Denial, Revisited

I have her picture in my locker, but it doesn't mean anything.

Nevermind the fact that whenever I see it, a warm feeling shoots along my spine. Nevermind that seeing her sneer at me through the film makes me think of little sins and second chances. Makes me imagine rumpled sheets and locker room showers and tickle-fights gone too far.

I have Drakken's picture in there too, you know. It's a pleasant reminder of defeating the man who was once a boy named Drew. Shego's picture is very similar in that respect. It reminds me of the threat she poses, and keeps me on my toes.

But that's all.

It doesn't remind me of crashing against her during a battle. It doesn't remind me of the feeling of her skin when I wrestle her into a pin. It certainly doesn't remind me of the scent of her perfume, or the way her lips curl in disdain when she talks to me, or the way I sometimes try to imagine that there's something more than hate behind her eyes.

I don't do that often, mind you. And when I do it, it's only trying to see if she feels remorse for what she's doing, not because I want her to want me.

I'm Kim Possible, after all. I'm smart, quick, innocent, and brave. Not gay.

I'm a hero. I can't be gay.

No, I'm straight as an arrow. Shego's just untouchable. I envy her skills. That's all it is.


That's all it can ever be.