5 Seconds of Summer Imagines

serial killer series // m.c.

Michael's P.O.V.

Bloodlust. The need to kill. It overcomes me every time I walk through a crowd of people. They are staring at me. Giving me weird looks. But not because they know who I am. What I am. What I do for pleasure. For the pure fun. But because I am different than most people. I'm tall. My whole body is covered with tattoos. I have piercings in my face and my hair color has a special shade of dirty green and they are always wild, tousled in every direction. My jeans are always ripped and the black boots I'm wearing are dirty and full of scratches. I'm mostly wearing tees and a black leather jacket that already looked pretty fucked up from being worn too much. I am different. That's why people always give me strange looks. They don't accept me. But they don't have to. I don't need them. If they only knew...

When I was sixteen when I killed my first victim. It was an accident. I never meant to kill her. But after it was done I didn't feel bad. It's strange but I liked it. Amanda was her name. She was eighteen and my current hook up. When she tried to end things with me I got mad. We got into a fight and I shoved her down the stairs. She must have broke her neck or something. I didn't even care. I took her body and buried her in the dead of the night out in the woods. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Killing. It came back to my mind over and over again. So I did it again. A month after my first kill.

Her name was Charly. She was my classmate. One of those people who always picked on me because I was different. I followed her home. I watched the life leaving her eyes when I strangled her to death. And once again, I didn't feel regret. I liked the way she looked at me. Desperate to escape. I liked the way she screamed for help. I liked the way she grabbed my shoulders, trying to push me away. But mostly I liked the way how her eyes turned cold and she motionlessly dropped to the ground. Not able to laugh at me anymore. I felt strong and invincible. Like no one could stop me. So I continued.

Over four years I killed people. Mostly girls. Girls I knew. Girls who picked on me or girls who said they didn't want me. I always cover my tracks perfectly. No one ever thought about me when those girls got missing. The police men who work on these missing cases are morons. Stupid dicks. They didn't have a clue. They asked me some questions once, but they never thought about me being the actual killer.

I haven't had a new victim in almost two month. If it wasn't for my current girlfriend (Y/N) I already would have wasted another life. But she keeps me sane. She keeps me on the right track. If there even is one. (Y/N) and I have been close friends since pre school. She knows everything about me. Everything but the fact that I kill people out of the pure fun and rush of power and adrenaline I get each time the life leaves the eyes of my victims. She knows what I've been through when I was kid. Absent father. Abusive mother. Never enough money. Poor circumstances. A fucked up live. But she was there for me no matter what. We got together a couple of month ago and she is the only thing that keeps me calm. She keeps me from going insane. She is my save place.

As I walked through the crowd of people in the mall I got weird looks from people once again. The hood of my dark jacket hung over almost all my forehead, trying to blind out everyone and everything around me. I stopped at a little shop to buy some cigarettes and a new lighter when I heard some girls chattering a few feet next to me. I glanced over to them and recognized one of these girl as my ex girlfriend. Or more like ex sex friend. I dumped her right before I got together with (Y/N). We haven't talked since. The girls kept giggling while they stared at me. Those bitches. If they won't stop, they'll be next. They better watch it.

I payed for my purchase and walked into the direction of the girls. I almost passed them when she said "Hey Michael. How's it going?" I stopped my tracks and turned to face them. "Why do you care?" I snapped at her. All the girls started giggling and the she said "I don't. You see, I just told my girlfriends here how bad you are in bed. And how your little friend down there, literally little, never pleasured me. I always faked you know." She laughed and pointed to my crotch. I clenched my jaw and balled my hands, which I was hiding in the pockets of my jacket, into fists. She shouldn't have said that. She shouldn't have...