So I'm a little behind on what exactly is going on with General Hospital but I've been pretty inspired to start writing again (and trust me with my writer's block I am jumping on anything that comes to mind). This is basically going to be a series of one shots..maybe...I don't know, probably just character studies. We'll see, I hope you find it interesting and stick with me. I'd say this is maybe ten years in the future which of course means a lot of characters have been SOARed. It's clearly not apparent now but later. Anyway hope to get some reviews, I'm really struggling to write this last year so any encouragement is greatly appreciated :) Thanks.

No Coming Back

For Kristina, there had never been an escape. It was a curse of genetics, a relentless, tormented spirit that entered her at birth. Some fusion of Corinthos and Cassadine blood was certainly responsible for her frequently brash, impulsive, self-destructive decisions. Thunder echoed across the waterfront, rocking the Port Charles docks. She watched from the bullet proof windows, swirling her scotch.

The flashes of lightning on her face exposed dark pits of mahogany trouble and unkempt knots of brown hair. Her grip on the glass turned her knuckles white. There was no sleep for her. And with each grumble of the gray sky, her likeness to her father, the infamous Sonny Corinthos was palpable and undeniable. Across the city it wouldn't be surprising if he was in the same position, brooding, drinking, lonely. Of all the mob boss' children, surely it seemed unlikely that it would be his daughter who was most like him.

And yet here she was, trapped in the same world. Like a fool with something to prove she embraced it with near vengeance, as if choosing misery were the greatest pain she could bring her family. They'd begged her and she'd peered down only to say 'no.' Her mother – her poor, sickly, aging mother – had pleaded for weeks, tears streaming down her tired Russian face. Her brothers, selfish and blind as they were, told her it was unnecessary, stupid, and cold. Her sisters failed to convince her and her father only offered a simple plea: "There's no coming back from this choice."

Kristina finished her drink and slithered back over to the wet bar. She dropped ice into her glass and paused before grabbing more liquor. A year. She only lasted a year at Yale. It was the first of the many disappointments she'd brought home to her parents. Deep down she never wanted Yale. Deep down, however, she never wanted anything she'd chosen. Certainly not this life. Another flash of lightning glowed in the room, catching a glint of the dense diamond on her finger. She'd done it. In a white gown, in a Catholic church, in front of two witnesses, and with a few words, she did what they begged her not to.

She married John Zacchara.

They didn't love each other. Well, they said they did, but it was just words. He was good in bed. He was rich. He was handsome and charming and powerful. He was her father and in spite of herself, in spite of the Corinthos name, she married everything she wanted to get away from.

It wasn't to say that John treated her poorly. Even when she was young he treated her as a friend. As she grew into a woman though he was drawn like a moth to a flame. But together they were fire. He was a descendent of a mad man, of the crazed Anthony Zacchara. He was haunted by his grandfather's voice and when he didn't think she was listening he'd hiss at the echoes in his head and thrash in dreams of violence. Kristina was no better. Even now she refused to believe she could be prone to her father's emotional impairments. And yet on nights like this, with the pool of depression yanking her downward, she couldn't help but think perhaps she was just as troubled as her father. After all, this marriage of impulse and power was clearly a move of Corinthos proportions. Together they were catastrophe. There was too much madness between them for comfort. Her brother had killed his mother. He'd spent a lifetime trying to destroy her father. It was Sonny and Claudia all over again, except their matrimony had nothing to do with an alliance but rather simple vengeance.

"You're awake," he croaked. Kristina hadn't even heard him come in behind her.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied.

Johnny slowly peeled out from the shadows, sauntering to join her at the bar. His face was masked in stubble, his hair disheveled, and his dark eyes void of life. "I woke up and you were gone," he murmured.

"You were talking in your sleep," Kristina said, turning back to the storm.

"I thought maybe you were angry with me," Johnny glared. "About your brother."

"I don't think of my brother, you know that," Kristina replied. She scoffed, "You're paranoid."

Silence overtook them as it usually did. They went back to enjoying the company of their own demons. Even when they were together they existed in such distinctly different realities that their marriage seemed like a hoax. At first it was a thrill. The danger and the passion and newness of being married sustained them. Three months later and the initial spark was gone. Johnny was consumed with business while Kristina plunged into regret and alienation.

"I would kill him if he wasn't your brother. I would," Johnny muttered. He leaned against the bar, his brawn arms holding him up as he contemplated in quiet rage. "But it's not about killing him. It's about territory…"

Kristina glared. "I'm sorry to get in the way of your plans. I don't know how many times I can tell you I don't care to hear of your business with Michael or my family."

Johnny twisted his face as he downed a shot of whiskey. His bare chest shone in the night lightning, misted with sweat. His intensity did little to alarm Kristina. "Things are happening, Kristina. You need to be careful. I don't want you getting caught in the middle…"

"I know, John. I'm a Corinthos for God's sake…"

"You're a Zacchara!" he shouted. As if supporting his claim the thunder clashed above and lightening encompassed his enraged face. Kristina shuddered slightly but was too stubborn to show her fear. She watched as Johnny took a deep breath, recovering his composure. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

Kristina took one more look at the storm. She waited for one more strike of lightning. And then with a sigh she put down the poison, leaving her glass at the bar next to her husband. "I'm going to bed, John," she told him.

He was silent while she left and as she climbed up the stairs to their bedroom, she stared at the ring on her finger. The diamond made her twist with shame and fear. It wasn't John Zacchara she feared. It was the idea that her marriage meant as little as her name. For no matter what she did, no matter how drastic the attempt, or how vicious her vengeance, she would always be the same.

She would always be a Corinthos.