PART I. "Obsessions."

"You never told me what it was that made you strong and what it was that made you weak."

— Marina Diamandis.

Beep.

You don't need to eat that.

Beep.

Why are you buying that?

Beep.

You're already fat.

Beep.

What, are you feeding a family of ten or is this all for you?

"Your total's on the screen, ma'am."

I turned my body towards the bags, sliding the packaged ground beef across the scanner. It seemed to be the only healthy option on this woman's grocery list. She handed me the money warily, unnerved at the sight of my hair. I hurried the transaction so I could continue bagging what I assumed was her nasty dinner for the night.

"Why did you dye your hair that color?" The woman finally spat out her question that she'd been dying to ask since she approached the other side of the conveyor belt. "Your parents let you?"

I stared at her pudgy stomach as I replied, handing her change. "Because I wanted to."

She glowered at me as she opened her palm beneath mine, and I dropped the coins into her hand.

I could have said: "Why did you let yourself become so goddamn fat? Your kids let you? Oh, they probably died of starvation from you eating all the food."

But I needed this job.

With my acceptance into Meiou High and my counseling appointments, my parents were struggling with finances. Dad worked construction, which paid well when there wasn't a stack of bills on the family desk, and Mom worked at a restaurant, cleaning tables, washing dishes, and prepping food. My counselor suggested that since I needed a part-time job, I should do something revolving around food. I figured a grocery store was a better option than a restaurant, but the self-loathing was still only growing. Being around food, stocking shelves, having time to read the nutrition labels… I was pretty sure the intention backfired. The growling of my stomach was such a victory now.

The idea was to "face my demons," as if the carrots in aisle one had a personal vendetta against me. Idiot. All it had taught me was think of better ways to hide my actions. The hardest part was making the act believable, because I didn't enjoy my parents having to pay for my counseling appointments. It was just another strain on us. To be fair, I was doing better. I told myself this daily. I didn't have a feeding tube shoved down my throat; I wasn't in inpatient; I was recovering. I was, I was, I was.

In fact, I ate breakfast and lunch today. Dinner, though... I hadn't had the time yet. But I think two meals were enough for now. Even if they were unrealistically portioned and my counselor didn't see it as improvement... I thought it was improvement. I ate. Why wasn't that seen as enough?

I ate 701 calories... 701 disgusting calories.

That's improvement.

The woman stepped aside with her groceries and the next customer stepped up. I avoided eye contact as I began ringing up the next person's load.

"Oh, my," the woman gasped. Her palm flew up to her face, covering her mouth. "Aiko!"

My eyes drifted up to my next customer. I found Minamino, Shiori, and her son, my strange, red-headed classmate, next to her. I guess I couldn't call his hair strange anymore, considering my new color.

She smiled, covering up her surprise. "When did you dye your hair?"

I let Natsume pay for it… I mean, she offered.

"This morning," I replied, continuing to push her groceries along the scanner. The electronic sound turned rhythmic against our conversation.

Shiori went grocery shopping every Thursday night, arriving in the store at six o'clock. I sometimes saw her on other days as well, when she forgot a special ingredient needed for a meal. Since I was only part-time, I didn't know if she had a routine any other day, but I managed to see her every Thursday evening. She was sociable and sweet, always talking to me while I rang her up. She often talked about school, what interested me, and what universities I wanted to attend. At times, she would bring up her son, even if he hadn't accompanied her; she talked to me about him as if he and I were friends. I didn't have the heart to tell her we weren't. She was motherly, a maternal aura radiated from her. After a few months of conversing, she'd become one of the few customers I didn't silently chastise.

"It looks lovely," she smiled, digging in her purse as the total continued to rise. "It's almost… white."

"Yeah…" My attempt at bleaching it last night ruined my already frail hair. "The hair stylist did something with it. I was going for platinum blonde."

I had royally fucked up my hair the other night while bleaching it in a… moment of high emotions. It had turned a sickly yellow, and I was worried if I bleached it again, I would turn bald. Luckily, the hairdresser managed to save me. School had ended hours ago and Shiori was the first person to compliment me. Few acknowledged the new color, and when it was noticed, it was merely surprise. It was reassuring to have a compliment.

