(A/N: Had this idea kicking around for a while. Hope I can do it justice, and I hope you enjoy, and even if you don't, thanks for taking the time to give it shot. Take care, Lyoko498)

The apartment was as dark as it's ever been. "Another day," croaked Patty Bouvier, taking a drag from a cheap cigarette, "another miserable shift." Dropping her bag, she walked past the abandoned crib, deconstructed, tossed against the wall with a pile of old newspapers and magazines, beer cans on the floor.

Slumping in her chair, taking another drag on her cigarette, turning the TV on.

MacGyver…

She flicked it off to another channel with a grunt. Her eyes fell to where another chair once was.

Yet another chair was there now. And an unwanted presence.

"Another day of self-inflicted misery eh?" taunted the female voice, raising her cigarette in a mock toast. Holding it to her lips, she said to Patty, "Finally gonna own up to it? Or just try to drown in Duff?"

Patty stood up, ignoring the voice as she went to the bedroom.

One bed.

The Voice was already sitting on it.

"We've gone through this dance before," she said to Patty, kicking more cans at her feet. With a snort, she mocked, "Remind me, what made you so much better than your sister's husband?" Patty just turned to leave.

"Oh, guess I wasn't specific enough was I?"

Patty froze.

After a minute of silence between the two, the voice repeated, "So, what made you so much better than your sister's husband, Patty?"

"Piss off," Patty grumbled as she walked back to the living room.

The Voice was back in its chair.

"What? Can't tell me what makes you better than a fat drunk, you fat drunk?"

"I said piss off!" Patty snapped, tossing an empty can, only for it to hit the wall. The voice smiled its usual smile. A smile not trying to hide its malice, the delight it had in questioning her. Glaring at the voice, she replied, "Homer is the biggest loser, that's how I'm better than him! He's a drunken idiot who'd have to shower to be a slob! He fails as a husband and as a father! The world will be richer when we lose him!"

Tilting her head the Voice taunted, "Oh yes, such a horrible husband and father, keeping a two story roof over their heads, taking second jobs, multiple times might I add, taking a loan from you, covered for you when your job was on the line, just to keep his family afloat, working a job he hates for his baby, eternally faithful to his wife, your sister! Trying to be pleasant towards you despite you doing nothing but ridicule him. Truly, you, a fat, ugly, lonely bitch in a crappy, run down apartment, who treated her niece like a little plaything to live vicariously through, are the superior specimen!"

Patty snarled as she stood up and walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"I'd say get me one too but beer, well it goes right through me."

Patty just slammed the door, not grabbing anything.

"Don't get me wrong," said the Voice, "Homer's a screw up…but he still gives a damn about his family. Can't say the same about you."

"I wouldn't hate Homer so much if I didn't love Marge!"

"Ah yes, Marge," the Voice replied, "the little sister who's dreams you've destroyed time and again! Who you made do all your chores just so you can smoke. You broke her confidence down until nothing remained. You've made her a doormat, submissive, quiet. And Homer pisses you off because she's not one to him."

Patty just glared and approached the Voice, only for her and the chair to be gone.

"Oh yes," returned the Voice, still smoking, sitting at the table, "He can smooth talk sometimes, get into mischief, but you've seen it in his eyes. Marge is a goddess to him, and he worships the ground she walks on. He thinks she's above him. You think he's a loser. And look down at Marge for it."

The Voice puffed smoke rings towards Patty. "Then there's Arty Ziff. You know he tried to get some that night right? Marge wasn't having it…and somehow you still don't get why she prefers Homer."

"He'd give her a better life!" Patty snapped, "Mansions, cars, trips around the world-!"

"Oh yes," interrupted the Voice, "that's all totally worth it. Who cares that he only cares about her body and nothing else. Just an accessory on his arm, something to make the only person he cares about look better." Another puff of smoke, this time reaching Patty's face. Grinding the cigarette into the table, she quipped, "Also, Homer has taken her to literally every continent…and you're still ignoring the whole, unwanted sexual advance thing." Looking up, that same smile on her face, the Voice added, "And yet Marge forgave you. For decades of bullying. Decades of treating her husband like shit. For barely being there for her kids…but she hasn't forgiven you for the last two years."

Patty's heart skipped a beat, face flushed with mixed emotions. Fists clenched, Patty ordered, "Get out."

Shrugging the Voice simply mocked, "And go where?"

"Anywhere but my apartment!"

"But then you'd be all alone. And you wouldn't want that would you?"

Another silence.

