Mr. McCourtney's Dark Secret [2]

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?" I whispered into Sophia's ear.

My sudden voice startled her, making her jolt slightly in surprise.

"N-No… go… go ahead and sit," she stammered once she managed to compose herself.

I gave her a faint smile before pulling out the chair beside her and taking a seat.

For a while, we busied ourselves pretending to read.

I wasn't actually reading—I was just flipping pages every now and then, but my entire focus was on the beautiful young woman beside me. Meanwhile, Sophia seemed equally distracted. She was staring blankly at her book, not turning a single page.

After more than thirty minutes, I finally broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry, but you haven't turned a single page in a while."

"Oh… yeah… I just have something on my mind," she admitted, offering me a small, hesitant smile.

"Care to share it?" I asked, closing my book.

Sophia frowned slightly. "Sorry… I don't share my problems with strangers," she said. Despite the annoyance in her voice, she still tried to be polite.

I smiled and reached out my hand.

"Then let's not be strangers," I said smoothly. "I'm Tom. Tom McCourtney. Civil Engineering, second year. And you?"

Sophia glanced at my hand, hesitating for a couple of seconds before finally shaking it.

"I'm Sophia Sawyer. Freshman in the Art Department," she said, offering another thin smile.

The moment I saw that beautiful smile, my lips curled up instinctively.

That was the first time we officially met.

It happened four months after the incident with the Sawyers.

Right after the mission, I requested a two-year unpaid leave. My supervisor, of course, knew the real reason, even though I only told her it was personal. But since I had never taken a leave of absence in all my years with the organization, she had no grounds to refuse.

As soon as my leave was approved, I enrolled in the same college as Sophia during the spring semester. I forged a fake transcript, posing as a transfer student in my second year. Whether my personal mission succeeded or not, I knew I had only two years before I had to leave the university.

I chose Civil Engineering for a simple reason—its building was right next to the Art Department.

Even so, it still took me nearly a month to finally get the chance to approach her in the library.

I had two personal missions.

First, I wanted to erase the grief from her heart.

At her parents' funeral, I saw how utterly devastated she was. The happiness, the light in her—everything that made Sophia who she was—was gone.

And it was my fault.

I was the one who took that happiness from her. The least I could do was give it back.

My second mission?

I was delusional enough to believe that if I got to know her better, I might discover **flaws—**things that would make me fall out of love with her.

But, of course, that second mission failed miserably.

The more I learned about her, the deeper I fell.

I loved everything about Sophia—even the things that should have annoyed me.

I loved the way she wiped her snot on her sleeve without a care.I loved her tone-deaf singing, which made her the worst karaoke singer I had ever met.I loved how she sang along to the radio in my car, completely off-key, yet with so much enthusiasm.

And I loved her so much that I didn't mind hearing that horrendous singing every time we drove somewhere.

I even wiped her snot with my own sleeve.

But fortunately, my first mission succeeded.

Slowly, but surely, I was able to ease her pain.

It took me seven months to bring back the Sophia I had first seen—the one full of life.

In those months, I sacrificed my shoulder to be soaked with her tears for hours.I spent countless sleepless nights answering her calls at 3 AM just so she could vent.And I endured it all—without a single complaint.

Because this was the least I could do for her.

-

"Thank you for accompanying me," Sophia said softly, her gaze lingering on me.

"Don't mention it," I replied, gently patting her thigh while keeping my eyes on the road. "This is the hardest time of the year for you. I'm just glad I can be here—to help you carry the weight."

We had just visited her parents' graves—it was their one-year memorial. She had asked me to come with her to her hometown, saying she wasn't strong enough to face this moment alone.

Of course, I agreed without hesitation.

"It's not good," Sophia murmured suddenly.

"What's not good?" I asked, frowning at her out-of-the-blue statement.

"This. I mean… I'm getting too dependent on you."

My frown deepened. "Why is that a bad thing?"

"I mean… nothing," she said quickly, brushing it off.

I finally turned my head to look at her. "Sophia… what is it?"

She shook her head, not meeting my gaze.

"Come on, talk to me," I urged her gently.

Again, she shook her head—then covered her face with both hands.

I pulled the car over to the side of the road. Once we came to a stop, I reached out and held her shoulders.

"Hey… you can talk to me about anything," I coaxed her.

"That's just it," she mumbled behind her hands. "It makes me too dependent on you."

"And what's wrong with that?"

She lowered her hands just enough to look at me, her eyes watery.

"What if…" she sniffled, "someday you have a girlfriend… and that day comes when… when I'm already in love with you…?"

