Should We Just Keep Driving? [Zarry Stylik AU]©️

Chapter 8

Before

Being a journalist is not easy. It's a precarious job, that unless you have a good pitch or a source every day, won't take you extremely far. It demands of you, your connections, and your keen witty spirit. A good eye, an ever-better ear and perfect timing. It's not for everyone. And even those who work at a tabloid face these types of challenges when it comes to creating a story. How to be ethically correct, impartial and remain truthful to the source material.

Ben Winston had been a journalist for many years. He wasn't the best. But he wasn't the worst. He had a few good articles that earned, but nothing top-tier. He had been struggling for years to get something to make sense and to find a piece that could catapult him into something. In general, he was mediocre and flew under the radar. This...neutrality and constant pace left him uneasy. Confused. Frustrated. He craved something to push him into more, but not finding it. Life was boring, decrepit, and rotten.

Nothing brought him joy or excitement. He was a mediocre man, with a mediocre job in a mediocre world.

So, one night, he wandered in London without aim or destination. It had been a shitty day at work, with his editor busting his balls, no leads on any news and nothing significant happening. His articles had been sent back multiple times a day with grammatical errors, misquotes and terrible phrasing. Nothing excited him.

As he walked down the street, feeling like a shadow of a man who had once dreamt of winning a Pulitzer and covering the news that could change the world, Ben walked right in front of The Velvet. He didn't even look at it twice. He saw the lights, the name, the bodyguards out in front and kept moving.

However, a car stopped by him with loud music and made him look over his shoulder. A group of men, approximately his age or younger, got out looking nice and sexy. They were loud, laughing, confident and well-dressed. Six of them, full of life. One by one they entered The Velvet. The last one of the young men - way younger than Ben, who was now halfway down his 30s - looked at him and gave him a quick wink. A cheeky one.

The journalist trembled at such an attitude. Suddenly, he looked at The Velvet. He heard the laughter, the music, the female voices, and the male cheers. The club didn't have a line - it was a weekday, so he could get up easily wearing just a shirt, jeans, and a worn-out leather coat. The call was real.

It was intense.

The journalist retraced his steps, walked to the front of the club, and stared at the name.

"Oi!" The bouncer asked. "You comin' in or wha'?"

And at that moment, Ben said fuck it. And walked right in. Perhaps, knowing what he knew now, he would've. But then again, isn't life made of these types of moments that seem innocent at first, but end up becoming lessons learned?

Immediately, Ben was singled out for being a lost puppy without a destination. He fell into the arms of some of the women who saw a man with a limitless credit card and no sense of direction; Ben bought drinks and paid for lap dances. However, one person caught his eye as soon as he walked. A man with a handsome face, dark hair and pretty eyes lurking in the corner dressed in black. They looked at one another once and it was enough to throw the young journalist off his balance. As He progressed, the man kept coming closer and closer, seeing as Ben was all over the club with different girls at times. An easy prey.

"Hey." The man commented and Ben stopped smiling. "Having fun, huh?"

"Yeah," Ben answered, clearing his throat. "Very."

"What are we celebrating, then?"

"Nothing." Ben sighed feeling the drinks course through his veins. Was this conversation even real? "Just...life."