The Voice stood, almost floating across the floor towards the window, looking out at the dark of night. Shaking her head, tone dropping despite keeping the smile, she said, "Oh yes, everyone else can be alone. But not you. No, you salivated at the thought of Marge leaving Homer, in a sense leaving them both alone. Wishing Homer dead, buying a tombstone for him. Hell, you kidnapped Homer and snapped at Selma for questioning the plan just to break them up! You had no problem leaving Selma alone for Veronica and snarling at someone who wanted to sit with you two, someone Selma was crushin' on, and brought her to the wedding. Even ignored lil' Lisa when she told you attacking her father is a knock at her, and will hurt future relationships. But how dare anyone make you alone!"

Looking back around the apartment, the Voice added, "Gotta say, still a shit hole but hey, with the second chair, bed and exercise bike gone, you have about as much room in here as Homer has in the stairwell." The Voice glanced at Patty, smile still stretched as Patty paled, her long forgotten cigarette almost burned out, barely enough for another puff.

Looking out the window again, the Voice asked, "How's Skinny Boy doin'?"

The window shattered as a lamp was hurled through it.

The Voice just stood, unharmed, still smiling. "Oh, did he cut contact after the wedding too? Should've figured."

Stomping to the kitchen, Patty grabbed a knife from the block, snapping, "Get the fuck out of here!"

Snickering, the Voice replied, "Did you not just see what happened with the lamp? Or are you dumber than Homer?" Still floating around, ignoring the knife and the scowl on Patty's face (though not the welling of her eyes), she added, "Then again, you thought that you could seduce Skinner despite being visibly disgusted by the act, going against your true self. Especially with Martha among the guests."

Patty couldn't help but remember Martha, her long brown hair, red ribbon, how they spent God knows how many nights making out outside the movie theater…only for her to leave."

"Then again," the Voice thought out loud, "you were able to swallow down disgust to make out with Homer to ruin another of Selma's relationships, guess you thought you could do it again." "Yep," she sighed, "then you caught in the act by your nephew, who immediately ran to Marge, Selma and Martha. Chased him across the venue, knocked people over, even ruined the cake and punched the priest And you got mad at Bart for ruining your plan. Bet you didn't expect Marge to literally shove you out of the venue on your ass."

Leaning close to Patty, her face now a pale red, breathing heavy, knuckles white as she clenched the knife to the point of the handle being on the verge of snapping, quipping to her, "Or that Homer followed you and said if you come near the boy again, he'll show you want a man who fought battle-bots can do to you. Bet that really got under your skin. Him not being the oaf you've kicked around for God knows how long. But a father protecting his son."

The knife swiped at the air, the Voice unaffected at the attempted stabbing.

"Now Skinner has a restraining order against you. So does Patty, Marge, Homer, even Bart, Lisa, and the baby. Everyone at the wedding know what you did, undoubtedly told their friends, who told friends, and going out like a massive spider web, with your selfish, hypocritical ego in the dead center of it." Stretching her arms in a mocking pose, she finished, with her infernal smile, "So here you are! Exactly where you didn't want to be. Alone. The only people who ever loved you, cut you from their lives. And you're too much of a hostile, selfish, mean-hearted bitch for any woman to love you. Even animals hiss and snarl at you!" The knife was on the floor as Patty felt an icy pressure on her wrist.

"So," the Voice reiterated, "here we are. Just you and me."

Patty panted, looking for anything to hurt this bitch she hated more than anyone, even more than Homer. The Voice simply repeated, "Lamp should've been a clue." Sitting in her chair again, looking at Patty, she mockingly assured her, "But don't worry. You have me. You'll always have me."

A tear slid down her cheek, Patty finally asked what she should've asked for the past two years, collapsing to her chair. "Who are you?"

Despite knowing the answer, it still stung.

The Voice tapped her chin, adjusted her pink dress, straightened her graying hair, before she said, "What was that game Bart was playing when you last saw him before you fucked your life up?... Oh well, the line goes something like, "I am thou. Thou art I." Leaning close to Patty's face, a perfect mirror, the Voice said, "And I'm all you have left."

(A/N: Yeah, Martha seems kind of random, but she's based on a character the Simpsons Wiki calls Patty Bouvier's ex-girlfriend. Won't lie, I realized what could've been problematic with my vague, probably poorly done backstory for this one-shot, and would rather not accidentally insult or offend others, even if it's only through my crappy fanfiction, so there she is. Hope you enjoyed, and take care. Lyoko498)