She trailed off and buried her face in her hands again.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

"You… love me?" I asked, stunned.

"No," she blurted out immediately—while her head gave a small, unmistakable nod.

She was the worst liar I'd ever met.

I gently took her hands and pulled them away from her face.

"Sophia… I love you," I finally said, confessing what I had kept inside for so long. "Why do you think I've stood by you all this time? It's because I love you. I've loved you since the first moment I saw you."

Sophia looked at me, her expression layered with emotion—relief, fear, longing.

"Now, tell me the truth," I said again, my voice soft but sure. "Do you love me?"

She answered with a single nod.

That single nod was the most precious affirmation I had ever received.

I was over the moon knowing that my feelings weren't one-sided.

From that evening on, we were officially in a relationship.

I loved her so much that I never pushed her into anything she wasn't ready for—including sex.

We kissed, we fooled around, but whenever things started to go further, she always hesitated. So I learned to hold back my desire, sometimes excusing myself to the bathroom to relieve my tension in private.

I didn't even have the heart to ask her for a hand job.

And I never asked her why she wasn't ready.

Until one night...

It was my birthday, so Sophia made me a special dinner at my apartment. While she was cooking, I ran out to buy a bottle of wine to go with the meal. The dinner was perfect. We shared the wine almost equally, and I could tell Sophia wasn't used to alcohol—her cheeks were flushed, and she was a little more playful than usual.

Later, while we sat on the couch watching a romantic movie, she suddenly ran her hand along my inner thigh.

"Pumpkin, don't tease—" I started, but her kiss cut me off. Of course, I kissed her back.

Things quickly escalated, our bodies heating up with passion. Soon, we were both undressed. As I kissed her deeply and held her close, I positioned myself gently above her.

"Can I…?" I asked, trying to hold back my desire, knowing she might not be ready.

Sophia gave a hesitant nod. I was surprised—and thrilled—but in my excitement, I didn't immediately notice the uncertainty in her voice or the tension in her body.

I leaned down to kiss her again, but she didn't respond. Her body froze beneath mine. I paused and pulled back to see her face. Her eyes were shut tight, tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

"Pumpkin… what's wrong?" I asked softly.

She answered me with a quiet sob. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"Hey… it's okay," I whispered, shifting beside her and gently guiding her head to my chest.

"I… I really want to be with you," she said through broken breaths, "but I'm scared."

"Are you a virgin, Pumpkin?" I asked carefully, thinking that might be the reason. But she shook her head quickly—her whole body trembling—as fresh tears came.

I held her tightly and stroked her hair. "Talk to me," I whispered into her ear.

It took her a while to gather the strength.

"I… I used to be," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was homecoming. I was a cheerleader… we'd won the game, and everyone was celebrating. The football team and the cheer squad partied together. I drank too much… and I think someone gave me something else too… I blacked out."

She paused, her sobs returning.

"When I woke up… someone was on top of me… I screamed, it hurt so much… but he hit me. I blacked out again. When I came to… it was still happening—only worse… there were two of them. I passed out again from the pain."

My chest tightened painfully as I listened. I wanted to scream, cry, break something—but I stayed quiet for her.

She didn't know who they were. She never saw their faces. She said all she could remember was that they were white. And she never told her parents. She was too ashamed—ashamed of being careless, of putting herself in that situation.

So she carried that nightmare alone.

Five minutes passed as I waited in front of Sophia's dorm room before she finally opened the door.

"What's wrong?" I asked, seeing the look on her face.

"I just got a call from an old friend from high school," she said, sitting beside me on her bed. "Something strange is happening."

"What do you mean?"

"More than ten of my former classmates have died in the past couple of months."

My eyebrows furrowed. "That's… awful."

"I know. Two from food poisoning, one from a sudden heart attack, another died in a fire… a car accident… even a suicide," she said, her voice distant. Then she looked at me with concern. "The weird part is… they were all football players. From my high school team."

"Maybe your team's cursed," I said lightly, trying to ease the mood.

"Maybe," she murmured, still clearly disturbed. I reached over and pulled her gently down beside me, kissing her softly to distract her from the grim news.

Twelve.

I had taken twelve lives in the past two months. All members of that same football team.

There had been twenty white players on the roster that year. I found their names in an old newspaper article celebrating their championship win.

She didn't know who had hurt her.

So I decided to punish all of them. 

I knew this isn't justice, not the way the world defines it, but it's the only way I know how to make things right

It would take time, patience, and precision.

But I had all three.

And more importantly—I had a reason.