Back & Forth | Book 1 of Back & Forth Series
One: Death

“That’s it for today, class. Great job on your presentations.”

The professor claps his hand with a bright smile on his face, seemingly proud of how great the class went today. His action is immediately followed by the students, filling the once quiet room with a round of applause. I stare at the man in front of the class with a frown. The awaited time to leave the room is the only thing in my mind. Being here any longer might actually turn me insane. The class better end in any minute now.

I snap out of my reverie and listen to the professor once again, the frown remains on my face as I stare at the professor.

“-have a nice evening everyone,” the professor says.

Flurry of movements surround me as everyone gather their belongings and leave the room within seconds. Sighing to myself, I do the same thing in silence. When my gaze shifts to my group mates by the doorway, I only stare at them blankly as they snicker at me. I get on my feet, ready to leave the dull room for the day.

“Allura.”

The mention of my name stops me in my track. From the tone of my beloved professor’s voice, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave anytime soon. I better prepare myself for extra lecture from him for the next few minutes.

“Yes?” I say as I look at the professor.

“Please stay in the room. We need to discuss something,” the professor says. His words causing me to let out a quiet, exasperated sigh once again.

How fucking great.

I hope I’m staying here longer for a good reason. Actually, no. It’s definitely for a bad reason. I did something bad and someone must’ve snitched me to him. Well, I don’t give a fuck about it. I just want to leave but I don’t think I can do it anytime soon. All I can do now is to bear the overdue lecture from my dearest professor.

Everyone directs their curious glances on me as I take a sit on the chair at the front row near the professor’s desk. No one says a word despite their burning curiosity on my delayed departure from the class. Now that the class is empty of other students, the professor closes the door, leaving it slightly open to avoid any scandalous rumours about us.

A weary sigh can be heard from the professor as the chair creaks under his weigh. My gaze lingers at one spot on the table under me, avoiding any eye contact with the man in front of me. Without even looking at him, I know he’s currently staring at me with so much worry and disappointment. It’s understandable though. The professor is literally my uncle so him being concerned about me is nothing new. I know my life has been going downhill but I don’t want anyone to meddle in it now, not even my own uncle. Just leave me the hell alone.

“Yesterday, your group mates told me you didn’t work on your part of the group research. Is that true?” Uncle Ryan asks.

“Yes. It’s true,” I respond. His chair creaks again as he shifts in his seat.

“You do remember I can’t give you your final exam script if you don’t have any contribution to the group research, right?” my uncle asks. I give him a nonchalant shrug, not giving any care about my future.

“Just do it. Whatever. I don’t care,” I say.

I don’t care about anything in my life anymore, especially my university life. I’ve tried my best to get good scores just to get my parents off my back but I’m done with this shit. I’m done with doing something I don’t want to do anymore. Fuck this. I don’t want to continue studying and graduate. I don’t care anymore if I’m getting expelled or dropped out from the university. I’m through with this shit. My parents can kill me for all I care. They’re the one who forced me to do this shit so they should’ve expected this to happen.

The room has been silent for minutes. I continue to ignore my uncle, prolonging the silence between us. My uncle sighs finally break the silence, making me glance at him for a quick second.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem well lately. Whenever I walk past you around the campus, you always have a frown on your face. And I don’t think it’s your normal RBF. Look. I know we haven’t talked with each other a lot but you can always talk to me about anything. It seems like you need help,” Uncle Ryan says. His last sentence reminds me of my visit to Mrs Newman’s office two days ago. Let’s say, it wasn’t the best experience with someone whose job is to help people overcoming their problems, especially something related to one’s mental health.

On my first and absolutely last visit to the university’s counsellor, I told her about my mental health decline like the lack of motivation to live my life and persistent suicidal thoughts. After all that I have said, she dismissed my depression, telling me it was only the result of burnout. She also told me that it’s nothing to be worried about and I’ll heal in no time as long as I get more rest, as in getting my nightly 8-hour sleep which I don’t mind, eat healthier, whatever the hell that means, and exercise more so my body produces more dopamine or whatever the fuck it is. The problem is, this has been a lifelong issue of mine. I’ve been depressed literally my whole life. Maybe I’m just being pessimistic but it won’t heal that easily, especially when the main cause of my illness is my own parents. How could I heal when I’m living under the same roof with the cause of my problem?

You know what else is funny? Mrs Newman gave me some freaking suicide hotlines. I’ve always been sceptical about that kind of stuff so I never have the plan to contact them ever. I just don’t understand what’s the point of suicide hotlines. Like, what are they going to do to prevent me from killing myself? Telling me that everything is going to be okay? My loved ones love me and need me? That they’ll be sad if I’m dead? What the fuck are you even talking about? Who the fuck are my loved ones? My parents? Hell fucking no. They don’t give a fucking shit about me.

