Haphephobia: the fear of being touched.
Blake, a second-year Psychology student, hadn't ever heard of such a phobia, until the day he was hired as a guide for Dean, the heir of a rich family.
Even though Dean had the appearance and behaviour of a ge...
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Dean could feel his heartbeat resonate in his throat, but not much more.
His limbs felt numb and tingly, the air entering his lungs seemed inefficient, and he couldn't hear the professor talking or his colleague's whispers.
It had been a good morning back to classes. Blake had picked him up from his car with an open smile, Dean's fear that things would be weird between them instantly dissipating under the gaze of his friend's lively eyes. In a crumpled napkin, Blake had brought him a piece of chocolate cake that his mother had packed for them, and although Dean had already eaten breakfast, the idea of declining the offer didn't even cross his mind.
With the incentive of chocolate, they had made their way to the Economics' department, the rain having had the grace of stopping until they were sheltered. Classes had changed that semester, but the majority of the classrooms were the same, so Dean knew his way around and his safe routes and places, which made it far easier to sneak to his preferred place before the room could fill.
It had been a good start for a new semester. Up until a few seconds ago.
The words "group project" and "oral presentation" slammed at his chest with the force of a sledgehammer, burying him farther into the depths of panic.
What am I going to do?
The class sped forward, but Dean was still trapped in that moment. Looking around the room through the heavy fog that settled on his mind, he observed his colleagues. Some listened and took notes, some talked between them, and some were distracted with their phones.
He recognized practically every face in there, and even knew some names from them being said out loud, but he hadn't even really met any of them. How would he do a group project? Was he supposed to go up to someone and talk to them?
The thought alone turned his stomach, and his hand moved to his pocket.
And the oral presentation. If he almost threw up at the thought of communicating with someone in his class, there was no way he could present in front of them. When the teacher had asked him to respond to a simple question, he had almost fallen to the side, even if hardly anyone turned around to see him in the room.
Suddenly, he felt dizzy.
His head felt heavy and dizzy; he wished to put it down on his desk.
Nothing that the professor said through the entire class registered in his mind; he was too focused on not letting the chill of anxiety show and making a fool of himself.
