Get fuckin lost.

*****

September 1995, the following night
Local Bar, Greenwich Village

The thumping and blissfully loud alternative music surrounds Todd as he knocks back his second double scotch. Another fuckin' wonderful day in the life of Todd Manning. Who the hell cared anyway? Just time. The way he saw it at this point, life on earth was a mere waiting room. Real life would begin when he finally got his sorry ass sent to Hell.

Hell. Hell would be welcome. Jesus, it couldn't be any worse than his life, the last few months had re-taught him that lesson. He signals the bartender to give him a refill. Lost in booze. Numbness. Fuck yeah, what a way to go. Scotch had become his savior, saving him from memories, saving him from himself. Numbing the resentment and, more importantly, the anger. As much as the anger fed him, kept him breathing, it also frightened the living daylights out of him. Because he'd seen what the anger could do. With Marty, and almost to Blair. A double edged sword, but then again, what the fuck wasn't in life?

Closing his eyes, he takes a gulp from his newly refilled scotch glass. Reveling in the burning sensation, losing himself in it. The song now blaring is one he recognized from his own college days. "Would" by Alice in Chains. A wry smirk spreads across his face. Zach used to have some crass comment about the name of the group, saying there were a number of Alices he'd like to have in chains, particulary in a bed in chains. He feels a twinge of revulsion. God, they hadn't been too fuckin' far off had they? Wasn't a sweatband stuffed in her mouth and holding the victim down just as bad as chains? Fuckin' charmers they were. Didn't know a goddamn thing about women really.

His eyes fall back on two guys sitting at a nearby table. He'd been watching them all night. Typical college guys, their greek letters plastered across their chests. Scoping out the girls as they entered the bar. Rating their fuckability. Hiding. Too goddamned scared to admit they didn't know word one about women. He remembers actually having a serious moment with Zach about that, trying to tell him how confused he was about chicks. Had lasted about five minutes. Too afraid to reveal too much, he reverted back to the cocky fratboy asshole who used and abused women, in the grand tradition of the bastard who was his adopted father. Funny though, no matter how much he carried out his father's lessons, Peter was never proud of him. If anything, it seemed like it made Peter hate him more. Like that was fuckin' possible.

Whatever. Screw it. He readily admitted to himself now that he didn't understand women. Didn't know how to treat them, didn't know how to tell if they were fuckin' lying to him. Using him. And why should he? He was a rapist. He had fooled himself into thinking he could be anything more, particularly to a woman. Blair had helped in fooling him, in more ways than one. Money didn't change the fact that he was a rapist, but it did make him one hell of a rich rapist, and money can even make a rapist attractive.

Lies. He hated lies. He'd been lied to his whole fuckin' life, and he thought with Blair, he was finally catching a break. They were friends, and they seemed to be relatively honest with each other. Until Todd Manning magically turned into a cash register. He hated games. And she had played him. Broken his heart, but not his spirit. She wouldn't get that. The residents of Llanview wouldn't get that satisfaction either. He would go on, living his miserable life in the city that never sleeps, waiting for the day when he would go to Hell and really cause some trouble.

The problem was, there was a part of him that wanted something more. The part that had started to believe with Blair. The part that realized maybe alone wasn't the best way to go through life. The part that had begun to hope that maybe a rapist could have a second chance at life. That maybe he wasn't a lost cause.

Fuck it. Hope is nothing but getting your hopes up higher so they come crashing down harder. Never again. Never fuckin' again.

He glances at his watch. 2:30 AM. His time of night. Reaching in his pocket he takes out a few bills and throws them on the bar. Downing the last of his scotch, he glances one more time at the two guys nearby. Scamming some blond girl, who was giggling flirtatiously. Playing a game with them, they playing a game with her. Fuckin' games. When did the world turn into some microcosm of fuckin' Parker Brothers?

He takes a deep breath of the slightly cool early autumn air. After hours of inhaling smoke, it felt...cleansing. Well at least he could cleanse his lungs if nothing else. Fuckin' millionaire and he still couldn't feel "clean". Who says money can buy everything? Hasn't bought him shit, except pain, lies, betrayal...and scotch. All the fuckin' scotch he could drink.

