Benny's POV
People say life is beautiful.
I say life is… overhyped.
A giant middle finger in my face every single morning.
It's not sunsets and love stories.
It's alarm clocks that won't shut up, bosses who think they're God's gift to the world, and a car that dies every other morning. That's my life.
The only thing that always got me out of bed, was the thought of watching people fail harder than me.
I stepped out of my apartment and the first thing I saw was a kid with chocolate ice cream dripping down his hand. He looked too happy. Too… hopeful. The kind of hope I used to have before life decided to beat it out of me.
So, naturally, I walked over, took the cone from his hand, dropped it on the sidewalk, and stepped on it.
"That's life," I said, pointing at the splattered mess as the kid's face crumpled. He started bawling, and I walked away.
Cry harder. Welcome to the real world.
I don't care.
Because I know exactly where my day was heading: the studio, where I'd be trapped in a makeup chair with Linda Kyle breathing down my neck.
Linda Kyle talk show host, self-proclaimed legend, and possibly the worst human I've ever met.
Imagine a screaming goat in designer heels, and a bad Botox.
That's Linda. She's the reason I hate mornings. She's also the reason I'm considering faking my own death and moving to Tokyo.
And unlucky me? I'm her makeup artist. Every morning, I paint her face while she screams at me about her pores, her wrinkles, and her bad Botox.
I slid into my car, turned the key. The engine coughed like a dying old man. Great. A dying car too. I smacked the dashboard, hissed "pathetic," and gave up.
So I dragged myself to the subway. It was packed with people who apparently thought showering was optional.
I shoved my way through the crowd, because personal space is for people with manners, and I wasn't blessed with that disease.
"Move," I snapped, elbowing past a man with a stroller.
The moment I stepped inside, I spotted one free seat. Unfortunately, a pregnant woman spotted it too. She was closer, breathing heavily, clutching her belly.
I took it before she could blink, stretched out my legs, and pulled out my phone.
She shot me a glare. I met her eyes and said, "What? The baby's gotta learn rejection sometime. Consider it an early life lesson."
Gasps. Always with the gasps. People love pretending to be shocked.
Some guy muttered, "Unbelievable." I ignored them.
If you don't want disappointment, don't look at me.
None of it mattered. I had gossip to read.
And not just any gossip….Linda's gossip.
The blog headline:
Daytime Diva Linda Kyle Screams at Intern, Spills Coffee, Breaks Heel in Front of Live Audience.
I burst out laughing. The picture attached showed Linda screaming, eyes bugging, with her frizzing hair, and enlarged pores. Beautiful. Inspiring. Worth waking up for.
"Finally," I muttered, scrolling down. "Some justice."
Then some guy next to me leaned forward. "Hey, man. Give her the seat. She's pregnant. She needs it more than you."
I looked at him, and rolled my eyes. He looked just like he sounds. Mid-40s, baldy, sweaty shirt, holier than thou expression. Ugh. "Why don't you stand up for her, Captain Hero?"
He glared at me, gripping the handles of his crutches.
Crutches. Oh.
I shrugged. "And? That's not an excuse. Do the right thing."
The man's jaw dropped, like I'd slapped him. Which, honestly, I might've if my hands weren't busy scrolling.
That's when I heard the sound. Snickering. A group of aunties across from me, throwing me those judgy side-eyes like they were the United Nations of Auntie Morality.
I looked straight at them and smiled sweetly. "Oh my God, I love your makeup. Especially how it settles right into your wrinkles. Iconic. And that fillers? Wow. You all look like surprised corpses. Stunning."
Their mouths dropped open. One of them clutched her chest.
I leaned back in my seat, smirking. "Relax, darlings. I'm literally a professional. I know bad foundation when I see it."
That shut them up.
Everyone kept staring at me like I was public enemy number one. And you know what? I lived for it.
I don't care. About them, about their opinions, about anything.
Not the crying baby two rows down, not the man coughing like he's auditioning for an asthma commercial, not even the pregnant lady still glaring at me. The crutches guy looked like he wanted to hit me with them.
Let them hate me. I hate them first.
The train jerked to a stop, throwing me forward. My phone almost slipped.
An old lady in a giant, ridiculous floral hat and an even uglier sweater started walking toward the door.
I groaned loudly. "Oh my God! You're slower than a snail. Could you move faster, Grandma? Some of us have jobs. Unlike you."
Gasps. Of course.
The old woman paused. She didn't just pause….she turned. Her eyes found me. Sharp, icy blue, the kind of eyes that didn't wobble with age but cut straight through you.
"It's a blessing to grow old," she said quietly. "Not everyone gets that chance. Some die young, without warning. You wouldn't want to be one of them."
For a second, the air felt colder. Like the AC kicked on, except it hadn't.
Goosebumps crawled under my skin.
My throat went dry.
My heart raced weirdly.
Everyone else was whispering, throwing me daggers with their eyes.
Then I scoffed, because what else was I supposed to do? Let a grandma hex me? Please.
"Sure, lady," I muttered, waving her off. "Enjoy your senior discount."
And I shoved the chill down, way down, pretending it didn't follow me all the way to work.