a cheap trick, sold off to keep the lights on?

I pulled myself off the floor, the cold, damp air of the bathroom clinging to my skin.

The hallway was quiet, but the weight of the house pressed down on me with every step toward Miles' room. I could hear his soft breathing behind the door. My hand hovered over the doorknob, heart pounding, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it. I couldn't face him-not like this.

Instead, I found myself back in the kitchen. The moonlight slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The bourbon was still there, calling to me. I poured another glass and sank into the chair, my head in my hands.

Ray's voice from the living room pulled me back into reality.

"Gonna have to pick up more hours, Nyla," he called out. "We're behind."

I didn't respond. I didn't need to. He didn't care about the words-he cared about control, about making sure I knew my place, always beneath him, always working to keep the facade of a family alive. His demands weighed heavily, pushing down on my chest until I couldn't breathe. Another client. Another night. Another piece of myself gone.

Ray appeared in the doorway, his beer in hand, his presence overwhelming as always. He loomed over me, as if daring me to defy him. "Did you hear me?" he said, his voice low and dangerous.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. If I said the wrong thing, he'd snap-he always did. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on my face. "You think you can just sit around all day, let me do all the work?"

"No," I whispered, barely audible.

"No, what?"

"No, I don't think that."

"Good." He straightened up, satisfied with my submission. "Tomorrow, you're going back to work. Miles'll get over it."

I flinched at the mention of his name. Ray never cared about the kids, not really. They were just another tool to use, another way to keep me in line. He turned and walked away, leaving me in the suffocating silence of the kitchen. Tomorrow, I'd have to face it all over again. More strange men, more pretending, more losing pieces of myself with every smile, every forced laugh.

But tonight-tonight, I couldn't think about tomorrow. I could only sit there, numb, as the world outside kept spinning, oblivious to the hell I was trapped in.

Hours passed, and the house sank deeper into the quiet of the night.

Ray snored loudly from the couch, beer cans littering the floor around him.

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

2 a.m.

Miles and his little brother, Danny, were still sound asleep.

At least they had that-sleep, the one thing I couldn't seem to find.

I slipped out the back door, the cool night air washing over me. The stars blinked overhead, indifferent to my suffering. I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the darkness as I sat on the porch steps, staring out at the empty fields. This was it-my life, a never-ending loop of guilt and shame, all for the sake of keeping Ray off my back.

In the distance, I could hear the hum of cars on the highway, people driving to places I'd never see, living lives I could only dream of. And here I was, stuck in this dilapidated house with a man who saw me as nothing more than property. A tool. A means to an end.

I thought about running. I'd thought about it so many times before. Just grabbing the boys and disappearing, leaving Ray to rot in his own filth. But every time I got close, reality would set in.

Where would I go?

How could I take care of them?

I had no money, no family, no one to turn to.

Ray had made sure of that.

He always did.

As the cigarette burned down to the filter, I felt the tears welling up, but I forced them back. Crying wouldn't solve anything. It never did. Instead, I stood, dusting off my jeans and flicking the butt into the grass. I needed to keep going-for them. For Miles and Danny. I was all they had, even if I wasn't enough.

The night stretched on, and I sat there, alone, watching the world pass me by.

There was no happy ending waiting for me at the end of this story.

Just more pain, more darkness. But maybe-just maybe-I could survive long enough to give the boys a chance. Maybe that was enough.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, I stood and went back inside.

Ray was still passed out on the couch, and the boys would be up soon. I had to pull myself together, had to put on the mask for one more day.

Just one more day.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE