"Little" Number Eight

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          

૨εαรσɳร เ ɦαƭε ∂α∂
ɓყ: Ყ/ɳ
1. ɦε ɱα∂ε ƒเѵε ɠσ αωαყ
2. ɦε ɦµ૨ƭ ɱε
3. ɦε ҡเℓℓε∂ Ɓεɳ
4. ɦε เร εѵเℓ

You had been stripped from your family and thrown into this hell hole. What's not to hate? You had begged your dad to let you wear pants or shorts, but he said it was "Improper for a young lady to wear such attire." 
You could shapeshift. You could be a zebra, or a mouse, or a goddamn hippo for all you cared! You didn't want to wear that hideous skirt. 
Five was always cocky. Just like Dad. The tension between you two during training could easily be compared to a raging wild fire. You both took training to another level. Cuts and bruises, blood splattered clothes we're a given. 
But outside of the torture room, you were both calm. It's not like you were overly affectionate, like you were with Diego and Ben, but it's not like you were beating each other senseless like you did not hours ago. 
Perhaps it was because one wanted to impress the other.
You stood in front of your father's study, just before bed. Five had his eyes placed excitedly on the door, like he couldn't wait for it to open. 
"Why are you so excited?" You whispered. Your other siblings were much to happy to notice. 
He turns to you. "Why do you care?" 
"'Cause you have that dopey-ass smile on your face." 
Five turned to look at his feet, muttering something about family time, before looking back up.
Did you hurt him?
"The children are ready for bed, sir." Mom chirped. "They wanted to say goodnight."
The door slid open, and your father continued to write away, before quickly shaking his head. 
"Come along, children. Your father is busy." Grace says, ushering you all away. 
It didn't escape your notice that Allison and Five moved to hang back, pouting. 
"Stop sweating it, guys." You call to them, turning on your heel. "It's not like anything we ever do will be good enough for him." 
It was true.
They both eventually followed, yet lagged behind, as everyone else slowly retreated to their rooms. As you moved to reach for your knob, your wrist was grabbed, and you flinched back. 
"Why did you say that?" Five hissed, yanking you closer. 
"Say what?!" You whisper back, clenching your fists. 
"You know better than anyone, one wrong move and he'll beat the shit out of us!" 
He wasn't lying. You did know that better than anyone else.
You flared your nostrils, before yelling. "MOM!" 
"Oh, what's wrong, little Number Eight?!" Five yells, now not worried about hiding the fact that he should be in bed. 
"Don't call me that, you asshole! All you ever do is make fun of me and yell at me and.." It took you a moment to realize that Five wasn't focused on your face anymore. He was looking as your fist. Or, your wrist rather. 
"The robbery." He mutters. 
"What?" 
Five slowly moves to touch a large cut on your wrist, and you stop, not knowing what to do or say. 
"You got this when you were a lion. Why are you cu-" 
"HEY! FIVE!" Diego's voice broke through the awkward conversation, and it gave you the opportunity you needed to break away from Five, and slip into your room, slamming the door shut. 
You could hear your brothers arguing back and forth, before Pogo's voice broke in. 
"STOP IT!" You heard Five yell. "SHE'S HURT!" 
You slammed your hands over your ears, and stayed like that, even when then the noise stopped. And you fell asleep like that. 
For more nights then you could remember.