•Lonely is more than an adjective• || A Number Five x Reader Story

Chapter 12 - Bad memories

Narrowly escaping getting shot on purpose only to get shot by accident later was some bitter irony, but life does as she pleases I suppose. Five seemed to have decided to glue himself to my side, much like Seven already had. I wasn't one to complain. I hated being alone, so the constant company was a godsend. The rest of my siblings had cornered me at some point in the day to make sure I was okay, albeit Three. But she was busy nowadays with her career in modelling picking up, so I didn't think much of it.
"You're sure you're okay? I'm sure we can convince Pogo to say you're too weak to train." He could only shake my head at my two siblings sat beside me.
"I'm fine, guys. You know I heal quicker than the rest of you. You can barely see the wound now anyway." I hitched up my skirt a little to show them the fading circle of red flesh on my thigh. Seven pulled my hand into hers and gave it a squeeze.
"Come on, sis. The sooner trainings over the sooner you can show me how that violins works. You know I'm dying for you to teach me a little." She smiled and nodded before exiting the room, leaving before Dad could remove her himself. Five stood up too, holding his hand out to pull me up from the sofa. The rest of the academy files into the room promptly, before we all line up and follow Mum towards the darkened training room. The black walls masked the blood that stained it from exercises gone wrong that even Mum couldn't remove. Dad led straight in with training, One leading the weight lifting as usual. At first, years ago, it had seemed impressive how much he could lift. But now we could lift as much as he could at a young age, and any progress he'd made was down purely to his ability, which kind of drew from how impressive he could be. Three thought otherwise, but she was a little blinded by other things. One's cockiness only fuelled Two's rage to the point he himself could lift almost twice what the rest of us could just from pushing himself. Now that was impressive. I'd lost myself watching the two boys I hadn't even realised I was still pumping the weights up and down until my arms gave out and they fell to the ground. Everyone except One and Two were watching me, weights already on the ground.
"New personal record, Eight." Dad announced, not looking up from his book. Oops. Great, now I've got to manage that every time. I wander over to Five as we wait for One and Two to finish.
"Well done." Five smirks at me. My face falls into my hands as I shake my head.
"I zoned out again. I'll never manage that long if I tried it whilst paying attention. Shit." Five only laughed and gave my back a few pats.
"There there, my dear little Eight. You're just going to have to do extra weights to make sure you don't get on Dad's bad side." All I could do was groan into my hands. A loud thunk sounded as Diego gave in once more and threw his weights to the ground. One stood smirking beside him.
"Hardly counts as a win if he barely beats the guy without a strength ability." I muttered to myself as One set his weights down triumphantly, taunting Diego lightly. The rest of the training moved slowly through its routine. Honestly I was a little downhearted that we didn't race up the stairs, eager to show everyone my progress, but it would come another day. Group training ended and we all moved to sit on the row of chairs lined up against the back wall.
"Eight. Two. Stand." One on one training was my least favourite time, but having a meagre flying ability meant I rarely came to any harm, just a little warn out from carrying the others so they could practice mid air. I moved to lift Two as he raised his arms for me to get a better grip.
"Not today, children. Eight. Flying endurance. Two. Hit her wings only." A flurry of protests filled the room as the others rose to their feet.
"I'm not going to hurt her!"
"You can't do that!"
"That's barbaric!" Dad's cane smacked the floor, drawing their voices to a stop.
"Silence! Number Eight!" I couldn't disobey out of fear of what would happen if I did. I let my feet leave the ground as I hovered a couple feet off the floor, bobbing with each wing movement. Two was hesitant as he drew the blades from his belt, clenching them in his hands before Dad barked his number. I couldn't even feel the first few, which bounced off my wings and fell to the floor. But as the feathers fell from my limbs the knives started to hit flesh and bone. Two halted at the first sign of blood but Dad forced him on. He was only allowed to stop when I hit the floor, blood staining any remaining feathers, bone visible through the cuts in my flesh. I couldn't see straight, think straight from the blood loss, but I could see Dad forcing everyone out of the room. I tried to pull myself off the ground, wings stretched out behind me as they lacked the motor functions left to move. Dad moved over me. I thought he was moving to pull me up, until he pulled out his handgun.

42 lacerations until obvious pain shown
206 lacerations until unable to fly
372 lacerations and 29 bullets till wings entirely removed
Number Eight deemed bullet resistant in wings
Recovery time for regrowth yet to be recorded