Mr. Murphy's Mattress

i. Don't Get Cocky

"Fuck," fell from your lips as you read the grades you'd received over your laptop. The screen was illuminating your face and the rest of your bedroom behind you.

"Y/N?" Scarlet, your roommate, whispered out. You quickly closed the screen and shut down your laptop.

"Sorry," you whispered back, slowly making your way to your bed. "Just my grades.. they're awful."

"Worry about it tomorrow, not at 1:43 AM."

"You're right, I'm sorry.."

"I love you. Goodnight." Scarlet turned the light off.

"Night," you whispered before slowly falling asleep.

-

"Just one sugar please," you said to Scarlet as she brewed the coffee. You were already rewriting your essay for English, a calculator by your notebook with graph papers scattered about the countertops.

"Seriously, Y/N. Don't worry about this now," Scarlet suggested, placing the coffee mug in front of you. She watched as you hurriedly took a sip and continued scrambling down words and erasing them frantically. "Do it later."

"There is no later," you stated. "If I don't get my grades up before they close, I'm fucked."

"Come on," Scarlet chuckled. "Well, you do know
Mr. Murphy doesn't give two shits, so at least don't write the essay in the 20 minutes you have to get ready. Besides, Ryan's back from vacation. Don't you wanna pretty up for him?" She teased.

"Shut up, Scarlet. Our thing was months ago."

"Thing? What thing? You mean when you slept with him every other night and came home drunk as a sailor telling me how much you loved him? That thing?" Scarlet laughed and handed you your hair brush. "Come on. You look like shit."

After quickly getting ready and throwing on your makeup, you headed out and walked to your English class. It was a separate building from the maths and sciences. Mr. Murphy was always making sure the place stayed clean all on his own. You admired him greatly, not only for his work, but his passion for it.

You were the first one there. Damn, all that scramble for nothing?

"Well hello, Y/N," Mr. Murphy greeted, looking up at you through the lenses of his prescription glasses.

"Good morning," You replied, hoping to God he wouldn't mention your grades now that you two were alone.

"Your grades, Ms. Y/L/N."

Fuck.

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled. "Listen, I'll have the essay rewritten by tonight, the assignments will be all turned in by Friday, I can—"

"Nonsense," The blue-eyed professor chuckled. "Don't procrastinate. Late work is better than no work, after all."

"Procrastinate is my middle name," you muttered underneath your breath.

The class began flooding in with students. None of them Ryan, fortunately. After chatting it up with your friends, Mr. Murphy cleared his throat. "Silence, please. Take a seat now, attendance."

You fixed your posture in your seat as Mr. Murphy called out attendance.

"Samantha.."

"Here, handsome!" Mr. Murphy rolled his eyes like he's heard the nickname a gazillion times, which he had. The girls were obsessed with him, and you didn't get it. Yes, he undeniably had unique features, but he wasn't anything special.

"Andrew.."

"Here."

"Louis is here, Y/N is here... Ryan?.. Ryan Gosling? Mr. Gosling? Absent.. didn't that kid just come back from his vacation?"

"Ryan's gonna be a little late," one of the jocks called out.

"If he's not here by 12:15 we'll start without him. Very well," Mr. Murphy said before rolling up his sleeves and turning to the chalkboard. As the room filled with chatter, he wrote in his sloppy, all-caps handwriting "SHAKESPEARE". A groan never left your mouth so fast before.

When Ryan arrived at 12:10, he never once locked eyes with you. He didn't even look your way once. Well, that basically confirms he wants nothing to do with you after the pregnancy scare literally scared the shit out of him. Everyone knew about it. Even Mr. fucking Murphy.

"Right, we'll begin now," Mr. Murphy said above the chatter, killing it slowly. "Shakespeare," he said, clicking the chalk to the blackboard. "Perhaps the greatest writer of the English language in history. He was a playwright, indeed, though his work amazes me it also makes me chuckle."

You could feel the bored aura from the people around you. It was fucking brutal, to say the least. But you were the only one taking notes. You needed every ounce of improvement in your grade, and maybe Mr. Murphy would see through the facade of your compassion for the lecture. Or maybe not.

After class ended, you picked up your notebooks and walked to your professor's desk. "Mr. Murphy, is there any way I can get my grades up by tonight? If it's possible?"

His eyes widened. "Tonight?" He asked, bewildered, before letting out a wheeze. "Listen, I know you want your grades up—"

"No," you interrupted. "You're mistaken. I quite literally need my grades up before this week ends."

"Something wrong?" He asked, piercing you with his blue eyes. "Or is this a way for you to get close to me, perhaps?"

"Don't get cocky, Mr. Murphy," you scoffed in disgust. Mr. Murphy smirked, grabbing a piece of chalk and standing up.

"Perhaps there's a way, yes," he sighed, gently tapping the chalk to his chin while thinking. "I'm looking to switch schools, you see, and I need an elaborate resume. You, my dear, are talented, and you've surely got the time for it. You'll write my resume, I think, yes," he said, satisfied, a small grin on his face.

"You're joking, right?" You squinted, as if you were trying to get a closer look to see if he was actually serious or not.

"About what? Me switching or you writing my resume?"

"I'm waiting for your smoker lungs laugh," you spat, setting your notebooks down on his desk.

"I'm dead serious," he replied, beginning to draw three squares on the chalkboard. "But first, you must learn to write a resume."

After giving you a run down of what a resume consists of, he pushes you out the class. You checked your watch and realized how late you'd stayed. It was already five, and the sun was near fully set.

Underneath the street light up ahead, you noticed a dark figure. You clutched your purse and began walking, trying as hard as possible to ignore the figure.

"Y/N?" The man whispered. You turned to see Ryan, standing with his hood over his head.

"Ryan?" You asked, walking over to him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was just coming from Mr. DiCaprio's office, since I was on vacation or whatever.."

"Walk me home," you said. "Will you be a gentleman?" Ryan slowly nodded and extended his arm for you to hold as he began walking you to your dorm.

"Why didn't you say a word?" You asked coldly, not bearing to look him in the eye. "We were having sex for a month and two weeks, and you leave to Aruba, and you don't even have the common decency to look me in the eyes when you come back? Smile?"

Ryan sighed. "I haven't smiled since the last time we slept together," he stated.

"Well that's great, you're actually such an asshole-"

"I haven't smiled since because I was in love with you. And then you told me we'd have to stop talking because you didn't wanna ruin your perfect friendships all because of a pregnancy scare. You didn't wanna shatter the perfect reputation you had as a student, as a friend, as anything."

You stopped in your tracks, looking at him in shock.

"We're here," Ryan mumbled, opening the door for you. You stepped inside and watched as his face was soon covered by the door in front of you. Only the smallest glimpse of him through the tainted window was visible, and he disappeared.