Chapter Text
How had she missed it?
How did everyone miss it?
Jeanine had finally gotten diagnosed. Her mental illness was under control now, but it was far too late. All those people in Abnegation were still dead because of her. It had been a bloodshed, half of the faction was gone forever, and most of the Dauntless she had mind controlled would carry the guilt of murdering those people for the rest of their lives.
She sat down on the mattress in her cell and stared at the door, waiting. Every day, one of several guards came to give her food and antipsychotics. She didn't particularly like any of them, but it was the only human contact she received since the day she was locked away for her crimes, so it was by default the highlight of her days.
The fact that she was kept alive in that cell was a surprise at first. She would have been executed, but the Abnegation-turned-Dauntless girl had pleaded for her leniency. Before Jeanine's medications took affect, she saw her accommodations as temporary. She planned on manipulating the guards over time. Eventually, one would break her free, and she would escape. Becoming factionless wasn't an option for her. Neither was living outside the fence. There were only two viable options. She would either steal the memory serum from Abnegation and wipe out the memory of everyone who was against her After that, or she would find or remake the mind control technology and use it on the Dauntless again.
Her plan seemed perfectly sound.
Every day, however, she was forced to take her medications, forced to open her mouth wide and lift her tongue to prove that she swallowed it. She wouldn't have taken it otherwise, especially when the side effects started. The pills made her dizzy and tired. Her mind was foggy.
About a fortnight into her confinement, her mind started to change. Her perception of things began to alter. A little over a month later, she started to question some of the things she did and some of the thoughts she had. It happened more and more as time went on until the day came when she questioned everything. Then came the day when she realized what she did wrong, when she actually felt bad for everything she caused to happen.
It was impossible to keep track of time in the windowless cell, and the guards never answered the questions she asked. She guessed that she had been there for years. It certainly felt like years. She hadn't been a very social person in the past, but the time she spent in that cell made her starved for human connection. But no one would talk to her. She was lucky if a guard ever gave her a simple greeting like "hello" or "good morning."
Not that she could blame any of them. Still, humans were social creatures, and even the worst and most undeserving still required connection to some living thing. Being denied that for as long as she had made execution seem like the lesser sentence. Being forced to stay alive, to carry the memories of everything she did, to be sane enough to feel guilty for what she did, was in a way worse than death. Each day, the burden of remorse grew, and there was no one she could apologize to, no one she could make amends to. She would have to remain in isolation until the day she died. Maybe that was an appropriate punishment for her, but keeping her alive was a waste of resources.
No matter how Jeanine looked at it, one thing remained clear: she was better off dead.