#practice for this character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ozimagines · 2 months ago

Text

Upsetting so this is my trigger warning. It’s not a fluffy read at all, just more of something I had to get out of my system. I don’t really go into the details of my SA but both of these characters helped me come to terms with it, so I wanted to get some of those feelings on paper. Sorry if it’s not as light as some of my other stuff.

Peter Schibetta and James Robson in…

Peace

He’d not taken any solace in Robson’s downfall. Lots of people had asked him, making comments to the effect of “well, at least you got to see him get taken down”, but Peter hadn’t reveled in it; hadn’t felt any better seeing his abuser get abused.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. He stayed up at night in the hospital ward, staring at everyone but with vacant eyes. He’d stared through walls, burning holes in them in his mind, wishing the worst on his attackers. Wishing that they had their entrails removed and sliced with razor blades. Wishing they had their bodies reversed or their brains eaten while they were alive like that creepy movie he could never watch. He’d prayed to every God he believed in and a few that he didn’t just for good measure. He’d just wanted to look in their eyes and know that they understood what they’d done to him.

Now that it’d happened, it was an empty feeling. A dissatisfied feeling, like eating too little and going for a marathon trek.

Peter thought he could remember everything about his rapes. Every excruciating detail. That was until Sister Pete had asked him direct questions, and he realized there were some details for which he drew a blank. He’d heard about that; the brain blotting out horrible memories to save the mind. He would have thought that would bring him some peace, the not-remembering. Turns out even if you can’t remember the details, you can remember the terror and the misery and the guilt and the disgust and the shame and the anger. Every emotion was left to be this all consuming flame. These reactions without the cause; without the why. It didn’t bring him any peace that he couldn’t recall everything. He still had the fucking scars.

He’d made eye contact with James in the cafeteria. Everyone was watching Chucky and Cutler go at it, and no one was watching James. Everyone except for Peter, who could not take his eyes off of him. His eyes looked so dimmed from their normal spark of life. He looked so gaunt and lifeless, in his eyes this small demureness. Don Zanghi had nudged Peter, ignoring that scar on his eye given to him by his former leader, and said something to the effect of; “gotta feel at least a little good, huh?”

Peter nodded and said something in affirmation but it was so soulless and empty that his childhood friend knew he was lying, even if he didn’t call him on it.

Peter kept staring at James, who, for a brief moment, caught Peter’s gaze and froze, face and ears burning red, breath hitching in his chest. Peter knew then and there, that while James might forget some of the details in his head shrinking sessions later on, that the sense of shame and disgust would never leave him.

The realization made Peter want to puke, so he rushed to the bathroom and relieved his entire lunch into that dirty ass toilet.

He finished with a dissatisfied spit, hanging his head limply in the seat. He heard a rush of footsteps into the bathroom and froze, that horror in his chest as if his attackers were back for more. He felt himself go squeamish when he’d heard the new presence blow chunks into the sink, not even making it to the toilet, weeping and wailing a second after the initial vomit in his despair.

Peter knew James Robson was in the bathroom with him, as despondent as Peter himself.

He didn’t know what compelled him, but he did a courtesy flush to let Robson know he was in the stall next to the sinks, and waited a minute for James to scramble to his feet and wipe his mouth. Peter exited the stall and James made intense eye contact with him, trying to identify whatever the threat was. When it turned out just to be Peter, he should have been relieved, but his breath hitched all over again and his eyes panicked, expecting some sort of revenge. When none came, James broke the eye contact and turned towards the mirror, almost crying at his own reflection. He was thinner than before, and Peter remembered his own post-rape weight loss. That sort of thing makes you feel less like a person, so you stop caring for yourself as one.

Peter cast one more withering glare Robson’s way and then turned to leave, but at that same moment, James saying:

“Least I got mine, right?” He spat, pitifully, dabbing at the makeup running down his cheeks and his too red eyes blinking away salty tears. Peter stopped and sighed.

“No.” He stated, resolutely. “No one deserves this shit, not even a fucker like you.”

James was taken aback but answered, bitterly;

“Guess that makes you the better man, huh?”

“Guess it does.” Peter retorted heatedly, going to leave again and making it to the threshold, white knuckling the frame, before he decided to turn back around.

“Make it look like an accident.”

James balked.

“What?”

