Kim Possible: Final Masquerade

Collision Course

I never thought I'd see him again. I truly didn't. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was fear. It was just vividly clear to me that I was finally gonna have to move on without Ron.

But then it happened. My dream—no, my wish came true. I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop Eric alone.

Ron was right... about everything. I was too prideful and too arrogant to admit it at the time. But even then... I knew he was right. All I had in my head was anger, rage and just plain violence. Eric. I wanted him dead. And I wanted to be the one to do it.

I wanted nothing more than to feel his throat crush in my hands or—or reach in his chest and rip his heart out.

But even I knew it was wrong.
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Kim groaned loudly, as she began to finally wake up. Her entire body was sore. She didn't even begin to think about last night. Hell, she didn't even know what to think right now. She didn't remember falling asleep. The last thing she perfectly remembered was...

Ron.

Her head quickly shot up. She expected it to be a dream. Another like she had been previously having. She expected to wake up in her room again, as if none of the previous had happened. But she was in awe. This wasn't her room. Nor was this her bed.

She tried to prop herself up by her elbow, but felt a sudden sharp pain in her shoulder. She silently moaned in pain, as she grabbed hold of it with her other hand. Strange.. this wasn't her shirt either.

She slid the shoulder end of the shirt down her tricep. That's when she saw a small opening in the skin. It was closed up by a series of stitching. She stared at it for a brief moment, before bringing the shirt back up to its natural spot.

All the memories of the last night suddenly fired like speeding bullets through her head. It was rough to contain it all, mixing each memory with another. Eventually they finally spaced themselves out in an organized line in her head, stitching itself together.

She remembered losing consciousness as she was being carried into some building. She didn't even have to know the face of who carried her. She just knew the familiar feeling, of his warmth next to hers. His fragile touch. She knew it all too well, to be anyone other than Ron Stoppable.

She easily sat up in the bed, feeling the tenseness of all her joints. Last night was rough. She remembered that much. The pain of the scar on her back being stretched as she leaned forward made her yelp in pain. It was loud enough to tell she was in agony, but not loud enough to catch someone's attention.

She looked around her surroundings curiously. She was in a bedroom, definitely being Ron's or a guest room. But by how unorganized it was, she would put money on it being Ron's.

The walls were a teal-ish color, mixing with various shades of white. The closet on the wall furthest from her was completely painted in dark grey. Poorly painted, she may add.

Rebuilding her strength, she knew she had to just saddle up and push through the pain. She stretched one arm high in the air, with the other reaching behind and grabbing the tricep. It was painful to have to stretch with a sword slash on your shoulder, but still doable. This gave her the confidence to finally swing her feet over the side of the bed.

Standing up, was the tough part. She watched herself struggling in the mirror. She could also tell, she wasn't wearing any pants. Certainly not the green cargo pants she wore on missions like last night. No, she had on a long sleeve grey sweater with sleeves that barely reached past her palms. The bottom part of the shirt hung low enough to cover her butt or anything private.