"Well, I think it's a nice change." She leaned closer, eyeing my hair. A smile pushed to my lips as I began bagging her groceries. "I especially like how it looks a bit silver in the right lighting."

Demurely, shyly, I thanked her, and then get my gaze on her son. I wouldn't see anyone else from school tonight, so now was my only chance to ask about the first few classes. It would worry Shiori, but I figured I'd rather know what I missed.

"By the way." I turned to face the Minamino boy. "I was absent in class, did I miss anything special?"

Shiori's gaze turned from the total on the screen towards me, concerned.

"I just wasn't feeling good this morning," I reassured her.

I was actually at the salon. I was mortified over my hair and couldn't bring myself to step outside my room. Luckily, Natsume had offered to pick me up and wanted to ditch class. Once she had seen the result of my breakdown, and laughed about it, we headed to the salon.

"Lecture notes and the lab assignments will be due tomorrow." He was always polite, though curt.

We didn't interact much outside of moments like this. We had class together, but he was fairly aloof and quietly standoffish. He was polite and cordial, every other girl at Meiou's dream boy, but he held himself at a distance from others. At most, we acknowledged each other, maybe a greeting or a nod, and continued with our lives. I assumed the only reason he acknowledged me was because I knew Shiori. Knowing her, she likely brought me up enough at dinner time for him to feel obligated to say hello.

"Thanks." I set the large paper bags up on the counter and took Shiori's payment.

"How are you feeling now?" I had to be careful in answering her; she seemed like the doting type. The type to call the authorities or try to tell my parents. Though I liked Shiori, I had learned to keep my mouth shut around adults. She was no different.

I forced a healthy smile. "I'm fine."

I saw the Minamino boy's smirk from my peripheral. He'd overheard my answers to some of the classmates from this afternoon, who had asked the same question. I had to admit, the real answer was more amusing. Shiori knew nothing and I intended to keep it that way.

"Will I see you next week?" Shiori breathed carefully as she lifted up one of the bags, and her boy picked up the other two. She was still 'under the weather,' just as she had been last week, and the week before that… She heaved the bag against her chest as she coughed into her free hand. "Same shift as always?"

Her voice was raspy, and I waited to see if phlegm would fly on her balled fist. Perhaps it was just a cold.

"Of course." I waved them away with such a forced smile my cheeks hurt within seconds. After they left my bubble of personal space, the same rhythmic tune began chiming again as the next batch of groceries traveled towards me and over the scanner. The monotonous beeping, the chinging from the register, the amount of garbage that passed by my eyes, the shuffling from the paper bag…

Nine o'clock couldn't come any faster.

I wasn't sure if repetition was a good thing. Wake up, school, work, homework, sleep, repeat. I talked to the same people every day, did the same thing every day. I exhaled, watching smoke pour into the air around me, and I was only a tad bit guilty about going back on my vow of quitting. It was just one puff anyways.

The crisp spring night was refreshing; it almost made up for the boring shift.

I stopped to drop the cigarette butt on the ground and dragged it along the cement under my shoes. I dug in my satchel for the heavy scented lotion to mask the smell of tobacco and other vague chemicals to help me air out before arriving home. I rubbed the lotion over my neck and hands, wiping some residue on my coat's cuffs. Obviously, I would still reek, but airing out a few blocks before home and letting the lotion settle had worked before and it seemed to work still. My parents just assumed the strange smell was the lotion itself, and I wasn't going to correct them.

Ah, that was routine too.

The only slight changes in my routine days were the minuscule details that didn't matter much anymore. New interactions, new subjects to talk about, and new sections of textbooks to read. New restrictions… They blended in far too easily; the weeks still passed by with ease. It was boring, which was why I took up the upperclassmen's invitation yesterday to traipse around town.

