Note: I started this story a LONG time ago. Somewhere before 2007 when it was originally published. Since then I am 're-uploading it. As of 2015, it has been revised.

Most of this will be in Kurama's POV.

Chapter One

Some people look at me, and I know they think of how odd or disgusting I am.

Some look at me with admiration, or envy.

I look at myself...and feel only disgusted disassociation. I look in the mirror as the monster grows. As I grow more grotesque no matter how much I exercise or how little I eat or what I do with myself. I don't want people to worry, because I am going to be okay. As soon as I'm okay, I'll stop...! I'm not really SURE how long it will take; I just want to be ok soon. Because once I'm alright with this body, I Will be alright with myself.

How did I get this way? I opened my eyes.I opened my eyes to the recollection of who I really am, who I continue to be. I was first filled with such disgust and anxiety, I was literally unable to drink, eat, sleep. I barely functioned. Wide-eyed, I saw myself vanish. And, such things become addictive.

Others at school tell me I should eat more, and I politely decline. But, do you know what I said in my mind? 'Why? I don't deserve it...' I am always polite, always perfect, always graceful...until I get home. Then, I become a completely different being. I scream, cut, purge myself of imaginary sin.

Usual meals consist of tea, water, coffee, oatmeal, oranges. Not all at once; I pick one, have it in the evening. I try to ignore my body. Before the binge, I cry and go into the bathroom, and spend the rest of the night there.

Once, nothing happened immediately. I tried to vomit, but all I did was gag. So, I ate more laxatives, water pills, then I went to bed in tears and fell into a fitful sleep. I awoke around two AM; a slight rumbling in my stomach. I shot up, but it was too late. I spent the rest of the night crying and cleaning up the mess I had made on the matress before my mother could come home. She was always at work during the binges. It was almost four before the evidence of my shame was cleaned, and I fell asleep on the cold tile of my bathroom.

Other times, I purged myself. It was easy once I got into routine. The first few times, nothing came up, and it hurt. Another time, there was blood, but I didn't think much of it. My glands became swollen. My knuckles were raw from the sharpness of my teeth. I fainted once when I stood in the grocery store too long. Pathetic .

Those at the stores tend to look at me because of the food I buy. Cookies, ice cream, pie. I learned after a while to buy coffee, fruit, some everyday foods to avoid the looks. Sometimes, I eat in the car on the way hone, and then go to my room, start stuffing myself. I finished a carton of ice cream and a 12 pack of cakes in minutes, then started on the chocolate pie. I looked pregnant when I was done, lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Trying like hell to soak in the comforting feeling the food brought. Sighing, I faced reality, faced the bathroom; three fingers in my throat, vomit. It was painful, 're-opening all the old blisters, But worth it. I was glad to see my insides.

After a binge like that, I usually didn't eat for days, staying after school so I can lie and say I already ate with friends when I got home to avoid dinner. My mother commented once on how thin I looked, but let it drop after that. I went to my room, locking my bathroom door, and I stripped in front of my mirror.

One day, I tried to expel, but nothing came up. I couldn't figure out why. After a few tries, I gave up, swallowed a random cleaning product. Stupid? Yes. But effective. I was vomiting for over an hour.

Mother overheard me rarely, But I had to lie, saying I was sick. It was really quite funny; I loved her, and always tried to be perfect. And yet, here I felt hardly a twinge of regret when lying straight to her face. She checked my forehead, saying I didn't have a fever. She made me stay home from school that day. I spent that day in bed, constantly getting up and down, doing sit ups and feeling sick. I was sore and dizzy.

Mother went to work, so she didn't know any of it. I didn't eat, lay upon my bed, staring at the ceiling with one arm over my stomach. I put a hand over it and softly pinched the flesh of my belly.

I haven't eaten in three days. My stomach hurts, but somehow it makes me glad. I look in the mirror. I see the dark circles under my eyes; how tired I look. Once emerald, they are a green now, very dull green. I heard my mother talking to my stepfather last night;.she was crying, talking about how she 'didnt know what to do with me'. What does she mean? I'm okay...

I'm feeling dizzy...I think I need to lie down. As soon as I hit the bed, my body begins to feel heavy. I curl up in a ball, clutching my abdomen and shivering; it feels cold now. I look over my window, seeing it wasn't open and the heater was on as well; I don't know how it could be cold. Perhaps I was ill? I'll have to take vitamin C tablets tomorrow.

I'm sitting in school, but the letters on the board seem to dance before my eyes. I can hear what the other boys laugh at me, as they do in gym when the dizzy spells come on again. 'Pussy' they say. Well, I may be weakened, but at least I'm not sitting, becoming a bovine...

My throat hurts from the times I've vomited. I've downed syrup of ipecac. Not one of my better moments; I was up puking for hours, my throat burning and I felt like my insides were on fire. I couldn't sleep; my head throbbed, my vision blurred. I felt like I would die. Mother noticed; I told her I was sick and she believed me. Loveable woman, she really is. I'm glad she's so trusting. I don't know what I would do if she found out. It's detestable, how easily I lie...

"Kurama?" I look up, motions slower than usual, to look into the concerned Brown eyes of Keiko. My cheeks heat up as I realize the whole group looks like that except for Hiei...they've been trying to get my attention. Damn. I smile, apologize, the brunette handing me something in a can and telling me I should drink it. I open it, pretend, set it down.

"Mr. Minamino!" I look to the front of the room, away from the window, to see my teacher standing, an impatient look on his face as he stands directly beside my desk. He cranes his neck to where I'd been facing; "Tell me, what is so interesting about the sky, Minamino?" he asks, "Why there's not even a cloud!" the class snickers, and I resist the urge to glare death at them. "Nothing sir," I keep my own impatience out of my voice, "I'm just a bit tired. Please, continue your lecture." I hoped that's what he had been doing.

Of course, I'm wrong. They snicker behind their hands, some outright laugh, and I'm surprised to find that I am neither embarrassed nor angry; in fact, I don't feel anything. "Mister Minamino," he sighs, "I asked if you have finished the report." I close my eyes; I'd never started it. "I'll take that as a no," he looks at me oddly, tells me to see him after class.

The room piles out, a particular group of boys whom I'd never cared for pointing and laughing, others made a strange 'ooooh' sound; the kind teenagers make when someone is in trouble. It's ridiculous; something I have no patience for. My teacher gestures to the chair in front of his desk and I sit down, my spine straight as I try not to show any emotion. "You've been acting strange lately," he says to me, the earlier harshness gone, "is there-" He glares at the door, which is open a bit, and the person on the other side slams it. He shakes his head, turning back to me, "Is there anything you need to talk about?"

Talk about? Such as my mother being married to a man I hate? That she has a stepson whom she adores and is devoted to? My first father is forgotten, fading away while a new man takes his place in the photos? Should we talk about how everything is falling apart and there's nothing I can do to fix myself?

"No sir," I shrug, "there's nothing to say..."