[CONTENTID2] CHAPTER 1 [/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID1]

Another week has agonizingly passed and I’m still thinking about going into a therapy. I rub my hands together, not even flinching when the friction is hurting my scarred hands. I look at Director Jung who’s examining my report then avert my gaze to his fingers.

I cringe at the way he is holding the paper, imagining how dirty and contaminated his fingers and the paper. I bite my inner cheeks, fighting back the urge to walk out of the office to wash my hands. I shift my weight onto one foot, trying to calm myself down, trying to convince myself since this is work, I need to bear with it.

“Okay,” Director Jung said.

I nod curtly before turning my heels and walk out.

“Junmyeon, a moment please?” he calls out.

I face him and walk toward his desk. He looks up at me while offering a brown envelope.

“Can you take this to Do Kyungsoo?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir,” I take the envelope from him and exit the office.

I admit working has been difficult for me since I despise it when I am touched or I have to touch something that I deem unclean. After three months working as Director Jung’s secretary, I finally able to endure it. At first, I got weird looks from my colleague since I don’t eat or drink every time there’s a get together event but it’s nothing that I am not used to. 

I dutifully delivered the envelope to the sales department. A frown found its way to my lips as I notice a tall figure walks towards me as I settle the envelope on Do Kyungsoo’s desk. Park Chanyeol, he is the first person who greeted me when I walked into this building for my interview. Park Chanyeol is actually a decent guy sadly, he fails to comprehend the concept of personal space.

He is too touchy and I don’t like touchy people.

“Junmyeon! It’s been a while,” he beams as he lifts his arm, prompting to pat my shoulder.
“Hey, Chanyeol. How’s it going?” I reply not forgetting to take a one step back.
“Same old, same old. Hey, me and the guys are planning to—,”
“Sorry, I can’t make it,” I cut in. I do not need the continuation of that sentence.
“I am not even finished…” he looks crestfallen and I will myself not to feel bad about it.
“Sorry, Chanyeol,” I smile. “Maybe next time,”
“You always say that,” he grumbled.

I know.

“See you around then,” I wave my hand lightly at him.

I tuck my notebook into my coat pocket as the clock strikes five. After tidying up my desk, I walk out of the building, bidding goodbyes to colleagues on my way. My chest felt tight as soon as I step out of the building. People who pass by seem don’t mind when their shoulder brushes against someone else’s or how some people manage to hold hands.

How did they do that?

Let alone holding hands, I can’t even breath in ease. The air is always felt heavy and contaminated to me.

Sometimes, when the