“Make the deed look like an accident, or a suicide, and I’ll talk to Chucky and Urbano and see if I can get them to let you live.” Peter ordered, getting that little rush in his system like when he used to be the boss. When people used to listen to him. Used to respect him. “You get your shit sent to death row or killed and there ain’t a damn thing I can do for you.”

“I… I don’t understand.” James stuttered, trying to read Peter’s motives but not having a single clue. Peter grimaced.

“Then think, stupid.” He took a step towards Robson, who flinched. “Chucky’s got as much reason now to kill Cutler as you. Do the deed for him, and he might let you slide.”

“I meant I don’t understand why you’d do that for me.” James clarified, running a shaky hand over his head, still trying to read the man he’d wronged all those months ago. Peter paused for a second, not entirely sure if his answer before settling on;

“You said it yourself. I’m the better man.”

“Yeah… right.” James cast his eyes downward, and Peter softened a little. It hurt. It hurt to see how bad he felt on the inside reflected onto someone’s outside.

“It’s not about deserving.” Peter shrugged, struggling to find a reason within himself as well. “Whether you deserve it or not it’s not okay. Fuck, maybe I deserved it… doesn’t make it okay.” He made eye contact with James again, and realized the man was holding back tears. “Wasn’t okay when you did it to me. Wasn’t okay when he did it to you.”

“My…” James swallowed a lump in his throat. “I mean… I don’t know if it’s any consolation to you but this wasn’t the first time.”

Peter thought for a moment, deciphering the cryptic comment.

“It’s not.” He paused. “In Oz?”

“No.”

“You know ‘em?”

“My dad.”

“Oh.” Peter swallowed, thickly. James sighed and shifted his feet.

“Yeah. Once a bitch, always a bitch.”

“Sure.” Peter thought aloud, leaning up against the bathroom wall. “Listen, Robson; he ain’t ever gonna stop. No one’s gonna give you any respect until you do this. I couldn’t kill you; that’s on me. You can kill him. It won’t bring you any peace but it’ll bring you respect.”

“I’ve never had any peace.” James lamented, and Peter scoffed as if to say ‘join the motherfucking club’.

“And you won’t. The best you can hope for is to send a message so you won’t get fucked again.”

The implication in Peter’s statement being that if he’d killed Schillinger that day in the shop, he’d have been okay. James remembered he was the one who grabbed his arm and yelled ‘look out’. His face burned at the realization. Peter grimaced.

“Don’t you fucking pity me, you son of a bitch.” He snarled, slamming his hand against the wall. “You already fucked me, you don’t get to pity me.”

“Sorry.” Was all James could think to say. Peter made a face that said ‘that’s better’, when James added; “for everything.”

“Yeah, well, my offer still stands. I’ll work on Chucky today, try to get him to lighten your sentence.”

“Thanks.” He nodded, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “I’ll figure out how to do Cutler in.”

“Good.” He waved his hands in front of him. “Doesn’t gotta be poetic, but send a message.”

James’ eyes lit with that sadistic spark, and he raised a hand to his throat, tugging a little at the scarf.

“No.” He stated, resolutely. “It’s gonna be poetic.”

He went to leave, stopping short to look down at Peter.

“I can’t protect you-” James said, lamely.

“No one can.” Peter answered. “Ain’t no reason we both gotta suffer.”

“Let me finish.” James commanded and Peter shut his mouth, miffed. “I can’t protect you outwardly… but… if this goes well… and I don’t fucking die… anyone rapes you again and I’ll kill ‘em privately for you, deal?”

“Sure.” Peter said, absentmindedly, not at all expecting James to make good on that offer. James thought about persuading him that he was telling the truth but he said nothing, knowing his words held no weight. “Just fuckin’ kill this bastard first.”

They stared awkwardly at each other, having reached a sort of treaty between the two. Peter left first, thinking the whole time about what he was gonna tell Chucky.

When he’d heard the news the next day about Cutler hanging himself in his cell, he felt a little smile curl the side of his mouth, even if he couldn’t look too pleased.

It was the closest thing to peace Peter Schibetta felt in years.

#hbo oz #oz meme #oz hbo #oz #peter schibetta #james robson #practice for this character #just wanted them to have one scene #I know we say that about lots of Oz characters but it’s true #it was a rough one #some of my feelings on my SA are in here #so I’m sorry if it was upsetting to read #but it was somewhat cathartic to write

10 notes · View notes