Christmas with a psycopath

Part 8 i think

A few minutes later LAne came in. My heart pounded just at the sight of him. He smirked and came over. He cut the ropes and pulle dhte bandana off. I pulled my knees closer around me and hid my face. I was terrified and i know it showed. "Go into the living room your clothes are out there," he said watching me, laughter in his eyes. I stood and walked out of the room fully aware he was watching my every movement. When i walked in James and Brayden looked at me then looked away blushing. Well at least their nice enough to look away. I saw my clothes in the kitchen and hurried over to them only to be stopped by Lane. He smirked at me. "Sit," he commanded as if i were a dog instead of a human bieng. I walked over and sat in between James and Brayden. I pulled my knees to my chest and tried to hide myself as much as possible. I am starting to think that James just got tagged with the crime when Lane is the one who did it. Lane came over and sat in the love seat watching me. "Lane let her put her clothes on," James said still not looking at me. "Why look at her? She has a great body," Lane said looking at me. "Well not anymore," he added. I looked over at him quickley then back down. He saw and glared daggers at me. I swear if looks could kill i would be dead right now. "What did you do?" James said his anger rising. I shot him a catious glance, but he didnt notice. "I swear if you hurt her-" Lane cut in with laughter which only made James more angry. Brayden looked over at me, he didnt look at my body but at my face. "May i?" he whispered. Slowly i dropped my legs. Lane and James were arguing back and forth and i lost track of what was going on. I felt Braydens hadns touch my skin and jumped but didnt pull away. He only wanted to help i kept reminding myself. The only thing i could focus on at this moment were memories of my father beating me. I know what it's like to deal with the pain but it has been so long since he has done it, it's become nothing but memories. Brayden's hands move slowly down my ribs and stopped at my hips. "Broken, but nothing that can't be fixed," he whispered removing his hands. I nodded and listened the arguing again only to fidn myself getting more and more angry about this. "Stop!" i screamed standing up. I must have looked angry becasue bothe of them stopped and looked at me with confused expressions. "Stop fighting! Family isnt supposed to fight!" That was the last thing i said before jumping over the couch and running into the bed room and into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and sat in the tub. Most comfortable place and suprisingly the warmest with a towel over me. I dont know what made me snap like that. Maybe it was the years of my mother and father arguing day in and day out? I have never been the best at remembering things. I started humming to myself, "Concrete Angel." I loved the song not because it reflected my life but that a person may be broken on the outside yet smiling inside. That was me, every day i would come in smiling covering the bruises from the night before. There was a soft knock on the door and i picked up the shampoo bottle just in case. The person unlocked the door and step inside. I through the shampoo bottle at them and they shrunk away behidn the door. they got my message. I dont even know what's going on. I probably should be getting in trouble for this but im not. Which brings me back to my original question: Who are these people?