Taming a Brat

Author's note: I sincerely apologize to anyone who became invested in Owen's and Olivia's story and has had to wait this freaking long for chapter 12. It's been a long road with this series. There is only one reason for the stop-go nature of forthcoming chapters: life happened. Even I had to re-read the chapters already published to refresh my memories. In doing so, I have come across a few discrepancies in the story. Thus, I would ultimately like to revise all chapters leading up to this one--consider them a rough draft for the time being. As I am planning to self-publish in the future, I plan to change the title as well, because it's just a little too similar to Lindsay Murray's 'How to Tame a Brat' and there is another story here on Literotica with the same title as this current story.

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I also hope that you allow your subconscious to delve deep into this chapter's complex nature. If you're looking for immediate gratification, skip this series. If you have any questions you don't wish to leave as a comment, please feel free to contact me directly via the email listed on my page, I will respond. I appreciate honest critique and general discussions regarding my stories. Enjoy! 😀

Taming a Brat Ch. 12

Olivia

I looked up to watch Owen crossing the room to the office at the back of the building. He winked at me, and I blushed. A couple of the girls sitting on a plush couch against the window on the right side of the room giggled and blushed as well. Owen strutted past without noticing them. He only had eyes for me, and my heart beat a little quicker at the thought.

I had been conversing with some of the girls after dinner for a bit while Owen sat talking with Kat, Leanne, and a man I had never met, who was clearly her dom. They looked at each other with such admiration-not to mention Leanne's collar was stunning. A thin gold choker chain around her slender neck with small daisies adorning it. The daisy in the middle had a tiny keyhole in it; I knew who held the key. Normally I would have been jealous, but for the first time in a long time, I felt the familiar stirrings of hope within me. After a while they dispersed, Owen taking the hint that I wanted to stay longer. He could get a bit of work done while I got some girl time in, it was a win-win.

One of the girls was especially upset, so Camilla and I sat with her, consoling her the best we could. A couple of other girls wandered over and sat with us, listening. The girl's name was Melanie and she had just arrived the previous night. She was in rough shape, track marks up and down both arms and pockmarks all over her face from picking at her skin. If you really looked at her, into her blue eyes underneath the deep purple bruising, you could tell she was once stunning. Those baby blues held a spark of intelligence in them that had me curious as to how she became so sickly at such a young age. She was too thin, her face sunken in from malnutrition. Her teeth were straight, but stained yellow from neglect. Slight dimples appeared when she smiled. She seemed to have a nervous habit of twirling thick strands of her long, black hair with her finger, tangling it more than it already was. It looked to be even matted in some spots. I had Camilla get a brush from her room, and we all took turns combing out the knots and tangles.

The other two girls had arrived on the same night just a week prior and had already bonded. Their names were Amy and Lexi. After several minutes of listening, they started to open up and offer Melanie advice as well. After a while we were all chatting and laughing like old friends; even Melanie was smiling. It took about two hours to get Melanie's hair completely smoothed out and tangle-free; she was already looking better.

"I just really want to thank you guys for comforting me and talking with me for so long. And my hair, don't even get me started on my hair. Thank you a million times over," she said through tears, giving us each a tight embrace before heading upstairs to her room for the night.

"Oh, Melanie!" I called after her, almost forgetting to tell her something. She spun on her heel to face me at the bottom of the staircase. "Get my number from Kat and contact me whenever, okay? Anytime."

She smiled sweetly and blew me a kiss, turning back around to trudge up the steps. I turned to Camilla and the other two girls, saying goodnight and giving them each a brief hug.

"And you both can get my number from either Camilla or Kat as well, okay? We're both here for you whenever you need," I let them both know with sincerity.

"Thank you, Olivia," Amy told me, hugging me again.

"We really appreciate you both," Lexi said to Camilla and I, giving us both another hug as well.

"Keep an eye on Melanie for me," I called over my shoulder as I walked to the office.