At this point, those kind of “encouraging” words are meaningless to me. Honestly, I used to be one of those people to spread good and positive words on the internet to people who go through the same shit as me. Maybe I’m projecting now but I feel like people do that kind of thing to make themselves feel better. Almost like having a life purpose despite the turmoil I’m facing in my life everyday. That shit starts to feel tiring so fast. I don’t get the good feeling from doing it anymore. On the opposite, it makes me want to die even more.

“-hey. Are you okay? Talk to me.”

Snapping out of my trance, I find Uncle Ryan staring at me, his brown eyes full of nothing but concern. I avert my gaze, avoiding his eyes again.

“I’ve talked with Mrs. Newman and it doesn’t help me at all. She said what I’m feeling isn’t a big deal and I’ll get through it after some time if I do everything she said which is rest more, eat healthier, and workout more,” I say, staring at my hands on the desk.

When can I leave? I just want to get out of here. Leave me alone, please. I don’t want to talk about anything right now. I just want to go to sleep and hopefully won’t wake up anymore. If I do wake up, I’d rather leave the city. Mrs. Newman herself told me I need more rest and going to my classes prevent me from doing it. So, it’ll be good for me if I skip the rest of my classes for this semester. It’s not like I ever pay attention in my classes anyway so it doesn’t really matter if I do skip them. Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t know where the fuck I’ll go but I’ll leave anyway. Hopefully, I’ll get into a fatal accident and get killed in the process so I don’t have to even bother killing myself.

“-you’ve been zoning out a lot in the past few minutes.”

I bring myself out of my thoughts and look at my uncle again.

“Did you say something?” I ask.

“I said you’ve been zoning out a lot. Listen, if Mrs. Newman says that, she’s absolutely wrong about it. I’ll talk to her about this later. If she’s been handling the other students like this, everyone is going to get worse,” Uncle Ryan says, sighing to himself at the problem he just discovered. I only stay quiet, not responding to whatever he just said.

“I know you’ve been feeling like this since you were younger but I can’t really help you if you don’t want to talk about it. It looks like you’re getting worse now. Let me help you. Talk to me. You know you can always talk to me about this kind of stuff, right? Regardless of your parents’ opinions about it,” Uncle Ryan says.

“I know,” I say, sighing to myself.

I always know I can talk to him about my problems but like what I said before, nothing matters if the source of my problems is the people I’ve been living with my whole life. He does know how to deal with my illness. I mean, he’s a psychologist after all. Being a lecturer is just his side job. Other than my first reason, no matter how hard my uncle tries to convince me, I still worry that he’ll judge me. My body suffer physically whenever I try to talk about my problems. It always feels as though my words get stuck in my throat, causing my throat to hurt, or everything I want to say suddenly vanishes from my mind. So, talking about one’s mental struggles is definitely easier said than done.

It really sucks and feel worse when you know that your parents don’t believe in any psychology-related stuff. I know they always hate me since birth but knowing that they only think of depression as a justification for being lazy, sleeping a lot, lack of closeness and faith in God, or other stupid reasons they can find under their loads of paperwork hurts me so fucking badly. It doesn’t help that I always hear them talking shit about people who tells their mental problems and brings awareness about mental health on the internet. Scolding me for frowning most of the time adds to the pain as well.

Uncle Ryan is the only person I trust the most. There’s no one else I can trust but him. It’s not without reason. He has helped me numerous times. He genuinely wants me to be happy despite the problems I’m facing with my parents. One of the things I remember the most is how he signed the paperwork for my psychology major application. He was actually willing to pay my tuition. Unfortunately, my parents found out about it and went crazy and furious over it. They only want me to take business major. Nothing else. They even went to the lengths of kicking me out of the house without even letting me get my stuff and told me to live with Uncle Ryan instead. Well, little did they know, that one of the things I desire in life. To not live in the same house as them.

I ended up living with my uncle for a few days. I was happy at first but then I realised I’d only be a burden to him. He told me that he didn’t care if I live with him for the rest of my life but I can’t do it. I don’t want to burden him with my problems. With no other choice at hand, I decided to take business major, just how my parents wanted me to. No matter how much I want to break free from my parents, I can’t do it. I don’t have the money to afford renting an apartment and daily groceries. So, like it or not, I have to stay with them because I’m still dependent of their money even though it hurts my mental health.