He was feeling more bitter than usual tonight. The three double scotches only spurred on his bitterness. Unfortunately he was not drunk. Tingly, buzzed, but not drunk. Too bad for him and everyone else. Not drunk enough to be numb, just drunk enough to be pissed off at the world.

Spending another night in a bar, then walking aimlessly through the streets of the village. More money than he could fuckin' spend, and he couldn't find anything remotely interesting to do with it. He had come to resent it almost, as a burden. It was just THERE, weighing on him, sucking the life out of him. Causing people to fuck with him.

Yeah, well fuck you.

And everyone else.

A bright light shining to the side of him causes him to lift his bowed head and turn. Whaddaya know? What the hell, he could always use a cup of coffee.

He walks in the door, noticing a group of girls in the corner booth. Eyeing him as he walked in. He was beginning to wonder if he had dollar signs pasted on his goddamned forehead.

He walks up to the counter. The same girl was there, still buried in books. Not even looking up as he approached. Figures.

"I hate to interrupt your studying, but do you think you could at least acknowledge you have a customer?" he snaps, the alcohol still fueling his bitterness, his resentment. Don't fuck with me.

She looks up. "I know you're here. I just figured you'd be like everyone else."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know, standing here, reading the menu, trying to decide which coffee is the 'hippest' to order."

"I'm not interested in hip. I want regular, black, normal coffee."

She grins slightly. "What size?"

"Small. You know what? Fuck it, I'm a millionaire, give me a large."

The girl's face immediately brightens. "Really? You know, I don't think we've been properly introduced, I'm Téa Delgado." She extends her hand. Todd looks at it, and back up to her face. A flash of anger. Money again, his fuckin' money. But his anger dissipated slightly at the charming smile on her face. Her blatant honesty. Her open love of his money. He takes her hand and shakes it.

"An openly greedy woman huh?"

"Why bother with pretense?"

"No bullshit games?"

"Waste of time. You got a problem with that?"

Todd looks at her closely. That scheming smile...but there was something else. He grins a wry grin. "No. Actually, it's a nice change."

She pours his coffee, and hands it to him. Quite a change from shoving it at him the night before. He chuckles.

"Oh, I see, now that you know I'm loaded, I get better service."

"Absolutely," she says, eyeing him flirtatiously, but also with a sense of fun. Like a private joke. "You never did tell me your name."

"Todd Manning."

A strange flicker passes over her face.

"What?"

"Nothing...nothing. Just your name sounded familiar. But I guess if you're a millionaire I've probably heard of you."

"What, you have like a database of all the rich guys in New York?"

"No..but that's a hell of an idea. And it's a $1.50 for the coffee."

"Hey, I thought I was gonna get better treatment. Me being rich and all, don't I get one on the house?"

"If you're a millionaire, you can spare the buck fifty pal," she shoots back.

He grins, handing her a five. Her honest, in your face attitude was entertaining him tonight, if nothing else. His resentment fading into the background, for the moment at least. She hands him the change.

"So, next time I come in here, I expect to be waited on right away. Otherwise, I'll doubt your greediness."

Téa makes a big show of batting her eyelashes at him. "Oh absolutely Mr. Manning. Anything you want."

He grabs his coffee, grabs a handful of sugar packets, and heads towards a booth, shaking his head and laughing. He hadn't laughed since...Jesus he didn't even fuckin' remember. As he slides into the booth, he hears her laughing as well. He looks up at her, and she smiles at him before returning to her books. Ripping open the packets of sugar, he pours them into his coffee. Funny, as bitter as he was, he didn't want his coffee bitter. Had to have something sweet in his miserable goddamned life.

The light moment began to fade as the resentment began to seep back to the forefront. Even the sweetened coffee didn't help. Being pissed off at the world was the only way to fly. Got him through the day without killing anyone or killing himself. A life of bitterness with a moment of laughter sprinkled throughout. God, what a miserable fuckin' existence this was gonna be.