Anything new, even just sitting in a salon for almost five hours fixing my hair, was something better. Maybe that was why I went through with bleaching my hair yesterday and having it fixed at the salon. It was a change, a break from repetition. But then, I returned to my mundane schedule after lunch when we returned to campus. Even this large jacket I had to wear was repetition; I was sensitive to the cold. I even wore thigh high socks clumped on my calves because it was the only way to relieve myself from the chill.

My thighs were the thickest part of my body; I didn't think they needed any covering since their fat could suffice as a natural warmer.

Boring, boring, boring.

What else hadn't I done in routine today…?

Oh, crap! I forgot to tell Kitajima I wasn't showing up to the book store today. She had an interest in science fiction comics and the sort, while I tended to navigate towards shojo romances and detective stories. But regardless of our interests, we enjoyed talking about our favorite comics together. I grimaced as I rounded the corner into my apartment complex, hoping she didn't think I was blowing her off. They scheduled me an hour earlier at the store and I wasn't going to turn down the offer for more hours.

I shoved the thought of her aside, promising myself I would find her tomorrow and apologize. I rounded the corner to my apartment complex, and found myself slowly stopping in confusion. At the sight, I wondered if I should ask for more counseling appointments.

At first, I figured the boy was practicing a magic trick as he floated a foot of the ground—some type of illusion, a trick of the eye—but his translucent frame tipped me off. He was a ghost. Oh, no. He floated in front of an apartment, peering inside through the window, as if he were watching over someone. His hands were shoved in his green school uniforms pockets, and I tried to place the uniform to a school. Mom said there was a funeral here the other day; it must have been for him.

Before I could turn my gaze away, his chocolate brown eyes flickered over to catch mine. I cursed under my breath and averted my eyes. I had to pretend as if I didn't see him. I should have learned not to stare at ghosts after Grandpa's funeral.

"Oi!" The green uniformed boy floated after me. "You can see me?!"

I didn't often see ghosts around town, floating freely. Most of them were in hospitals or inside their homes, usually where they had passed away. It took me off guard to see one out in the open. Ignoring him, I remained quiet as I walked past him, heading towards my apartment. The last thing I needed was a ghost to follow me around. As nosy as I was, and as much as I'd love to know why they're still lingering around, ghosts were trouble more often than not. Three doors down from his, I paused at my apartment and began fishing out my keys.

"Oi!"

I opened my apartment door and slammed it behind me, a sign for him to go away.

With a deep breath, I prepared myself and called out to my father and brother. "I'm home!"

I dug my finger into the back of my shoes, one at a time, taking them off, as my mother soon rounded the corner. She had felt the slam of the door rattle the floorboard, and she bore a bright smile. I knew it was only a matter of time until… Her jaw dropped as she saw my hair. Her sharp gasp carried into the living room, prompting my father to come see the matter.

"Aiko!" His eyes darted about my face, then to my hair, where they stayed glued. "When did you find time to do this?"

"This morning before school."

My parents left early to work every day, leaving my able to slip out of the house this morning without being questioned. My eyes drifted to my mother's hands, watching them sign quickly. Her signing was aggressive, fingers moving as lividly as I imagined her voice would have been.

"What is wrong with you?! Your hair was just fine before!"

My mother was born deaf and she was an exceptional lip reader.

"Because I like it." I signed only to emphasize, to let her know I was addressing her as well as my father.

She exchanged a wary glance with my father, knowing they both just messed up in my counselor's book. They knew to be careful with my self-esteem and expression. The boring, light brown hair I received from my mother wasn't fine before. And despite the lack of compliments I received on my new color, I still liked it. Their lack of consoling, backtracking words allowed me to walk past them into the hallway. I could only give them time to make up some try-hard lie to boost my confidence.

Entering the room I shared with my little brother, who was sound asleep, I stared down at the five-year old. I watched a small snot bubble grow and shrink as he breathed.

"Oi!" I whipped around in fright at the voice, jumping off the ground to meet brown eyes once more. "I know you see me!"

"Tch." I crossed my arms, unable to deny the fact now, and watched as he floated in my room through the window. I hissed, keeping my voice low. "What do you want?"

I didn't need my father to hear me and think I was having a psychotic break.

