And here I am again, of course. It's been three months and I do this every weekend. My room is filled with origami swans and birds and all sorts of figurines. She sits and talks with me for hours on end and when the guards call leaving time, we always linger slightly. I never want to let go. She holds onto my hand, squeezing tighter for just one quick moment. Every week that moment gets longer. She stares into my eyes and I can feel her longing to stay with me as much as I long to stay with her.
And here we are, sitting at the table. She's finally teaching me how to make a flapping crane. Hers is so crisp and lovely where mine is uneven and lumpy. She guides my fingers as I am attempting to fold this page and I think that might be why I'm so clumsy, or at least a part of it. I mean, I'm no origami artist, but I think my hands that tremble slightly are from some other source. I love how soft her touch is. I've missed it over three years and I miss it every time that they make me leave this place without her.
There is a drug within her touch, I am sure of it. Whatever this drug is, I am so very addicted to it. I want her hand to graze my fingers. I want her to hold my wrist as she tried to teach me something; I don't know what, my attention is elsewhere. I feel as though I'm ignoring her, but I keep getting this feeling that she is only half paying attention as well. Her concentration is definitely on her hands, very scientific in her choice of just how she touches me. She's specific in how lightly she lays her hand on mine and I can feel her inventive form of flirtation. She is a clever girl. She always has been.
I keep looking to the clock. Every time I come, it's seven o'clock that the guards come to lead me out and bring that beautiful girl back to her whimsical jail cell. It feels more like seven minutes and I can hardly stand walking out that metal door. The code that they input to activate the lock makes me shutter with ever beep.
I don't tell anyone at work that I've been visiting her. I don't want to think what they would say. Dr. Director's response from the last meeting should be an indication. Kim Possible is the hero, a good girl. She doesn't fraternize with jail scum. Of course, Shego isn't your normal individual in jail. I mean, I guess there are plenty of really intelligent people in jail for elaborate theft or whatever, but they're not the same. They all say that they are brilliant, and many are. The problem is that for most of them, brilliance is coupled with insanity. Shego is not insane. She is far from it. She is brilliant, lovely and has more common sense than most, which is much to her advantage, or disadvantage of late.
She tells me about how being in the jail really takes its toll on her. She can't count days because she looses count. Every single one seems the same. She never had the intention to escape this time. She was going to serve out her life sentence and hope for parole because if there was parole, there was hope. There was the possibility of me. I had asked her what she would have done if she had gotten out in 50 years and we were old and I was living my own life. She told me that she would have been alright with that, that she would have been happy as long as she knew that I was happy and prosperous. She also told me that she never expected to have to wait that long. She always had the feeling that I would come.
I notice that she has stopped talking and for the most part has stopped moving. In my hand, there is a green crane. She has the backs of my hands in her palms and is stroking the sides with her thumbs. Shocked at the figure that seems like it magically appeared in my hands, I look up and try to wash off the confused look. I can see her grinning through soft eyes.
"Where are you exactly, Princess? Take me with you. It's lonely here." Her body jumps a little as she chuckles lightly. I smile and I stare at her. I love looking at her. I love ever last line and dot on her face. She closes her eyes for a second as her smile grows a bit. When she opens her eyes, she starts to run her nails down my wrist. I feel a chill and recoil with a shiver. She smiles and shows her teeth as she sits up in her chair.
"You make me crazy." I tell her simply. She looks sheepishly proud and leaned on her hands, elbows on the table.
"I love to see you." I think that she's going to say something else, but she doesn't.
"What do you mean?" I ask her because I know that she doesn't mean that she loves it when I visit. She does love it when I visit, but that is not what she was trying to say.
"I love the way you look. I love that you are right there and that I get to stare at you. I love counting those freckles that you're trying to cover up. They're adorable and you are beautiful. I love that I get to look at you."
I am taken back for a few seconds. It's so poetic and simple. It's Shego as I used to imagine her, simply perfect. I look at her and she sighs at me.
"There you go again, so far off. Why don't you take me there with you?" I'm addicted to her voice and the way that she speaks. I love the way that she is looking at me this very second, innocent and sweet, honest and mild. I reach out to her and instantly feel her hands in mine.
"How is it that you can do this to me?" I ask her, realizing how vague it was. She understands.
"How can I send you soaring? You're just lucky, but less lucky than I am." She really can be a charmer when she wants to be.
"Why less?"
"If what I do to you is like an aeroplane, me getting to look at you is like a starship." I smile instantly.
"If we're having a contest, I think that maybe we should call it a tie."
"I think that we should keep going actually. This is a contest that we both win." She grins at me and I know she's right. It makes me giggle which makes her smile in a way I've only seen a few times before. She doesn't show her teeth and she looks down and then up. And then she stares at me out of the corner of her eye.
"I love that." She says to me, or the floor where she is staring.
"Why's that?" I just want to hear her say it. She has a beautiful gift for flirting and I am a glutton for it.
"It's adorable. That little giggle, it's so fitting of you. It's like you should never stop. It's like music. It's so beautiful." If there is one thing that I have learned while visiting Shego, it is to know the feel of my cheeks blushing. I can feel it now. I have learned with much practice to feel the creeping rouge. I feel something in my hand, but it isn't her hand. I feel one of her hands cup the top of mine and present the crane in my palm to me. I smile wide. She takes it from my hand and makes the wings flap.
"Have you ever wondered what flying is like, Cupcake? It must be something fantastic. I've had some pretty incredible falls where it almost felt like I was flying. It's an odd sensation. I'm not very fond of these walls, Kimmy. I know it's a jail and I'm not really supposed to, but I think about flying sometimes and I grow a disdain for what this is. I grow jealous of flight." She puts the green crane back in my hand and leans back slowly to look out the barred window.
"I know that everyone dreams of flying, but it's not really what I'm after. I don't want to be a bird or anything. And all of that crap about flying being freedom is just cliché. I just want that feeling. I like the feeling of my stomach twisting around, threatening to burst out of my chest. I like being able to flail all of my limbs around and hit nothing. I like how I can barely feel my body. It's such a strange and amazing sensation. I can't even really describe it properly to you. I want to though. I really want to. I want to take you into flight with me Kimmy, so that you can experience it too." I hadn't noticed that I had started to stare out the window too until she touched my hand and startled me.
"You daydream an awful lot, don't you? What is it that you dream of? Where are you going?"
"With you." I say simply. She nods softly, knowing, and latches her fingertips onto mine.
Of course, as soon as her fingers have settled in place, there is a soft touch on my shoulder.
"Miss Possible..." He says, knowing that he doesn't have to finish. I see the clock. The hands spell out five past seven. Shego's hand has snaked its way into mine, palm to palm. As we rise, she comes to stand beside me and intertwines her fingers in mine. We walk in silence to her room and I can feel pinpricks all over my palm. It itches and it feels perfect.
At the door with the origami in the window, she turns to me and takes my other hand in the same way. She stares at me. We always do. We need to burn the image into our neurons. We need to not forget. She wants to remember every freckle on my face and I want to remember ever curve of hers in my dreams so that when my mind's hand runs over her cheek, I can feel it as it is.
With an inhale, we let go, but only just. Her hands slide away from mine, but I can still feel the pinpricks in my palm. I look down and there is our green crane.
I am Kim Possible. I feel only for her touch. Anything is possible, anything.
I feel kind of bad that this is shorter than the first chapter...and that I'm not working on my other stories, but im finding that writing this is actually very interesting. I've decided that I'm just going to go all out with the story that is a little bit beyond what might be expected. I've got a good idea and I think I can do something very cool here. Let me know what you think. This is so radically different from my other stories that I am really interested in what you, the readers are thinking.
As always, I don't own it, I just write it, but I do damn well own what I write.