I felt awful for poor Melanie. She was so young, only twenty-two. It was evident at first glance that she was an addict. Still, I couldn't possibly imagine how bad her situation really was until she told us her story. A broken and abusive childhood, mostly spent in foster care until she was booted out of the system at eighteen. Having no family or friends to take her in, she was forced to sleep in filthy places, hiding the best she could from predators. It just so happened to be winter at the time, and she was half dead by the time she was picked up off the street by some low-life pimp that got her hooked on drugs. She told us that's when her life really started, so to speak. She was still miserable, the only difference being that she had a purpose. She never had a day off, constantly being used and abused by horrible men. Apparently this went on for two years before she finally made an escape plan and found The West House.

Although some of the other girl's stories were much different from mine, I still empathized with them. I wanted to be there for Melanie, to help her overcome the addiction and trauma that so plagued her. I knew I needed to focus on myself and my own healing, but I had to assist Melanie on her journey to heal as well. I had an odd gut feeling about her, one that I interpreted to be some kind of cosmic push to stay by her side. I couldn't help but think how different my life would be if I hadn't found The West House and Owen.

I was so incredibly grateful for The West House. I wanted to convey that to Owen more than anything. I was even beyond grateful for Kat and Leanne, who played such a huge part in all of it too. There had to be some way I could repay them. I didn't think there really was any way to fully repay them, but there had to be something I could do to show my immense gratitude.

Most of the girls had gone upstairs for the night. I thought I even saw Kat go to her room downstairs. She liked to be downstairs in case a girl came to the house looking for help late at night. I walked to the office door and knocked softly, pushing it open slowly. I peeked in and saw Owen typing furiously on his laptop, his face contorted in anger. My brows knitted together in concern, and I walked over to him hesitantly.

"Are you-"

He slapped his laptop closed before I could say another word or get a good look at the screen. I jumped, backing away a couple of steps. His shoulders slowly relaxed, only slightly, after taking a few deep breaths. I just stood there and waited, worrying at my cuticles.

Finally, he turned around slowly in his chair and looked at me, the vague lines on his forehead more prominent than usual. He tried to place a calm mask over his features, but I saw right through it.

"What happened?" I asked tentatively, still chewing my cuticles damn near bloody.

He sighed, standing to his full height and towering over me as he took a step towards me. I looked up at him as he took my hand, pulling it away from my mouth.

"What's one of our rules?" he cocked his head slightly, anger swirling like a storm in his already dark eyes. His voice was low and deep.

"No harming myself?" I squeaked out.

"And why shouldn't you harm yourself?" he countered, his voice lowering to almost a growl.

"Be-because you don't like your things being damaged," I managed to get out despite my voice growing more and more shaky.

"And why don't I like my things being damaged?" he leaned down a little closer to my face. I started to shake. I had never been this intimidated by him before. The unknowing was what was getting to me. Why was he so angry? What had made him seethe and type that inhumanly fast?

I cleared my throat, my eyes shifting back and forth between his face and the cream carpet. "Because they belong to you. Owen, what-"

He snatched my wrist in a tight hold as I involuntarily lifted it to chew my cuticles again, which were already an angry shade of red and raw. He drew his face away from mine momentarily to look at my fingers. He examined them for a minute or so, his nostrils flaring and his complexion growing darker. He was fuming, and I was terrified. I had genuinely never seen him that angry. I had no idea what was about to happen.

"Look at this," he spat through clenched teeth. "Look what you've done."

I stared at my nearly bloody mess of cuticles. Suddenly, I got the strangest urge to cry. I looked up at him, anger quickly replacing my weakness. I narrowed my eyes, trying to rip my hand out of his grasp. His grip only tightened. I clenched my jaw and huffed in frustration. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Owen dropped my hand and turned away from me, walking out of the office. I could hear his footsteps retreating through the house towards the front entrance.

I was bewildered, running after him at full speed. I was out of breath by the time I reached his car. He was standing at the passenger side door, holding it open for me but looking off into the distance, jaw still tight, knuckles white on the frame of the door.

I decided not to question him at that moment; something was clearly very wrong. I didn't want to poke and prod. I decided I'd give him some time. I walked over to him, ducking under his outstretched arm and sitting in the passenger seat. He had an automatic car starter of course, so it was already running. I quickly flicked on the radio, turning it to a more chill station and turning down the volume so it was just background music. Maybe it would make the car ride back to his place a bit less awkward.

