"I never agreed to this!" I got up from the dinner table after pushing my dinner plate away. I was furious, furious at everything that was happening to me. The woman right in front of me, she didn't even have one tinge of remorse for doing this to me. 

How could she?

Aunt Tiffany looked at me with the expression she gave whenever she was in a dilemma, she always did that to make me feel bad for her. It worked occasionally. "It's the best decision for you, Mark," she said in a pained tone. "If I had other alternatives, I wouldn't have decided for you to go to Larson House."

I scoffed, "Oh, so you're just gonna listen to some pathetic doctor and send me off to some hospice outside town?"

"Mark, you're-"

"I'M NOT SICK!" I raised my voice, silence filled the empty spaces after that. Aunt Tiffany was sad at my behaviour, but her gaze was set. She was one hundred percent sure I was ill, that I was going crazy. 

She sighed, "That's what every sick person says. Your condition needs serious medical attention, Mark and I'm not a doctor. It's my fault you're like this, I failed your mother once and I don't want to fail her twice. You need to go."

I knew there was no way out of this, but I still couldn't believe it. "Now you're bringing up my mom to coax me? God, how desperate are you to kick me out of the house?"

"Mark, you know it's not like that!" now she stood up. "Before she died, her last words were that I was responsible for making sure that you're alright. I don't want you away from me either, but you need medical attention away from the city."

"No, I don't."

"Mark," she marched up to me. "You're going and that's final."

"Says who?"

"Mark, please-" and she tried to grab my hand.

"NO!" I jerked away frantically, and soon I felt like rushing into the kitchen and give my arm a good cleansing. I felt like a burn mark was engraved on me already. I felt contaminated, I was turning numb. "D-don't touch me."

She sighed again, "Can't you see, Mark? I can't even come close to you, I can't even touch you-" and she gave up by looking away, I knew she was reminescing the time she was called by the school board to collect me after I had succumbed to suffocation, and that was after I had stopped screaming in the bathroom. The other boys were freaked out after watching me scrubbing my arms with soap until my skin was starting to turn red. The teachers dragged me to the counseling room, and I had started screaming from the grabbing and contact. 

It was horrible. 

"I'll get better, I swear," I croaked. "Just don't send me away, I'm begging you." 

There was a long silence, I realized Aunt Tiffany was starting to cry and she was trying her best to hold back from breaking down. I hated to disappoint her, and now she was viewing me as someone so vulnerable when I wasn't, when I was perfectly fine. 

"Pack your stuff and go to bed, we're driving by seven in the morning tomorrow." and she her heel and ran towards her room, slammed the door and left everything else on the table. Solemnly, I returned to my bedroom. On my bed was my empty luggage cases, now I understood the reason Aunt Tiffany cleaned up the attic the other day, she was getting my stuff out before I knew it. 

I was so frustrated I screamed until I sank to the ground and leaned against my bedroom door (banged my head on it a few times) until I gave up on being angry at myself and at her and the world. I was blinking back tears and thought about the state I was in, I already felt uncomfortable just thinking about going to that forsaken sickhouse in the woods, away from familiarity and connection - and phones. I had to talk to people I didn't know, the doctors would obviously want me to 'make friends' when I didn't need any. I was doing perfectly fine on my own, as long as I was away from a crowd. 

This wasn't fair. 

"Welcome to Larson House, Mr Lee!" the house manager, Mr Joe greeted me and my aunt at the front steps. He was a man in his early fourties, in khakis and an ugly christmas sweater when it wasn't christmas yet, and he looked like someone who was very fond of hugs. That already sent me dreading. He offered his hand, and I eyed it cautiously. Then he seemed to recall something and pulled it away, "Sorry about that, I know you're not the touchy type." and he laughed at his own joke, it wasn't funny. "But don't worry, Miss Hwang, we'll fix him up in a jiffy while he's here."

"I hope so," she glanced at me wearily. "Can I talk to him for a minute?" and she led me away. Her hands were awkwardly positioned at her sides, as if she was struggling to not either hold my hand or just give me a hug. She knew I would lash out, and I didn't want her to feel that way. "Are you still mad at me? If you am, I understand, Mark."

"You said this was the best way to fix things, then it is," I murmured. "We'll see how much difference it makes when I come back, probably 'cured' of my 'sickness'."

I wondered if she knew I was being sarcastic, nonetheless she nodded, "I'll visit whenever I can, okay?" It was doubtful, since she was already so busy with work. And like that she returned to the car and drove off, while she waved her hand goodbye. 

