When Junhong was too young to remember, he was given up for adoption to a wealthy family since his own parents were too debt-ridden to care for him themselves. His new parents, Mr. and Mrs. Choi, raised him like any other child-- a normal life. That is, until Junhong turned fourteen. Upon returning to the lavish mansion after a stressful day at school, Junhong proceeded as usual. He locked the front door behind him, placed his shoes neatly in the cupboard to his right, walked a circle in the entrance hall to ensure everything was orderly as he saw it, then hurried to the kitchen to wash his hands and make himself a snack. After his normal 'cleanliness inspection' was complete, he retired to his room and began studying vigorously for his high-school admission. An hour passed. Two hours passed. When his parents failed to make their regular visit to his room to ask about school, Junhong grew listless and left his room to go find them himself. 

After sauntering down the blue-carpeted hallway to the staircase adorned with a painting of a vase full of arranged lillies, roses, orchids and irises, Junhong descended the stairs toward his parents' bedroom. He made his way through the living room, which smelled strongly of cigar smoke and champagne, then turned into the kitchen. He was startled as he stepped onto the hardwood floor, as his bare foot was met with a cold strip of metal. He bent to pick up the knife which was mislain across the floor, then furrowed his brows when he found a shattered wine glass lying not far from it. His heart began to pound, as he had never seen anything so suspicious in his fifteen years of pampered, primped living. How had he not heard the clatter of a falling knife or shattering glass?

Upon clearing the knife and broken glass out of his way, as he was accustomed to doing due to his obsession with cleanliness. Junhong proceeded to wash his hands, then walked carefully through the laundry room, which smelled strongly of the unmistakable scent of bleach. His stomach turned slightly, but he pushed forward and entered the dining hall. 

His heart sunk to the pit of his queasy stomach. 

Blood drenched the cloth atop the table and dripped onto the marble floor beneath. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand and inched his way toward the mess on weak legs. As if he had been struck in the chest with a sledgehammer, his heart caused his entire body to ache in beats, and with every breath the pain worsened. There before him on the floor was his mother, mutilated beyond recognition to a coroner; very, very dead. Tears streamed from Junhong's eyes and he backed up slowly, until he felt a sharp pain pierce his ribcage and shoot fire throughout his entire body. He cried out, but his voice was muffled by a hot and sweaty hand. Not only did he begin to panic from the sudden appearance of said hand, but the sweat that he tasted was causing him to shake from sickness. Junhong quickly fell unconscious. 

When he awoke, a searing pain in his back caused him to groan. He whimpered pathetically and forced himself upright. He saw the dried blood on his hands and the bed which was he was lying on, and nearly vomitted. The deep voice behind him instilled self-control and he slowly turned to see his father standing in the doorway. Tears filled Junhong's eyes as he saw the man with scruffy facial-hair and a knife in one hand.  Beneath the rugged facial hair, Mr. Choi donned a sneer.

"Your mother would be so ashamed of you, Junhong," he growled. "Sniveling like a baby, making a mess, committing suicide..." Junhong's heart raced and he slowly inched off of the bed. "It's a shame she tortured you into it, then killed herself... damn shame." He uttered a low chuckle before advancing on Junhong with drunken rage.
Though Junhong tried, he was not nearly as strong as his father, and was forced into the basement where he was bound and gagged. Every moment of torment led Junhong to one verdict-- he would kill himself before his father could. Mr. Choi redressed himself and left Junhong writhing on the floor, then spat on the boy before ascending the stairs and locking the door. Junhong could barely move, but he managed to pull himself to his feet and grip a long knife from the table his father lined with weapons, ropes, bleach... and he plunged the knife deep into his chest, managing to maneuver the blade between his ribs and into his lung. 

"Junhong, you can wake up now." Junhong sat up and looked at his doctor with a tear-stained face. "You can go back to your room now. We know all we need to arrest your father." Junhong stood stiffly and quickly left the room before releasing a sigh. After telling that story many, many times, and recalling the gruesome memories over and over...  he was tired. So very tired. 

(OCD, Depression, anxiety-onset from PTSD.)