"You're the only one that can see me." He crossed his arms and legs, floating around my room.

"So?"

"They're cremating my body tomorrow."

"That's... cool?" I shrugged, not understanding what he wanted.

"And I'm trying to come back to life!" He raised his voice as if that notion wasn't completely obvious to me.

I ignored his outburst and side glanced to my little brother, wondering if he could hear, but he remained undisturbed.

"...Okay?" I couldn't take him seriously.

"Look, I've tried to communicate with people through their dreams but I don't think it's worked." He flew up closer to me. "Would you do me a favor?"

Through dreams? How late was it? I glanced to the clock above my desk, finding it to be closer to eleven. Oh, I must have taken my sweet time getting home. I looked back to the boy floating in my room.

"Maybe." I became wary, wondering again if I should make an appointment with my counselor. Maybe I was hallucinating or something. I'd never actually talked to any of the ghosts I'd seen, I avoided them.

"Can you just tell my mom not to cremate my ass? My heart in my body's still beating and I'm coming back soon."

I snorted, continuing to whisper. "Yeah, I'll just walk up to a random person and go 'so, look, your dead son's ghost is harassing me to tell you not to cremate him. Cool, thanks for believing me, bye.'"

"Yeah." The simple look on his face was almost priceless, but I was still annoyed with the situation.

"Okay, look. You're not coming back. You're dead." I couldn't understand why he thought he could come back. What was wrong with him? "I'm not going to entertain this."

"Gah!" He ruffled his hair in annoyance as he rolled around in the air, but his hair stayed intact with only a few strands coming out of place. He either had industrial gel or used too much. Maybe it was a ghost thing. When I died, I hoped my hair stayed fabulous. He reached in his pocket, pulling out a small golden egg. Like him, the egg glowed, polished. "Look, this thing's going to hatch someday! And when it does, I'll be able to jump back into my body."

"Yeah, I'm going to make an appointment with my counselor…" I turned to leave my room, but his body floated in front of me again.

Normally, I'd be knee-deep in his asshole about this situation. (Why should I believe you? Who said you can come back to life? Why do you, of all people, get to come back to life? What's that egg for? What will hatch from it? What does its hatching have to do with your resurrection? What's in the afterlife? Is there a heaven and hell? Etc. etc. etc.) But I was more preoccupied with the fact I was talking to a ghost, something that was not a daily routine. I avoided ghosts ever since Grandpa's funeral, and this conversation was strange. Stranger a conversation than what I'd expect to talk to a ghost about.

"Okay, forget the egg! All you have to do is say something and walk off," he reassured me.

I sighed, wondering how embarrassing it would become if I actually followed through with this, but I entertained his feelings. "You expect whoever I'm telling to just believe me?"

"I'll help you out if they don't believe you."

"You can't even seem to help yourself, that's why you're here asking me for help." My arms crossed defensively, and a staring match ensued.

To my surprise, he backed down, a calm expression on his face once more. "She's drunk so if things get bad she probably won't remember."

"Then she won't remember even if she does believe me."

With each passing second, with each comeback I provided, his determination was sinking and cracking, turning into anxiety. His determination was contagious, swaying me to believe what he preached. He truly believed he could come back. Someone let him in on a secret you're only told in the afterlife.

"You sure she's drunk?"

He nodded, brown eyes alight with confidence and hope. With another deep breath, I pushed all rational out of my mind and walked through him. I left my room quietly, slipping down the hallway to not draw any attention to myself. As I approached the living room, closer to the kitchen, the smell of spices and meat wafted my way. I peeked around the corner, finding my parents signing to each other about my hair while they reheated dinner for me. My father caught sight of me before I could slip by.

"Aiko." My father's voice carried to me from where he stood in the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"Out for some air." I peeked around the corner again.

After maybe a minute of eyeing my facial structure, he sighed. "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

"I'll be back," I promised, though I wasn't in the mood to entertain food.

"You're eating with us?" He was only asking for reassurance as I walked across the living room, where my parents slept.

