I won't make any promises that I can not keep-for instance, updating this story regulary. I will promise that I will try my very hardest to finish this, and maybe if I can actually finish something I started writing for once, I might be able to get back on this horse.
I haven't written anything in a long time, especially on , so forgive any technical mistakes. I also haven't watched Yu Yu Hakusho in forever, so once again, forgive any mistakes, but kindley point them out to me :)

Also, if any of you know of any good Yu Yu Hakusho fanfictions, please let me know! I have been looking for a few days, but haven't found any that tickled me!

Nightmarish Waltz

Chapter One: The Late Show With...

Ice cold droplets of water trickled down her face, as she brought herself to look in the mirror. Her skin was red from the sudden rush of frost and she dabbed away the remaining water from her porcelian skin. She sighed, gripping the edge of the grainy-white sink to keep her balance.

In other news, police are still searching for any clues regardling the mysterious robberies to befall downtown Tokyo.

She turned her head towards the open bathroom door-it would be a matter of time the Spirit Detective squad was going to be called onto the scene. Under the radar of course.

No finger prints were found at any of the crime scenes, and security cameras were interrupted...

She snapped her eyes back to the mirror. Her cloudy orbs stared back, and she leaned in until her nose touched the glass to get a better look. The white spots on her iris were getting larger. Another thing that would only be a matter of time.

"Hrm," she grimaced, and placed the thick-rimmed glasses on her face.

Forcing a pep to her step, she exited the bathroom of her 5th floor apartment in the bad part of town, and grabbed the hot tea resting on the kitchen counter. Tingles of heat played with her skin as she brought the mug to her lips.

No suspects have been named, but police assure the public they have everything under control.

She nodded her head, "Not bad..."

She walked onto the balcony with the amazing view of another highrise complex, and the apartment of a sex maniac she decided should be named Jim. Jim seemed to have no friends, but rather enjoyed the company of some shady looking females; all of whom towered above him in neon platform shoes and wore more bright red lipstick than any drag queen she'd ever seen. Jim was a short, and fat, and balding, and so typical that it made her sick to watch him tripp over these tramps, whom eyed his buldging water like a dog staring at a peice of bloodied steak. She would watch him until the light in his room went black, and then direct her attention to the single mother of three rowdy boys looking over the edge of her balcony like it was her only means of escape. Her name, Lia decided, was Fran.

But tonight, her favorite soap-opera characters were no where to be found, and she pouted unattactively as she took a seat on her wicker chair. Both apartments were dark. So, all Lia had tonight for company was the screeching sound of felines and sirens echoing from the distance.

And now, time for the Late Show with...

Already? She arched her neck and looked at the clock hanging in her apartment. The numbers looked distorted, but she was show both arms where giving the crooked 12 a hug. She leaned against the chair and sunk. The wind brushed against exposed skin, making her little hairs stand on end. A black tank top and shorts were not appropriate fall weather; but since when did she dress "appropriately."

She allowed a little smile cross her face.

He scolded her for that on her more than one occasion. High heels were not "appropriate" for a fighter, even if they were made of steel and had a hidden knife. Her armor was ill fitting, he said. What's the point of armor if your arms are exposed?

"It's too hot for sleeves," she had groaned, "and that's something coming from you! You hardly ever wear a shirt at all!"

He had some snarky response for that one...but now...her memories seemed so faded and torn, she couldn't remember...

She couldn't remember how soft his touch was...

She couldn't remember they way his face moved when he smiled...or how red it got when she called him handsome...

But it was fine, she told herself. The whole reason why she abandoned the makeshift home she built with her friends in Makai, and traded her demon life for a painfully human one in the first place-to no longer have to remember. To no longer feel the sinking sensation in her chest; as if her lungs were filling with water. Drowning from the inside. Constantly. It didn't matter where he was in Makai, she felt him. He infected her. He was in her skin, surging through her blood stream. Sometimes it was like a bricks piled on her back-pressure. Sometimes it was just...vacant, like she hadn't eaten in days.

She picked at the chipped purple nailpolish absentmidedly. In all her years, even all her defeats in battle, she never felt as weak as she did when she crossed the border into human world-and she knew he would have something snarky to say...if he was still talking to her...

The shadow that flew past her face barely captured her attention, and she snapped her head towards that other brownstone. She tensed instantly and scanned the area with her dull blue eyes. Paused.

The shh of the leaves...

The hardy rumble of a semi...
She perked her ears and tried to listen further than just the complex.

We to feel alone..

Mumbling, coming from...she looked around frantically.

The Late show with...

She sighed in relief. " Fuck me," she laughed, "Stupid T.V..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. Felt it cascade down her body. Relaxtion.

You love her more than me don't you? Because she knows what it feels like to be alone?

The stars weren't out tonight, she noted. The sky was murky; riddled with clouds that twisted and curved. Black. Just a void.

What about me? Do I not share the same feeling?

She knitted her eyebrows together. The tingling feeling of pins and needles on her feet caught her attention...

I know lonliness. You taught me well...

...then up her leg...

That was your mistake, putting all your faith in me. That isn't my problem.

Her arm felt like it weighed 100 pounds; inmmovable.

You truly haven't grown. You're as weak as you were when I met you. If you can't handle the simpliest form of abandonment...

"Fuck," she tried to shout, but all she managed to muster up was a hollowed exhale of air. She tried to will her arm to move...to smack herself across her face...but it wouldn't budge. Not even an inch. The tingling continued to crawl up her body.

If you can't handle that there are others better than you

She craned her neck to look into her apartment. The fuckin light was on when she left, but all she saw darkness. The clock read 3245. The arms melting into black pools; absorbing the whitness. The purity.

If you are so torn apart from your so-called terrible life!

With a groan, she used every muscle in her stomach to pull herself off the wicker chair. No feeling in her legs, she toppled to the floor- she hoped her eyes would open-she felt her body hit the wood with a thud. Her stomach flipped.

Then maybe you should reconsider life in the first place!

Her eyes flew open and she was staring into the bright blue sun-kissed sky. She took a sharp intake of breath, and let outa hard sigh. The rumble from her throat was welcomed. As was the feeling of her legs, and the control of her arm once again. She ran her fingers through her long black hair, and shut her eyes again. The cold wood under her was both welcomed and hated-her neck and back were tense from the fall, but the wood must have jolted her awake.

Thinking of him before falling asleep wasn't a good idea. Ever. But it was better than some of the other tricks her mind would play.

"Yeah, I know," she said outloud to no one, "I have. Trust me. I have."

The heat from the sun kissed her skin. Birds chirped loudly. Somewhere in the distance, kids were playing on the rotting jungle gym in the makeshift park in the center of the complexes. All abnormally normal. She dropped her hand from her hair and looked through the glass sliding door. The clock that hung proudly against her wall now read 8:00.

The weather is beutiful this September morning, with a high of 16 degrees celcius!

Normal.

Except for the man standing at the end of her hallway, with the axe wedged in his head...