He stiffly sat in the driver's seat, shutting off the radio. He rolled all four windows down and did some crazy

Fast & Furious

shit where he reversed, drifting in a circle until we were facing away from the house. I screamed, clutching the sides of my seat and panting, wisps of hair in my face. I looked over at him just as he hit the gas even harder and we were speeding down the driveway, kicking up some major dust. I brushed my hair out of my face but it was pointless at the speed we were going. I was still staring at Owen through my unruly hair. He was tense, gripping the wheel hard, intently focusing his eyes forward on the road.

I looked away and silently prayed I wouldn't die that night, although I trusted Owen and knew he was a good driver. We sped out of the driveway onto the road. I held on for dear life as we merged onto the highway, going faster than ever. I looked over at the speedometer, we were going over 100 miles per hour. My eyes widened in alarm, my hair whipping relentlessly against my face and neck.

When we finally pulled into Owen's driveway, coming to a sudden halt, my hair was a wind-whipped disaster. My skin felt warm and flushed. I was wet solely from the exhilarating adrenaline coursing through my veins. I didn't even realize I was panting so hard until I looked down at my chest rising and falling too fast. I slowed my breathing as Owen got out, turning the car off. The silence was getting way too loud for my comfort.

I went to open my door, but Owen was there holding his hand out to me. I trepidatiously grabbed onto his large warm hand. He pulled me up and out, guiding me in front of him with his hand at the small of my back. We reached the door and he stepped around me, unlocking it and pushing me forward.

"Basement, now," he demanded in that deep, low voice that was starting to scare me.

I had explored the house a bit when I had woken before him earlier in the morning. It dawned on me then that he had previously mentioned his dungeon. It seemed so long ago. I had completely forgotten until that moment. I had explored every room in Owen's expansive home. I started with the master bedroom, sneaking around and painstakingly opening every drawer as silently as possible. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I moved on to the two guest bedrooms, saving his office for last. Owen's office was the most interesting, as he had several shadow boxes lining the walls full of small antiques. I liked little keepsakes. I had analyzed nearly every one. The mahogany wood desk looked identical to the one in his office at his club, The Nightingale. The drawers were all locked, aside from the top left drawer. It was filled with drawings of obscured women, their features barely visible, but they all looked alike. I briefly wondered who had drawn them. I had tucked one into my pocket, saving it for later inspection.

I wandered downstairs, where I had found a sizable reading room with towering bookshelves stuffed full. It was basically a mini library furnished with comfy-looking recliners and ottomans. A perfect place to lose yourself in a good novel. I wondered if Owen used it often. Another minimally furnished guest room, the living room and kitchen of course, where there was an entryway. It led down to a basement that I couldn't enter due to the locked red door. I knew his dungeon was past the locked door as I twisted the handle aggressively. I was dying with curiosity. Worried Owen would find me snooping, I hurried back upstairs to make a pot of coffee inconspicuously before he came looking for me.

My thoughts were racing through my mind, resulting in my heart rate spiking even higher. I walked into the dark entryway nestled into the left corner of the kitchen. Low lighting automatically flicked on and a carpeted staircase with lights down the sides appeared. I tried to center myself, failing to collect my racing thoughts. He nudged my lower back with his hand. I begrudgingly took each step slowly, feeling as if I was descending into the pits of hell. I started to feel suffocated-like the walls were closing in on me. The walls weren't off-white anymore; they were turning a dark gray. The carpeted steps were morphing into smooth wood. I could hardly breathe as I reached the last step. I didn't know what the real door looked like because all I could see was the chipped white door to Thomas's basement, where he tortured me night after night.

My hair was swept away from my neck, and I felt a warm hand grasp my shoulder. I blinked as I felt velvety soft breath caress the side of my neck and ear.

"Stay with me, baby, I'm right here," Owen whispered, his lips brushing my bare skin lightly.