At first, it was pretty easy to handle but my mental health has been getting worse ever since. It used to be so manageable, like I can mask it in public by smiling at everyone. I’m sure that no one knows how I truly feel deep inside through masking my depression. At first, I never harm myself. I always hold myself back from doing it by sleeping but then I began to do it out of anger and frustration. Not in an extreme way like cutting my skin but by punching the wall and banging my head against the wall or starving myself in hope that I’ll die somehow. It’s really tiring to keep hiding behind a mask so I stop doing it. There’s no point in hiding it. No one cares about me anyway. Well, except Uncle Ryan but it’s not enough to prevent me from wanting to kill myself.

“If you’re not comfortable talking to me about this, you can talk to my friend. I’ll send you his contact details later,” Uncle Ryan says. I only nod at him. He continues to stare at me, observing me. Anxiety builds up inside me as I begin to feel scrutinised under his gaze.

“You really need to get treatment immediately. Your feelings may worsen over time. You should’ve known about this by now,” Uncle Ryan explains.

I know damn well about the danger of untreated depression. Very, very well. The thing is, I’m not sure if I want to get help anymore. Why should someone help me when it’s pretty clear that I don’t want any of it? Why help someone who doesn’t want to be helped? I don’t want people to waste their time and energy to try to save me. It’s better if they help someone who actually needs their help.

“Okay,” I say. I only say it for the sake of ending our conversation. I’ve wasted too much of my uncle’s time already. I hope he’ll let me leave now.

“Good. For your final exam score, I’ll give you a substitute assignment. If you don’t turn it in within due time, I won’t be able to help you anymore. You have to retake this course but only if you want to, of course,” my uncle explains. Well, I don’t think I’ll be here next semester but alright.

“Okay.”

“Alright. I’ll send you the instructions through email. Don’t forget about what I said. I want you to get better so please go and talk to my friend,” Uncle Ryan says. I force out a smile, nodding at him.

“Sure. I will,” I say.

“Good. I hope I’ll see you soon,” Uncle Ryan says.

“Yeah. See you soon.” Or not. I hate to leave him like this but I’m tired of living already. I have no life purpose so why should I live any longer? Well, God decides how long I live but I have enough of this. I’m done being alive. I’m sorry God. I can’t take this anymore. So, if You want to show me a miracle, You better do it soon.

My smile is stiff as I get on my feet. Uncle Ryan seems to notice my half-hearted smile but doesn’t say anything.

I’m finally out of the classroom. My ex-group mates are still gathered at one of the benches in the corridor. Dirty looks are thrown at my way once they notice me stepping out of the room. Their gaze burns on my back as I walk past them, ignoring their presence.

“Fucking the professor to pass the course, huh? Definitely expect that from you.”

Chorus of laughter echoed down the hallway in response to the retarded assumption. The accuser smiles smugly as she stares back at me. Glowering at Isabela, I advance furiously towards her. I stand in front of her, slightly towering over her height.

She’s one to talk. It’s a fact that she’s the one who does that kind of shit with the professors here. How fucking hypocritical.

“Me? Isn’t that you who did that kind of shit?” I ask.

Everyone in hearing distance watch as the drama between me, an ordinary student, with Isabela, the popular social media influencer, unfolding before them. Her group mates seem to be in disbelief, a hint of disgust can be seen in their eyes.

Am I seeing this right? Is it true that our little miss influencer here will lose her followers soon? Ooh. Nice. This scandal will absolutely hurt her image so badly. That’s good. She deserves it.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Isabella says, scoffing with hint of underestimation. She tosses her dark brown hair over her shoulder, trying to act nonchalant about my accusation yet her eyes betray her true feelings.

Oh really? Her life is literally on display for ever else to see on the internet. I can find out everything about her if I want to.

People have gathered slightly around the two of use. Suspense is in the air as they wait for the scandal of the year. Everyone waits for the truth that will absolutely be the cause of our wannabe queen bee’s downfall.

“Well, I may not know anything about you because I don’t give a shit about your life but I damn well know what happened on a certain Friday evening. Everyone in the building absolutely heard all your moaning and begging. Wait. I actually remember someone recording it,” I say.

I remember the scandalous moment vividly. Luckily for me, I caught Isabela doing the deed with Mr, Davis when the building was almost empty. It was gross, to say the least. I saw the glimpse of them doing the forbidden act in one of the classrooms in the third floor of this exact building. Other witnesses are present but none of us didn’t seem bothered enough to report the moaning coming from the room. Now that I have the reason to report her, I can reach out to the other witnesses so they’ll confess regarding the act that violates the university policy.

