Five x reader (one shots/imagines)

Blood Red (angst)

Oh my gods! Part fifty! I have no idea why I have been in such an angsty mood recently, I don't like writing or reading sad stories most of the time but recently, I guess I am just getting rid of chaotic energy. WARNING: This story contains: Murder, Insanity, Double Personality, Self harm, Gore and Stabbing. If you are affected in any way by these ideas or are experiencing thoughts about them, please do not read this story! Thank you and enjoy the chapter! Xxx

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(y/n) is eight years old~
(y/n) pov

What's so bad about being different? I don't see any issue with it. Nor do I. But apparently we are wrong. I sighed as I listened to her, the voice in my head that seemed almost like a different person, but I knew it was me, an angrier, crazier, more violent version of me. Her voice sounded like metal nails being mangled in a blender, or as if someone had gargled with acid and then started talking. I knew to ignore her voice most of the time, she always asked me to do very strange things.

Once, she asked me to leap out of the window and onto a trampoline that was apparently waiting for me at the end of the drop. Another time, she took over my body and pulled out a box from under my bed, a box that I do not remember stowing under there, a box that just so happened to contain sharp knives and some type of red liquid. This... thing, that seemed to reside in the inner most corner of my brain, was strange and scary. But did that really mean that I was strange and scary as well?

My parents kept telling me that there was nothing wrong with me, but there were a few incidents that made people think otherwise. I was pulled out of school because the other children were frightened of me, of course I couldn't really blame them. When I was little, in the middle of the school day, some other children found me talking to myself during lunch, talking to her. Then later on in class, my desk mate began screaming in pain, blood pouring out of her ear, shouting that I had done something to her. I hadn't touched her.

If that wasn't enough tension, within the next hour, my (e/c) eyes seemed to change. My right eye is still a gorgeous shade of (e/c), but my left. Is blood red. In fact, whilst the whites of my eyes were the same, as were the pupils, the iris was well, strange. The blood red, seemed to be blood. When people looked me in the eye, in that eye, they went mad by the swirling liquid that seemed to be flooding my retina. I could still see out of that eye, but chose to wear an eye-patch, to avoid any other... unfortunate events.

"(y/n)," I heard my mother calling, looking up at her in the doorway, I was a little confused as to why she began shrieking. I felt dazed, before my brain finally caught up with me, once she had finally given up her control. My arm began hurting, burning, throbbing in agony. I began letting out choked cries, weeping pitifully for my mother to hold me, staring at the gaping wounds the I had stabbed into my arm, the bloody knife still held in my dominant hand. "(y/n), what did you do?!" Mother cried, calling for my father to bring an ambulance.

Timeskip~
(y/n) is now fifteen as is Five~

I hadn't realised at the time but 'calling an ambulance' was code for something much more upsetting. Yes, I was taken to the hospital and was treated of my wounds, the same wounds she had made me do. But, as soon as those injuries were healed, I was bound in a straight jacket and sent away to the local Mental Institution. The Nut House. A place where I ruled, I was the most dangerous and the most deranged, or at least, she was. I eventually managed to get control over her, using her only when I needed to fix the problems she had caused.

People she had pissed off when she was running rampant and using my body for her wicked little deeds, whatever they had been, I couldn't remember half of them. I used her abilities to maintain order in The Nut House, to stay on top, but I hated using it, I hated letting her take control, even momentarily. There was always the fear that, if she surfaced, I would never be myself again. I felt that each time she took over, my true personality was buried more and more each day, if I was truly the original.