The chipped white door transformed back into a pretty cherry red door; I sighed in relief. He snapped me out of my flashback like it was nothing. He simply demanded I stay present with him and only him. I shuddered from head to toe as he reached around me and unlocked the door, swinging it open. I walked in willingly, in awe. It was a beautiful space. Red was the main color, with white and black accents. It was my favorite color, my safe word. I immediately felt like I could breathe again. It smelled of leather with faint hints of Owen's cologne.

I walked towards the bed in the center of the enormous room. Nothing was traditional about the space, but everything just seemed so right. There were couches to the right of the bed, red leather with white and black pillows surrounding a huge white ottoman. In front of the headboard several feet away there were what looked to be exercise equipment. Upon closer inspection, there was an elaborate sex swing, oddly shaped chairs and a large barred cage with wrist straps hanging down from chains inside.

I gawked at all the whips, chains, ropes, and plethora of sex toys lining the far left wall. Some things looked foreign to me, and I had seen a lot. I turned slightly, seeing the St. Andrew's cross in the far left corner. I started to panic again, bringing my hand to my chest and clutching at the material of my shirt.

Owen's voice was in my ear in an instant, my heart slowing immediately as he whispered huskily in my ear, "I'm still here with you baby. You're okay. Stay here with me, please."

His voice broke on the last word but before I could turn to see if he was okay, his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me back towards the bed. I thought we would stop there, but he kept pushing me until we got to the huge white ottoman. He turned me around to face him. I looked into his dark eyes, still swirling with rage and something else, too. I opened my mouth to ask what we were doing down here when he pushed me down onto the ottoman. I was laying down, staring up at Owen in confusion.

"What's your safe word, Olivia?"

"Red," I told him simply.

He nodded in acceptance. "I don't-" he stopped himself, sighing and running a tremulous hand through his thick black hair. "I

can't

see you hurt anymore, Olivia. Not by anyone, not even yourself. The only person that is ever going to leave a mark on you from now on is me-and only me. Nod if you understand."

I nodded slowly, furrowing my brows in confusion. "All this because I chewed my cuticles?"

I wasn't even trying to be a brat, not then. I wasn't that dumb. I was genuinely curious why he had brought me down to his dungeon so suddenly with no explanation.

His eyebrow lifted and he cocked his head. "You know the rules, but no, not just that."

He bent and took hold of my arm, surprising me with his gentleness. He turned my palm towards him, using his other hand to ever so lightly trace the deepest scars on my arm. His face crumpled just for a second, enough for me to see that my scars truly bothered him. Not in a disgusted kind of way, but more so like he had a deeply rooted sense of empathy for me. I got the feeling that if he could wave a magic wand and heal every single one of them for me, he would in a heartbeat.

"You've never said anything before," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.

His eyes snapped to mine, and he shook his head emphatically. He bent further, bringing my arm to his lips. He kissed each scar gently, lingering for a moment over every one. It took several minutes, as he finished with my right arm, continuing on to my left arm. I watched his every move, never looking away. It was the sweetest act anyone had ever performed on me. My heart felt like some of the fissures were being knitted back together, and it hurt like hell.

My scars were a part of me, no matter how badly I wished I could erase them from my skin. Having BPD meant that sometimes I made decisions that weren't 'normal'-so to speak. I felt pain differently than others. I hadn't hurt myself for a while, but I knew no matter how much time passed the scars would always remain. They were a constant reminder of my painful past. Thomas had hated the idea of getting them covered with tattoos, so I never did. Instead, I learned how to expertly conceal them with makeup when I wasn't wearing a long-sleeved shirt. I hadn't realized that Owen had taken such notice of them with how well I hid them. Although, I shouldn't have been so surprised with how observant and analytical Owen was. Normally with expensive cover-up, they were almost invisible from several feet away. On closer inspection, anyone could see there was something a bit off. Most people never said anything, but Owen wasn't most people.

He finally placed my arm back at my side and looked into my eyes. He reached down and wiped the tears pouring down my cheeks. I sniffled, and one side of his mouth turned up slightly. He looked sad, but the anger was still there, too.