A smirk comes up on my face as I notice the act of toughness on Isabela’s face disappears along with the colour on her face, turning her pale and anxious. I continue to smirk victoriously at her, knowing that I’ve broken her.

“Oh. Now you remember, huh? I don’t think it’s your first rodeo from the sound of it. So, who actually fuck the professor? Well, it’s definitely you,” I explain.

Mutters fill the hallway and looks of disgust are thrown at Isabela’s way. Her face turns paler, almost as white as a roll of toilet paper. Now everyone finally knows the truth behind her high GPA.

“Enjoy the attention. You always love being the centre of attention, don’t you? Now you have everyone’s eyes on you,” I say with a bright smile. I walk past everyone as they busy themselves talking about Isabela.

“Isabela. Come with me to the dean’s office. Now,” Uncle Ryan says, his voice stern. I can’t help but smile at how Isabela’s reputation quickly crumbling in front of everyone. What a victory. That almost made me not depressed anymore. Almost.

Take that, you bitch.

The almost vacant parking lot of my building only has few cars left parked around me. It’s no wonder since my class is one of the last classes of the day. I walk through the silent open space, going towards the bus stop at the other side of the parking lot.

University life has been pretty rough for me. I feel like shit most of the days. The more days I spend on earth, the more I want to kill my self and stop living in this shithole called earth. My desire to die heightens everyday. It becomes even stronger when people spread stupid rumours about me just like what happened with Isabela earlier. That shit causes people to avoid me like the plague. However, I don’t mind it. In fact, I’m glad they do but still, I hate them for saying baseless shit about me.

All these years I’ve spent trying to stay alive, including surviving my parents’ authoritarian power over me. Despite all the efforts I’ve done to make life worth living and find the purpose of my existence, it still feels meaningless until now. I’ve done so many things in life to find my true purpose yet all of them feel like nothing. They’re pointless. Being controlled by my parents like a puppet doesn’t help either.

How can I keep my will to live when my parents always tell me what to do and start spewing stupid bullshit whenever I don’t? I’m tired of listening to their bullshit like how ungrateful I am, how my mother was pregnant with me for nine months and gave birth to me, how I’ll go to hell for being disobedient when I don’t do something they want, and other stupid fucking shit. It’s funny how they use religion to justify their wrongdoings and outright toxic and abusive behaviour when what they’re doing might land them in hell as well.

Ugh. Why can’t I just die already? Why am I still alive until now? I want to kill myself but I can’t seem to bring myself to actually do it. I hate not having the courage to end it all. To end my own life. I hate that all I can do is just to stare at the knife in my hand and the road below from the top of a building. I hate only having suicidal thoughts but not the courage to do it. Perhaps it’s because of the tiny hope I have inside of me. Deep inside, I feel like I want to stay alive in hope of experiencing how it feels to fall in love, travel the world, and living a happy life. Pretty dilemmatic, isn’t it? Right now, I just wish someone or something would kill me. A freak accident is preferable.

A rather big hand covers my mouth and nose. My eyes widen in shock as who I assume is a man drags me away, further from the exit gate of the parking lot. The raging panic in me makes me struggle in his hold until a realisation hits me. I stop. My struggling stop. I let the man easily take me wherever he wants.

Oh God. Have You answer my prayers? Is it finally the day? Is this really the day that I’ll finally die and rest in peace? Oh my God. It is! Whoever this man is will absolutely kill me when he doesn’t, or does, get what he wants. Finally! God. Thank you so much for finally answering my prayers! Thank you so much for sending someone to kill me. Now I don’t have to worry about finding ways to kill myself anymore. The man sent by God Himself will do the job and kill me.

The man stops dragging me. I suppress my smile of joy as I prepare myself for the long awaited destiny. My death. My joy turns into confusion when I find myself standing next to a black Range Rover. He’s not going to kill me now? Is he going to take me somewhere? Where the hell is he going to take me? You know what? I don’t fucking care. As long as I end up dead, I’ll happily oblige and let him take me anywhere he wants.

I turn around. In front of me, a tall and buff man stares down at me. His facial features immediately tell me that he’s not from here. Not from this country, at least. A slight look of confusion covers his face as he continues to stare at me.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” the man asks. I shrug at him. Why is he even asking the question? Shouldn’t he be happy that I lessen his workload by not resisting and fighting against him?

“I give up. I’m already tired of this life. I’m done with my life. You can take it away. Feel free to do it now,” I say. The man’s confusion grows even stronger. His eyebrows knit together as he stares at me in utter disbelief.

“This is not a joke. We’re kidnapping you,” the man says. An exasperated sigh comes past my lips as I roll my eyes. Well, duh, dude.

