LOVING THE DEVIL [02]

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

LIAM.

The first few months I spent out of that rehabilitation facility was within Andrew Smith's house settling into a new routine. Mayor of Summer View and with no children of his own, he dedicated most of his life working to reform the facilities the town offered.

He normally had guests over and that led to me spending most of the night in my room because I knew too well how they felt about me being in the same room as them. I'd make myself scarce the same way I used to when my father had his meetings. I mean, imagine how they'd feel, a murderer's son mingling in the same room as them. What was I going to do? Grab a knife and kill the whole party? Perhaps this is what my therapist meant when she said I needed better coping mechanisms.

But every time I'd hear Andrew and Laura talking about such dinners, I took it as my sign to step back. They've been organising events like this even before I arrived so what was the point of meddling in their routine? Sometimes I'd even go out and play basketball on the campus courts with Owen and Jaxon.

For a while, I genuinely thought he hadn't even noticed until one late afternoon when I came home from class, Andrew practically shoved a plain black suit into my hands. Don't get me wrong, it was a nice suit, perfectly fitted—yet to this day, I could never understand how he managed to get one that fit me so well—and my only regret to it was the fact it had a bow tie. Surprisingly, the bow tie was probably the bane of my existence, its only purpose was strangling me throughout the evening.

"Dress up, son. You're joining us for dinner tonight." he gave me a firm pat on the shoulder before chirpily walking back into his office. I remained there for a few seconds, trying to register what the hell happened.

When I tell you my emotions were all over the place that evening. I distinctly remember the way my hands shook as I tried to tie my bow tie and I also remember how mad I got at myself trying to calm my nerves. It was just some dinner; I can't even remember half the stuff that happened that evening. And that was what I hated. Such a trivial event had me feeling a pit in my stomach and bile building in my throat.

"Get your fucking shit together. God," I snapped under my breath, sneaking just one small glance in the mirror and that nauseating feeling only worsened. Perhaps this was what my therapist was going on about, how my self-hatred would eventually lead to my downfall and that this would be a good discussion to have with Andrew.

But I couldn't.

How does one tell the man they view as their inspiration and mentor that they can't bare to look into a reflection of themselves without feeling sick to their stomach? I tell you now, I've tried—so hard—and every time, I just froze right then and there like a coward.

The dinner went by without a hitch. I spoke to a few people, including one of the professors from college. I figured the night would actually go smoothly and that I could consider myself welcome at these dinners. That is until someone recognised the resemblance, the shadow of the man I tried to disassociate myself from.

"Say, you certainly look like your father, boy," he spoke, eyeing me up and raising his glass in my direction. He said it like it was an announcement and it might as well have been considering people's conversations soon died down. I gulped, the familiarity of the words sinking deeper to feed my insecurities. 'You will be just like your father' it used to be and I realised that evening that I wouldn't be able to get away from him the way I wanted to, "you're extremely lucky. Andrew is an honourable man to give you a second chance—you know, some people wouldn't—"