He had been doing well. Drinking, smoking, they weren't priorities in his life. He thought he could make it through the days without any extra boosts. And for a few days, he didn't need them. But they kept calling to him, daring him to indulge once more. He resisted...at first. Tried to occupy his mind with something else, something more meaningful, more positive, it was then that he realized nothing else, nothing meaningful nor positive existed in his world.

Still, he tried to fight. Started walking, had to, since his body was still sore. Forced himself to be around people a little more, not talking to them, just being. He found that being alone in a world of couples and families, made his life seem all the more pathetic. He wrote Starr a letter, and another, and another, filling pages upon pages of loving words. Then, he tore them all up, deeming them too "sentimental."

He had only intended on drinking one. One lousy beer and that was it. One, turned into two, turned into three. He loved the feel of it in his mouth. Loved the sudsy tickle on his throat. Loved the "ahh" that it forced from the back of his mouth. His head buzzed, leaving him a little tipsy, but not drunk.

He thought he would be able to drink anonymously, without worry or bother. Then, he heard that voice that drove him absolutely nuts. Strong, confident and downright pushy. It was Misty. Before he could make his escape, she was right at his side, taking charge, ordering drinks, talking to him like he actually wanted to be bothered.

She was relentless in her pursuit, undaunted by his rejection of her. She made sure his glass was never empty. He lost count somewhere around eight. He kept drinking, attempting to drown out the sound of her annoying voice. It only seemed to get louder, more exaggerated. So he drank some more.

A large part of the night was missing from his memory. Bits and pieces came back to him, but he could not tell where the lines of truth and fiction crossed. It was more a montage, missing crucial events here and there. The best he could figure was she escorted him back to his apartment. Then, a big chunk of his memory was gone.

He fell asleep, or passed out and when he awoke he felt dirty. His unfastened pants hung around his ankles. His underwear was wrapped around his knees. He was still wearing his shirt, shoes and socks. It took a few moments to figure out where he was, with his pounding head causing making his vision a slow to focus.

Though he didn't know what happened, he did feel dirty. Not the usual "dirty bastard" filthy, more like a heevy jeevy contamination. He felt exposed in his nakedness, and rushed to cover his unclothed parts. His body wanted to cry, but he did not know why. Couldn't remember anything. Just had to get clean.

He stumbled into the shower, turning to water on as hot as he could stand it. Hotter even, to the point where it burned his skin. He scrubbed his hair, his face, especially his legs and genitals; those parts were what felt dirtiest. Even when he was finished, that dirty feeling stayed with him.

His entire apartment felt like it had been violated. He didn't want to be there, so he slipped on a pair of sweats and left with his hair still wet and no coat, despite the cold spring like temperatures. He walked with no destination in mind, just had to keep moving.

He ended up at the park. It wasn't the smartest idea, wandering the paths of Central Park late at night, but that didn't stop him. He didn't care if someone jumped out of the darkness, robbed him, then killed him for the hell of it. Might have even been a blessing in its own way. Something like that could never happen to him, death could never happen to him. He wanted it too bad, and the things he wanted most, were the things that he never got.

There was really no purpose to his journey, other than to get away from his apartment. He didn't want to think about what probably happened to him while he was under the influence. While he walked around, he noticed the little things. Like the way the full moon lit up all of the darkness around him. Or how the little pools of water waved when the wind blew just the right way, giving a distorted reflection of everything around it. The stars above him were so bright, he felt as though he could just grab one with his bare hands and make a wish. He paid attention at the beauty around him, and wondered where is beauty was. Nature was beautiful in its many shapes and sizes, but he, a living, breathing object, was nothing more than a freak.

Minutes turned into hours as he strolled aimlessly through the park. It was a different part of civilization, untainted by the demands of humanity. Beautiful; something to be savored. Calming it was. He let the anger drain from his body, with each step a little more of it was released into the atmosphere. When he felt relaxed enough to emerge from the wilderness, he found a main road and followed the lights to a coffeehouse.

At three o'clock in the morning, people filled the place like it was the middle of the day. All of them insomniacs, with nothing better to do than to savor their lattes and exotic caffeineated drinks. There were all types of people; punk rocking poets, Muslim rappers, insane artists, every type of personality imaginable was represented between the coffeehouse walls. All of them were immersed in their own "things," noticing nothing around them.

