epiphany / jean kirstein

ten

content warning: graphic descriptions of killing and violence

People always say that the number one tactic for understanding someone's motivations or actions is to put yourself in their shoes. Imagine what it would be like to go through the same traumas, heartbreaks, and failures they have endured themselves. Every achievement and joyous moment that led up to their current point. Sometimes I do that with Eren. I imagine what it would be like to see my mother die in front of me, to be accused of being a ruthless monster at the small age of fifteen, to have the weight of the world put on my shoulders by my own father.

So right now, as I sit in this cell. I wonder if this is the same view he saw. Albeit, the damp cell I currently reside in is a lot nicer than the one he was in just a few short days ago. Furnished with tables, and a small kitchenette. Also, my fellow Scouts and the entire Braus family.

Artur passed out tea a few minutes ago. It's cold down here, so his act of kindness was met with much gratitude. I am sitting at a table in between Jean and Mikasa, and across from Connie and Armin. I couldn't even say what the time is, or how long we've been here. Just that it's been long enough to make us all start to lose our patience.

"Emmy, were you serious about what you said to Floch earlier?" Jean asks me, not bothering to keep his voice down. Everyone at our table hears his question.

Armin's head perks up, curious to the conversation he missed out on. We learned right when we arrived at the cell that he and Mikasa had spoken with Eren. However, we were not given details. The reason for Armin's injuries is still unknown. "What did you say to Floch?"

I keep my mouth shut, trying to push down the small amount of shame I feel. I was completely serious about what I said, but I don't want to admit that to my friends.

Noticing my discomfort, Connie speaks for me. "She threatened to kill him." There's a beat. "Right after he admitted to knowing about the wine."

Armin hums in understanding softly, his gaze fixed onto his half empty teacup.

There are a few moments of silence before Jean repeats his question. "So... Were you being serious?"

I sigh deeply, annoyed at his habit of stirring the pot. I snap my head over to him and look him dead in the eye. I make sure my face is cold and stern, an attempt to convey my frustration with him asking such a question.

I grit my teeth, and spit out bitter words, "Yes. If he gives me a reason to, I will kill him." I know my brutally honest answer is bound to make my friends at least a little uncomfortable. However, I will not lie to them, even if it means I'll be protecting their feelings. They don't hate Floch in the same way I do. They may dislike him, or maybe even resent him, but it could never reach a level for them to feel the urge to end his life. In a life or death situation, sure. But there would be hesitance. Not with me, though. Never with me.

The idea of going further into my hunger for killing him flashes through my mind. I could tell them how I imagine it playing out. Something painful, maybe a brick to his head, or several non-fatal stab wounds until I've had enough and finally slash his throat. Or, in my ideal situation, I'd get to torture him first. When my throat was still recovering from the damage Eren had done, Hange told me some of the torture methods they and Levi used on a few members of the Military Police so many years ago. Maybe I could use those. The nail pulling tactic seemed fun, but I'd probably end up cringing too much at that. I could tell my friends these things, but then they would just be scared of me. I don't want that. I don't want to lose the only people I have left.

The thought of committing these heinous acts makes my stomach churn. It's not like I really feel a want to do these things, it's more of a need. There's a strong chance so many of our comrades are going to turn into monsters pretty soon. Floch knows this, but he doesn't care. In my rotten, deranged opinion, he deserves to feel the same pain they will. Maybe that makes me violent, or a psychopath, or just plain disgusting, but I can't find it in me to care.