"Weather forecast for this week has scattered –"

"– the president isn't considering the possibility of –"

"– ech company, FireBoxInc., recently appointed a new CEO, a controv –"

"– fficials say the fire started in a neighbors yard, catch –"

"– FireBoxInc.'s partnership with well-known CityVault Technologies has shocked –"

"– president's actions, at this time, can be considered questionable –"

"– ntique auto show, coming this October, to th –"

"– this Saturday at the Langham Stadium, the 2010 MONSTER TRUCK RAL –"

Matthew groaned, his face squished into the arm of the couch. "Why is there nothing on?" he moaned, his butter-slick fingers diving into the fourth opened popcorn bag beside him to shove a handful into his mouth. The one day without more than two interviews and no garbage television was on? Grabbing the remote and nearly dropping it, the screen glitched into blue before bringing up the Firefly DVD main menu. He groaned again, rolling onto his back. Matthew didn't have the patience to sit through the show again. "Fuck, whatever. Numb me, Nathan Fillion." He pressed PLAY.

The front door opened, Liza stumbling in with her laptop bag on her shoulder and arms filled with groceries and paperwork. "Matt," she called, "can you –"

He sat up, throwing himself to his feet to grab every single grocery bag. "Sorry," he whispered, turning towards the small kitchen tucked into the corner.

Liza shook her hands against the warm air, palms reddened from the plastic friction. Sighing, she placed down her paperwork in the adjacent armchair. "Every time. You don't have to take them all, Matt."

Matthew didn't answer. He started unpacking.

"Matt?"

"What."

"You've left your spot on the couch today, right?" she asked.

"I've gotten –" He caught sight of her grabbing one of the empty popcorn bags. Matthew turned his back to her again, sighing. “Whatever.”

"For fuck's sake," she sighed, plopping herself down in the armchair. A discarded wrapper under her crinkled.

"H-how was work?" he spluttered.

Liza grunted. "It...fine. It was fine. Craig's really driving my last fucking nerve." Matthew heard the rip of her Velcro laptop bag being opened. "'DUH, why don't you just go make photocopies? You wanna be a lawyer?' Gee, I don't know, Craig, I guess I just got my degree in law for shits and giggles, apparently.” She hissed through her teeth. “I swear, if that old fart wasn't in charge of the firm, I'd stab him." The cushion sighing as she leaned back into it, Liza opened her computer, typing furiously.

He unpacked the groceries quietly, his movements quick and calculating. Refrigerated foods first, spices next, instant foods, ingredients.

"So..." Liza started, her fingers pounding the keyboard, "...should I guess how your day's been?"

"It was fine," he whispered back, putting a plastic jug of vegetable oil under the sink. "I had my interview with the daycare on North State this morning."

"So you did get up from that spot today?"

Matthew kept unpacking.

She paused typing.

He expected her to continue, but she didn't. Matthew bit his cheek. He didn't turn back to her, groaning as he put away the gallon of milk

“...what happened?”

“Nothing,” he answered back.

Liza sighed. "Audrey?"

He grunted. 

His roommate leaned back, scoffing; the cushions under her squeaked as she did. "Wow. What a bitch." Moving forward, the chair padding straining as she did, she said, "Well, there's always another day, right?"

"What does that even mean?" he asked, voice rising in frustration. His eyes moving to a corner, Matthew bit the inside of his cheek again and cleared his throat. "She... how does someone like that seemingly blacklist you from every school?" He crossed his arms and muttered, "I don't doubt she's had Daddy bribe everyone in every county to ensure I am never a teacher. 'Upstanding citizen' my foot."

Audrey Culpepper was Matthew's biggest mistake in human history. She had been enrolled in business education classes when the two met in college – him a sophomore studying for his Master's degree and she a senior. She proved to be effortlessly charming and witty, sweeping Matthew into what seemed like a whirlwind romance despite being unable to see what she saw in him. Her father, an official for the Department of Education, proved eager to get to know him, and proved more than willing to offer him tips for finding employment after graduation. The stars seemingly aligned for him in such a way that Matthew, for the first time, actually began looking forward to the promising future that was promised.