As he looked around, he noticed a similarity between each of the tables. They did not have napkin holders, or sugar containers; they had computers hooked up to the Internet. He had heard of those types of places, often referring to them as "geekdoms." Now, that he was amongst them, he was fascinated. He found an empty station toward the back, gladly slipping himself behind the terminal. A few seconds later, a waitress arrived to take his order.

"What'll it be?"

"White mocha." He had never had one, but for some reason, it was the first thing that popped into his mind.

He knew a little about computers from college and The Sun, but he had never spent much time on the Internet. He was a little afraid of its power. There was not enough privacy on the net, too open, too free. At the same time, those were the very things that attracted him to it. He could investigate anyone; do anything, all without having to deal with voices and people.

"That'll be four dollars," the waitress said, placing his drink on the table. He dug out a ten from his wallet and told her to keep the change. Eyeing him wearily, she paused before going on to her next customer.

Within a short amount of time, he was speeding through searches like an expert. Found recent headlines in Llanview, caught up on the latest gossip. He had been slacking off lately, not reading his copies of The Sun that he had delivered. He also took to reading the Banner, scoffing at their sub-par reporting and their "goody two shoes" image.

He thought about Llanview, and all the memories it held. As much as he hated the town, and most of the people in it, he did experience happy times between the pain and anger. It was where he raped Marty, but also where he saved her life. It was where he stalked Nora, but also where he was pardoned for his crimes by the governor. It was where he met Blair, but also where Starr was born. It was where he discovered Blair with another man, but also where Starr was cured of aplastic anemia. It was where he met Tea, but also where he divorced her. Every emotion his body was able to conjure had been in that town. The one sensation he would never forget was the love that very few people had given him.

There was something alluring about the pop up menus that kept appearing at the top of his screen. The way they blinked, the colors, the movements of the shapes held his attention. They were hypnotizing. He kept clicking on them, delving further into cyberspace. He wasn't paying all that much attention to where each click of the button was taking him. Not that he cared all that much anyway. He was still feeling the effects of the alcohol, and maybe a little of the caffeine, they were vying for control of his mind.

Eventually, he came upon a site with nothing but pictures of naked women. For a moment, he felt guilty for looking at them, and wanting to look at them. He imagined himself in the role of the voyeur or, more appropriately for him, the peeping tom. It had been a long time since he enjoyed the sight of a woman's body.

He had seen Tea naked once or twice, but he always looked away before his mind could take a "snapshot." There was the night she had bared herself to him, untying her robe without shame or embarrassment, and allowed it to fall to the ground beneath her. He looked away then, deeming himself unworthy of a peak at his angelic goddess. There was another time when he snuck into her bedroom while she was taking a shower. All he wanted was something of hers, a T-shirt, anything, just to have a little piece of her next to him. She had left the bathroom door cracked. While he was looking around her room, he could not help but to be drawn to the steam filtering through the cracks. He was sure he saw the steam curling upwards, beckoning him to her. He followed it, got close enough to touch the door, and then a bit of the steam lifted, just enough to make her profile visible. He saw her silhouette, thin, wiry, tall and erect. That guilt rose again in the pit of his stomach, and he left just as quickly as he'd arrived.

Blair was really the last woman whom he had allowed himself to see unclothed, and the last woman to allow him that pleasure. She wasn't etched in his memory the way Tea was. Blair was more of a blip on the screen, he almost regretted ever getting involved with her. She was a boyhood fantasy, tall, blonde, easy, a woman with whom nothing lasted.

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was privy to his x-rated surfing. He leaned closer to the monitor, partially covering it and partly to get a better view. There were literally thousands of women to look at, every nationality, every body type, but he only wanted to see one nationality and one type of woman.

He searched for women that looked like Tea. They had to have her body type, her color hair, her nationality. He was able to find the "Puerto Rican Spice" section and there opened his paradise. Though none could compare to her, he was able to find women who resembled her. They had her complexion, and if he concentrated, he could almost picture her face.

Without knowing it, he started smiling, and other parts of his body began to react. There again, the feeling of guilt took over. There was something wrong about what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to see her, or at least imagine seeing her, and that was the only way. He almost reached under the table to rub himself, but that would have been too pleasurable. He didn't deserve pleasure, only suffering.