Their futons were spread out in front of the TV, ready for them to knock out on after we finished the tidying the kitchen.

"Yeah." I noticed his eyes following my feet, becoming relieved to see I was only wearing socks.

I closed the front door and the boy floated next to me, finding me from my room. I figured my parents were watching me out of curiosity as I walked away, so I waited until I was a safe distance away from the window.

"What's your name, hair gel?"

"Urameshi, Yusuke."

"Hojo, Aiko."

I'd lived here for years and had never crossed paths with this boy, and the surprising part was that he lived three doors down from me. Maybe I had only seen him once or twice, or maybe I had seen him every day and never acknowledged the occurrence. I stopped at his apartment door, hesitant.

"Maybe we should try Keiko's house again, instead," he grumbled, musing to himself.

"You sure she's drunk?" I was beginning to regret agreeing to this; rationale was making its way back into my head. They'd put me in the loony bin if this person didn't believe me. Back to inpatient, here I go.

"Yeah," he grumbled some more, pondering. I worked up the courage to ring the doorbell before I realized how stupid this was.

"And she's pretty pissed now, too." He held up three fingers as he looked down at me, his body bobbed slightly as he floated. "Gonna be like that for a while. At least three days."

My eyes snapped up to him, fury painting my face. My heart beat fast, pumping adrenaline to my legs—I was ready to leave. Dealing with a bereaved, angry drunk could land me in the hospital from assault. Rationale blossomed in my head and I turned to leave, realizing how stupid I was to agree to this. As I turned on my heels, the door opened, spilling light over me in the dark complex.

Shit.

I gingerly found myself turning around, heart thumping wildly in embarrassment. A scared, wide-eyed woman, who reeked of watered-down beer, emerged from the other side of the door. She stared down at me, as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"Who're you?" She looked nervous.

"I… uh." I froze. Oh my god, she was going to think I was insensitive and crazy and rude and horrible and oh, my god. Why did I even agree to this?

"Atsuko!" A young girl's voice broke my rising anxiety and a young, brunette girl with pig tails barged between us.

"Keiko?" The woman's attention turned to the girl, and I had never been more thankful for someone interrupting me.

"Atsuko, listen! Yusuke, he's—"

"Yusuke!" Keiko paused and stared at Atusko, curious what the older woman had found out. "I was going to give him one last punch to the face, and when I opened the casket his cheeks were still red. And his heart—it's beating!"

Jaw agape, shock taking hold of me, I stumbled off the porch. Keiko's face flushed with tears as Atsuko collapsed into the youth's arms, sobbing loudly. I inched away from them and roamed my eyes around the complex, looking for Urameshi. I found him hovering above us, over the complex, watching over the two women in his life.

I continued quietly moving away, hoping to leave before being noticed. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough, and Atsuko's red-rimmed eyes glanced over to me, remembering my presence. The dim porch light colored the women a soft, pale yellow, illuminating their tear stained faces in a way to rival Urameshi's glow. I stared down at them, embarrassed, unsure. Maybe they would believe me, if Urameshi's dream communication worked, if he was really coming back to life. He was coming back to life.

I fidgeted, hands finding their way to my arms, rubbing them in an attempt to comfort myself. It was only spring, but the night air was chilly; I wasn't sure if it was what I'd witnessed, or the cold air, that gave me goosebumps.

All I could muster was the sentence I'd originally planned on saying. "He said to not cremate his ass."

A/N: This will be a relatively long fanfiction. I mainly go off the manga, as it's my preference and also easily accessible for me. I plan to write everything for a reason, whether for character development or furthering the plot. That being said, I'm very much aware Aiko is a huge - and, at times, insufferable - brat. I intend to develop her deeply and have her grow into a completely new person with everything I put her through. I hope you enjoy watching her growth. I also hope you enjoy the plot I spin, which starts peeking out halfway through this story.

If you do end up enjoy my writing, feel free to drop by my tumblr: lithiumflowersyyh. I'd love to see you around.

Along the way, I'd really love to hear your thoughts. Please feel free to drop a review at any time. It means the world to me.