A year later, in the midst of planning his junior thesis, the promise exploded in his face. He overheard Audrey talking about him to a friend. She laughed. "He's so pathetic," she insisted, the tone of her voice suggesting a grin on her face. "And, oh my God, he makes me so goddamn depressed, too. I think I might need antidepressants."

Her friend sighed, offering condolences.

Audrey laughed and, in the same breath, mocked him for not being a "true man". Or maybe she had said something about wishing he was more of one.

It didn't matter.

He confronted her.

She denied it. She insisted he was wrong.

All Matthew could remember from their final month together was studying her. Analyzing her, scraping together evidence to bring himself to break up with her. Audrey insisted she was wrong, but Matthew couldn't believe her.

Something inside himself told him she was right. She had to be wrong.

Their last night out, Audrey, laughing with friends, discussed how her father promised her a job after graduation. A moment later, she teased Matthew for being too rigid and wished he could relax more. "We haven't done anything fun since you started your thesis. Are you really going to let me down again like that?"

He promptly left, more so spurred by the promise of a job after graduating.

She tried calling him.

He never picked up. Matthew threw himself into his studies.

She sent waves of guilt-inducing texts. "You embarrassed me in front of my friends." "How could you do this to me?" "Why aren't you talking to me? Please talk to me." "Did I do something wrong?" "I was going to save it for a date night, but I love you. Talk to me." "Where are you? Are you okay?" She sent emails; breathlessly worded things that idealized a future only if they sat down to talk.

Matthew reveled in them; they validated him. Hands shaking from an abundance of coffee, cigarettes and not much else, he kept working.

After a week of avoiding her, he texted back, "I need to focus on my thesis. I think we should take a break." He would've gotten back together if she's asked once. Just once.

She didn't.

Breaking things off had been the best thing for him. That's what he told himself. He refocused himself on his work and studies, to distract from her words, his own thoughts, and the fury that came from being handed a job that wasn't earned. He plowed through the rest of his junior year assignments in a rage.

Audrey spent her second summer out of college touring with her father.

They didn't speak.

Upon graduating, Matthew started hitting walls again. One school professed it was against their principles to hire "a homosexual". Another claimed it couldn't hire Matthew "for the sake of the children". The first six months out of graduate school were an endless string of lies, exaggerations, and twisted words that effectively killed his future career. His connections couldn't do anything to quell the problem. Matthew, upon leaving a particularly scathing interview, drove to a lonely street in a lovely neighborhood, parked Lloyd, and sobbed into the steering wheel.

He knew he probably deserved this.

Of the 124 public schools, 293 private schools, and 97 daycares he interviewed with since graduating, two things remained constant: the "Culpepper" name-dropped into conversation, and the empty promise of "We'll be in touch".

"That girl needs to be taken down a peg. Or five," Liza muttered, her fingers having moved back to working ferociously against the laptop keyboard.

Matthew blinked.

"She's like a bad smell," she continued, the sound of her typing paining him.

"Good luck," Matthew murmured, turning away. He retrieved some onions from the grocery bags.

"And why won't you file a complaint? Need I remind you, she's ruining your life."

"If I wanted to be dragged through the mud with an investigation, which probably would be made public if she's involved, then I'd do it." Throwing the onions into the low cabinets, he stretched back towards the bags, withdrawing a load of clementines.

"I can sue her for slander," she offered, eyes focused. "Your gay ass would just owe me for the rest of your life, or whatever."

His skin prickled at the name, wishing his bag of popcorn was nearby. "And have my name through the mud by her lawyers instead? No, thank you." Dropping the clementines into the refrigerator, he hesitated, turning back to her. "And I'm only going to say this one – " He stopped himself. It wasn't worth it to explain again.

The concentration written across her face told him she wasn't listening. It was confirmed when she glanced up at him and asked, "What? Sorry, say what you said after 'dragged through the mud'."

Matthew groaned, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let's be real for a second. Culpepper could probably get her out of Guantanamo Bay if he really wanted to." He frowned and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"So, what you're saying is, you're giving up." She leaned forward, staring at him with softened eyes, "... that's what you going to do?"

“With Audrey, yes.”

“Nope. With teaching.”

Matthew turned back to her.

“What are you going to do?”