Disclaimer: I do not own Skye Quartermaine, though I'd love to own her closet and have Pantene Pro-V hair like hers but that's another story. Sadly, GH owns her though they totally don't deserve to. Yeah, whatever.

A/N: Lyrics from "Neely O'Hara" by Bright Eyes inspired this fic.

She's Come Undone

and like neely o'hara you swallow your sleep
and wake up in the morning
to find you are not who you used to be
you don't recognize the behavior
or the spelling of your name and the shape that is in the mirror
and you swear it's not the same

So my eyes flutter open and the inevitable is here: yep, the big man upstairs has given me yet another day. Can you believe it? Neither can I. Not that I've ever believed in Him … or It or Them or whatever it is they teach you in those expensive schools. Some man with long hair and some really ugly sandals is the one I'm supposed to turn to with my problems? I'm supposed to look to this really old, thick book with all of these crazy words like, "Thou" and "Thee" and "Art" if ever I'm in need? Yeah, no thanks. I've had enough with putting my trust into others whether it be the men of Port Charles or the Messiah himself. Hell, I've even turned to my two ex-best friends, Mr. Jack Daniels and Senor Jose Cuervo for help. Screw them. Like I ever really needed them. Like I even care. I mean, I do care but Skye Quartermaine doesn't care. She is ever the perpetual goddess. Her hair is perfect, make-up flawless, wardrobe as if she's just stepped out of a glossy new issue of Elle. Though she is quite damned, she doesn't let the world hear her screams and only her pillow is familiar with her tears. She may slip every now and then, the bottle being her weakness, but she doesn't let it –or them, bring her down. She refuses to. She couldn't. It would mean defeat. And Skye doesn't deal with defeat.

But that's Skye. I'm me. What's the difference is what you're probably asking. Oh, I know it sounds crazy and believe me, I've been called even worse but I'm not her. Really, I swear. I'm still Antoinette, the little girl from that old dusty trailer. And, yes, go on say it: true trash. I would sit back, complete with skinned knees and flaming red gnarled up hair, and just reflect on the ways I could manipulate and connive my way into obtaining anything, or anyone, I've wanted. I knew the proper things to say, when exactly to bat my eyes and just how high to raise my skirt. I exuded this amount of confidence that was so immeasurable that even I would sit back and wonder just how far I could go at times. I've definitely pushed the limit. I'll admit that. One would think old childhood habits would eventually wear away but I guess some never do.

So, I've done a little damage –okay, a lot of damage. But it's ironic really. All the schemes I've pulled have only really affected my own self instead of others in the end. Those who I try to hurt eventually move on but I'm always stuck in the same gear. I guess maybe it is true what they all say. You know, about being self-destructive and all. They look at me with either pity or grief and laugh on the inside and go on about their way. No one ever really gets over the past in this family. They allow it to cloud their vision and that's exactly what they do with me. Monica, Tracy –they all laugh, but how soon we forget that they've more than likely done worse. And while Skye wants to spew a nasty comeback, I don't allow her to. There's no point.

So as I get up and go to look in the mirror, prepared to begin yet another day in this world, I look at myself, seeing a hint of a once innocent little girl who didn't yet know what the word 'manipulate' meant. Though I have to admit that while some little girls played with Barbie's; I conspired to be her. And, oh, I had my Dreamhouse and my handsome companion with the permanent smile on his face for but, like everything else in my life, it had all came crashing down without even the slightest hint of warning. But things can change. And I realize that if my blonde childhood idol can be everything from a rock star to President of the United States to an airplane stewardess, well, damnit, I can prove that Skye Quartermaine can be quite an exceptional person.