He allowed himself to throb with pain. Refusing to alleviate it if it meant touching himself down there. This is what you get. You had your chance and you ran like a little bitch. You don't respect your dick. Had pussy laid out there for you and you fucked it up. Yeah, suffer, throb, hurt...bitch.

His father used to tell him if he wasn't going to use it, then lose it. He hadn't used it in years, didn't know how it would respond to being held captive in that temple he used to love. Would probably get scared and go into hiding.

He thought of Tea again. She was probably the only woman that could understand him. She was willing to wait for him even after he could not make love to her. She promised to be patient, and she would have been if only he had been honest with her. He felt himself deflate at the thoughts that he would never make love to her.

At that, he logged off of the computer, paid his bill, and headed back out onto the streets. He wished he had brought at least a thin jacket; the temperature had dropped dramatically from when he first left his apartment. With nothing to occupy it, his thoughts began to take over. The memories, his internal voice telling him how worthless he was, really, it only reaffirmed what he already believed.

There were times when he wished he had the guts to blow his own brains out. It was the only way he could think of to silence his tormentor. He could never follow through though, he could go so far before he put the gun down, emptied the chamber and stared at it. Men like him were like vampires, they refused to die, they simply walked the earth sucking the life from those around them.

The more he neared earth in falling down from his high, the more he craved to be lifted up again. He wanted something to make him fly, soar amongst the angels, even if he looked in the mirror and saw Lucifer. Lucifer was able to bluff his way into the land of "high flyers," shy couldn't he?

With that mission in mind, he dove underground, to the nearest subway. Gotta get down to get up. He thought he was alone in the subway car, until he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the movement. Couldn't see beyond the black writing that covered the white paper to view what was beneath it. Saw a black hat slightly elevated from the seats. Noticed the twitching to two very large, holy shoed covered feet.

For a long time he just stared at the figure. Had it not been for his inheritance, he could have easily ended up like the person on the subway car. Felons didn't get second chances. Convicted felons had no chance in the world. Rapists were the scum of the earth. Without that money, he would have been the person he so often passed on the street, glaring at them disdainfully.

He was what would probably be considered one of the lucky ones. Had the money to buy any material thing he wanted, but there was no material thing he did want. He needed the intangibles. Those things that no amount of money could possibly purchase. That's right. I'm so fucking lucky. I got the money, but what's it done for me? Not a damned thing. Couldn't even buy me loyalty from my own damn wife.

"Toddy, you're lucky you got a roof over your head." Big fucking deal. A fucking roof...yeah...even that had a price.

"Toddy, you're lucky you got food to eat." Laced with what? Laxatives? Hot peppers? What?

"Thomas, you're lucky you have two parents that love you." Yeah, loves beating the shit out of me when you're not looking. Loves fucking your brains out whether you want it or not. I'm one lucky son of a bitch.

He covered his ear as the voices of his parents' amplified. If he could kill the ghosts, he would have been alright. No matter what, they were always there, fighting each other for control of him. Good versus evil. Evil always won out. Good was outnumbered, as he punished himself right along with the dark force.

The subway came to a squeaky halt. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a hundred, and placed it on the stomach of the sleeping person. Money wouldn't do anything for him, couldn't save his soul or buy him happiness, but it would help someone else.

He stepped onto the platform, looking around for the "exit" sign. Noticing a group of young men, men who reminded him of himself, he stepped up his pace to get out of there. People who hung out that late at night were usually up to no good, as was he. He took one last look over his shoulder, and when he was convinced he was not being followed, he slowed down.

There was always somebody up at his pusher's house. Always. "We're open twenty-four seven," he was told. He had the route down, knew which shortcuts to take, which alleyways to avoid. It wasn't like the first time he went there, shocked at the people and things he saw. He wasn't visibly shaken by the prostitutes, homeless, hard-core druggies or thugs that he passed. In many ways, he considered himself one of them, one of the rejects. It was where he thought he belonged.

He had told his pusher that he was done with the drugs. Couldn't deal with them anymore. Didn't want to become dependent on them. J. just laughed at him and said, "You'll be back. They always come back." Todd had taken it as a personal challenge, yet he found himself drawn back to the feelings.

He walked up the Js apartment, ignoring the screams, the fighting, the flesh beating sounds that filled the air. The door flew open before he could knock and J. stood on the other side with a huge grin on his face.

"Welcome back man," he said, allowing Todd to step over the threshold and slamming the door behind him.

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