“I know, Mr. Obvious,” I say. Judging from his expression and response, I guess I’m the first person who doesn’t act as expected in such life-threatening situation. I couldn’t care less about it. All I want now is for him to kill me. This seems like the only perfect chance to die. I don’t have to worry about how to kill myself anymore. Being kidnapped right now and killed later sounds like a miracle. It is a miracle. This is what I’ve been praying for since forever.

“If you or your boss don’t get what you want, then you’ll kill me, yes? Well, I don’t mind getting killed. To me, being killed is like a free golden ticket to heaven and paradise for me,” I say. A happy grin is on display on my face. From how he’s staring at me, he’s definitely thinking about how insane I am. It’s almost as if he’s regretting his job right now. God. I hope not. I really want to die so he should kill me. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.

“You’re not going to die today, or anytime soon,” the man says as he stares at me strangely.

What? I’m not going to die today? So God didn’t send me this man to kill me? He didn’t answer my prayers to die? Aw man, that sucks. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. Fuck. I guess I jinxed it. God changes the plan because I’m too excited to die. Why? Why is this happening now? I thought today is finally my last day on earth.

“That’s a shame,” I say. A disappointed frown takes its place on my face. “When will I die?”

“Do I look like the angel of death?” the man asks, deadpanning me. Hmm. Does he?

I observe his face, taking in his facial features. My head tilts slightly to the side as I squint at him. Hmm, he kinda looks like one. He looks scary enough to be one.

“A bit,” I say, shrugging at him.

The man sighs, seemingly tired of my confusing act already. This is definitey his first occurrence to meet someone as insane as I am that’s obsessed with being killed. I can actually tell by the look on his face that he’s actually frightened by my blatant indifference of death.

Without averting his gaze from me, the man knocks on the front passenger door. It rolls down almost immediately. A man with sunglasses is sitting there, his expression firm.

“Sei sicuro che sia la persona giusta?” The man before me asks. Through the car side mirror, the man with sunglasses stares back at me, nodding in confirmation.

(Are you sure she’s the right person?)

“Sì.”

(Yes.)

What are they talking about? That doesn’t matter. The man has made it clear that he won’t kill me. Now that I know their true intention, I’d rather leave now. I don’t have time for this bullshit. I might as well just take my leave now and do the work myself. It’ll be much faster. More time efficient.

Someone grabs my right upper arm as I step away from the car. Annoyed, I turn to the man. My glare is icy. He shoots me a matching glare, silently telling me to stay in place. A frustrated huff escapes me but I obey him. Both the man in front of me and the one in the car stare at me grimly. The look on their faces causes a rise of uncertainty inside of me.

What do they want to do with me? I’m tired of waiting.

“What?” I ask both of the men.

They continue to attack me with their scrutinising gazes. Have nothing else to do, I raise my eyebrows at them, silently demanding answers from them.

Why are they quiet now?

“Portatela dentro,” the man with sunglasses says. He removes his gaze from me as the window rolls up. Now I’m left alone with the buff guy once again. What the hell does that mean?

(Bring her inside.)

“You’re coming with us,” the man says. Without no warning of sorts, the man shoves me into the backseat of the black SUV. The not-so-gentle push evokes a scowl from me. However, I don’t fight him. Instead of it, I just take my seat on the middle seat next to a man on my right. I glare at the other man once again, still furious by his harsh push. I then turn to the man on the front seat, scowling at him.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” I ask.

“To the boss,” the man in sunglasses answers as the other man gets into the car and sits next to me.

The boss? Who the fuck is his boss? Why am I getting kidnapped? Why does he want me? I never thought I’d be kidnapped like this in my whole life. This is so strange. So unexpected.

“Who the hell is this boss of yours?” I ask. The innocent road in front of me is the receiving end of my angry scowl as I avoid everyone else. With my arms crossed over my chest, I lean into my seat and co tinye to scowl.

“You’ll know of him and what he’ll do to you later,” the man in sunglasses answers.

That sucks. This means I’m going to live longer on those earth. Oh God, this is awful. I don’t want to live any longer here. Why don’t You just take my life now? I’ve had enough of this life.

“So does that mean you won’t kill me?” I ask. I should’ve just escaped while I could. Now it’s impossible to leave. I’m stuck with these men. My future is unclear. What is their boss going to do to me if he doesn’t have any plan on killing me, make me his personal slut? Hell fucking no.

“What is it with you and death?” The man on my left mutters. I turn to him, my gaze is boring deep into his eyes.

“Well, if you don’t notice it already, I want to fucking die.”

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