"Bye..." I murmured, and wondered if I'll actually get to see her soon. 

"Come on scout, let's get you settled in." Mr Joe said before leading me up the steps. Larson House was this big old mansion, the type in you'd expect to be owned by descendants of old landlords, now repainted with oak brown paint and decorated with varieties of flowers and bushes at the front yard. He explained Larson House wasn't only limited to the house, but the whole plot of land was part of its property. There were a few horses kept at the backyard in stables, a mini orchard was set up available for collecting fruits all-day-long, even a library and music room were built in case the people got bored. How fun.

"You know scout, kids who get sent here are not sick, they just need some time off away from a hectic life," and he tapped his temple. "This needs some time off too." and he chuckled. When was anyone going to tell this man his jokes were not funny? 

"You'll be with the right people here, with the support you need and professionals to help you along the road of recovery," he continued. "Everyone here is friendly, they'll welcome you with open arms and you should try to let them know you too. Ah Benji!" he whistled at a boy in spectacles, he was so skinny there was hardly any muscle to him. He almost looked ghostly if he wasn't smiling. "Why don't you bring Mark here around the house, make him at home?"

"Sure, Mr Joe," he said, and Mr Joe left down the next corridor. He waved at a few other teens running down the hall, he laughed again. Benji laughed, "Mr Joe's a very positive person, mind you."

"I can see that." I remarked. 

"Hi, Benji Pekings," he held out his bony hand. "officially a Larson resident for a year now." He noticed I wasn't accepting his handshake or his enthusiasm, "Oh, so you're the guy Dr Niel has been talking about!"

I frowned, "Who?"

"The head doctor who stays here, he keeps us all in check," he replied as we walked to the dorms on the second floor. "He didn't say much, only about a newcomer with a rare condition, I'm pretty sure he meant you."

I was still confused, "What 'rare condition'?"

"Haphephobia," he said it like it was something I knew. "Fear of physical contact? Mark Lee, you seriously don't know what's your illness?"

There goes another person saying I was sick. "Why is everyone saying it like it's a big deal? I just don't like people getting their hands on me, that's all."

"Yeah, and that's a problem," he said as-a-matter-of-fact. "Everyone who first arrives thinks their illness isn't a big deal, that's why we - you, need help."

I eyed him, "I guess I should ask what's your problem?"

"Anorexia nervosa and mental breakdown, double diagnosis so yeah," he said sheepishly. "I'm getting better though, recovering in time. I thought it wasn't that bad, until I was hospitalized after second semester exams, I got a B in Calculus so I pretty much had an on-the-spot breakdown before passing out. It was messy, I'll tell you that." we reached the hallway of dormrooms, of boys hollering and fist-bumping each other. Great, I thought, now I had to face all these people and avoid getting touched by them.

"So don't you get mental breakdowns? Panic attacks maybe?" he asked. 

I hesitated, "Sometimes, but I don't really remember most of it. Maybe it's not that serious."

He rolled his eyes, "That's what everyone says too when they first learn about it, trust me you'll know you're wrong soon enough. Here's your room." and he knocked on the door. "Hey, Donghyuck?" he rolled his eyes when no one answered. He knocked harder this time, "Donghyuck? Come on and open the door!"

The door slammed open and a boy appeared with his big- headphones, lip-syncing and singing verses of Michael Jackson in between, using his Febreeze bottle as a microphone. "Thriller! Thriller now!" he sang off-key. 

"Cut it out," Benji told him off. "Mark, this is Donghyuck. Donghyuck, Mark Lee. You two will be roommates, so how's that?"

"Hmm, I guess this 'marks' the start of our friendship?" he joked about. I already felt uncomfortable. He raised his eyebrows, "I thought it was funny? No?"

"Funny for you, I guess..." I muttered. 

"Wow, and he really has no jams." Donghyuck said. "So what's his diagnosis? No jam syndrome? Depression?"

"A bad case of haphephobia." Benji answered. 

He frowned and scratched his head, "I'm sorry, I don't really recall all the terms the doctors toss around in their talks. What the hell is that?"

"Fear of physical contact," he continued. "You'll learn more about it soon in support group, plus you can talk to each other about it. Make him feel better."

Another way to make me cringe, making me feel better when I felt fine. 

"I'll leave you two alone, see you guys at dinner." and he closed the door behind him. 

I was left alone with Lee Donghyuck, who didn't seem interested on leaving me alone. He grinned as he looked at me, "So you don't like people touching you? Does that include the figurative stand-point?"

He was asking nonsense questions, I hated small talk. "Like do you get seizures if someone taps your shoulder? Or do you just scream your head off? Because you look like a person who doesn't react to much. By the way, how did your parents feel when they had to send you here-"

"Do you have to ask so many questions?" I snapped. He was bemused.

He shrugged, "Just curious, that's all. I thought bringing up parents warmed hearts and brought people closer."

"Well too bad I don't have any parents to talk about." and I turned away to unpack. As I lay out my stuff across the mattress, I could hear him talking from behind. "Hey, do you like the Beatles? Is that Ed Sheeran? Can I borrow your mp3 sometimes? Your playlist sounds pretty diverse to me. Are you more of a rap guy or vocal guy?" 

"Oh boy," I groaned before plugging in my earphones and pressing play on the music. It blocked his annoying presence out, and that was a relief. Suddenly when I felt like he wasn't talking anymore, I paused NSYNC and turned around. He was no longer there, probably got up and left after he realized I wasn't interested at starting a conversation.

The food was bland, plain porridge. They served us mineral water they called skyjuice and fresh fruit (digusting kiwis) with Mr Joe, whom I came to learn that everyone affectionately calls him Doc - serving as head of the table of thirty or so teenagers. They all came in different colors and sizes, some gawky and ghostly but managing painful smiles, some were pretty much content as they dug in their food. 

It felt like I was surrounded with not-so-dead ghosts. 

"So who's gonna be in the next group conversation?" he asked as he ate. A few people raised up their hands, I was supposed to do the same but for some reason I had refused to follow suit. He knew it and pointed at me with his spoon, "That includes you, Mark Lee. By the way I'd like to officially welcome our new member, Mark Lee everyone!" The table of teens responded with clapping and whistling. I was dreading if my face had already turned red in embarassment. 

"So where're you from, Mark?" a girl asked.

"We hope you like it here!" the person next to me also said.

"Don't give up fighting, mate!" 

I couldn't stand all the encouragements, it was driving me up the walls. Things got even more worse during support group, when a total of ten of us were rounded in a circle in the living room with Doc being the group leader as he sat in a century-old armchair. 

"How about we start with storytelling?" he optioned. "Let's start with Amarie, shall we?"

There was Amarie who was bulimic, Ilhoon with bipolar disorder, Brooke who had OCD and a double diagnosis with depression, then Lee Donghyuck stood up all positive and announced he had a wild case of rabbies from a summer camp and it drove him to insanity - the whole group laughed, I was too late to catch the punchline. 

I was dreading the moment where I had to stand up and proclaim to the world I was wrong in the head. I recited my fake thoughts in my head, recalled what Benji had told me earlier that day. When I stood up, my hands were clammy and sweaty. All ten pairs of eyes were on me, and I felt so tiny and cornered. I cleared my throat, "I'm Mark, I'm sixteen this year," I swallowed my throat. "I was diagnosed with ha-haphephobia, i-it means fear of p-physical touch." Hurriedly, I sat down. 

"And can you tell us more about yourself?" Doc asked. "Maybe your background or any traumatic events you'd feel okay with sharing? It's okay, Mark - we're all ears."

The problem was I had no experience I wanted to talk about, I just wanted to be quiet. Bringing up the past wasn't making it any better. Doc noticed my reluctance, "If you don't feel like it yet, it's fine Mark. How about we talk about something else? How about fears? You look excited about it, Donghyuck."

"Well if you talk about fear, the first thing that comes into my mind is whenever my mom tells me to do housechores." his comment made the group laugh. Again. 

"That's pretty terrifying," Doc chortled. "And what about you, Mark? What are you scared of?"

"My fears?" and as I said that, a series of flashbacks started racing past my mind. Hands just grabbing me like chains of hot metal as they left scars on me, it all happened as I was blind and I didn't know where to run. Voices started echoing-

"Mark!" Doc shook me awake, and I looked down to find him holding me by the hand. 

"Don't touch me!" I jerked away violently and the circle of people were staring at me. If I stayed a minute longer there, the suffocation and nausea would kick in - I had to get the hell out.

I got up and ran out the room, I knew people were trailing from behind and so I ran out of the house to the backyard and hid behind the bushes. By then I was trembling, and sweating and finding it hard to breath as if something was stuck in my throat. Not wanting anyone to find out, I drew my knees against my chest to hide my tears. Only then had I realized how bad my situation was being alone under the stars when my skin didn't cease to crawl. I felt like dousing myself in acid to block out everything. I swallowed hard.

It's not okay. Not okay at all.