This is another sequel to 'Lose Control' - it is set the morning after LC ends, before 'That's What Friends Are For'. You don't have to read those, but it might help (and I'd love it if you did!). I was inspired to write this one when walking along Southbank from London Bridge to Waterloo with my best friend and recent MIOBI convert Sarah. I have kept everything about London as geographically accurate as possible - most by following the routes I walked myself. Southbank is a long walk but it's vibrant and beautiful and definitely worth the time. You can see certain scenes from this (notably outfits) on the 'Lose Control Series' pinboard on my fanfiction pinterest account which you can find under the username 'dizzylights'.
Payson padded out of the bathroom she shared with Kelly to grab a tub of Shea butter formula from the table beside her bed. Kelly raised an eyebrow as Payson moved stiffly and wordlessly. She hadn't said more than three words to Kelly all day and Kelly hadn't pushed for conversation. Their competition was over and both girls had won beyond their wildest dreams—they ought to be celebrating.
"So, I saw Sasha leaving here last night," Kelly spoke up as Payson returned to the bathroom. Kelly preferred silence to small talk and meaningless conversation, but Payson's ten-week cold shoulder was worrying her more than she'd care to admit. The competition had been tough with the team captain all but wordless; pep talks were kept to a bare minimum and team bonding was practically non-existent. After the sub-par performance of—and subsequent fallout with—the three other members of her team, Payson was the only one left, and she'd been mostly silent since Sasha had walked out on the team before the Olympic trials. Kelly worried about the uncharacteristic silence from her new friend—at least, that's what she thought Payson was—and she owed it to Payson, if not to herself, to try to break her out of the funk she had fallen into. Payson continued into the bathroom but didn't close the door and Kelly took that as a good sign. She continued: "I assume you talked to him?"
Payson appeared in the doorway, face and neck flushed red and trying to glare through the widest smile Kelly had seen from her new friend in a very long time.
"Payson Keeler," she gasped. "Are you and Sasha doing the horizontal tango?"
"Kelly!" Payson hissed. Her face turned redder and she backed into the bathroom, stripping away the towels and massaging Shea butter into her skin.
"What? I could have said 'you're banging your coach' but that's significantly less romantic, don't you think?" A strangled mewl escaped from Payson's throat as she threw on a pair of cut-off sweats and a London souvenir shirt. The shirt had been a good luck gift from Becca before the competition began.
"I didn't even know he was here until he showed up at the door," she called from the bathroom. Kelly hummed in response and Payson continued. "I thought I'd just never see him again."
"I knew he wouldn't miss this. He'd never miss you kicking the collective asses of the entire world."
Payson's head popped into view in the doorway, smiling gratefully at Kelly, before disappearing quickly to clear away the mess she had made in the bathroom. Her phone began to protest and she answered it on the seventh ring, one hand balancing the towel wrapped around the wet hair piled atop her head.
"Payson," Sasha barked into the phone. "Wear something nice and meet me at the front gate of the village in an hour." Payson let her phone fall from her ear, slack-jawed and eyes wide. Kelly looked up from the newspaper she had been reading.
"Who was that?"
"Sasha," Payson answered. Her voice was laced with shock and a little disbelief and Kelly's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Do I need my ass-kicking boots?"
Payson shook her head slowly. "He wants me to wear 'something nice' and meet him in an hour."
Kelly relaxed. She pushed herself up from where she had been lying on her front on the sofa, shaking down the legs of her faded UC Denver sweatpants and pushing up the too-long sleeves of her Denver Broncos t-shirt.
"Did he say what, or what for?" She grabbed her phone from the coffee table as Payson shook her head.
'Belov,' she texted furiously. 'When you say 'something nice', do smart casual or party clothes? Nice jeans or black tie? Show a little leg or ballgown to the ground? A girl needs details!'
"I don't think I even brought anything 'nice'," Payson protested, spitting out the last word like it tasted bad. Kelly's phone beeped.
'Not jeans,' the text read. 'Maybe a dress. A little leg is fine—think afternoon tea with your grandmother.' Kelly pulled a face—afternoon tea with her grandmother consisted of cut-off jeans and a t-shirt with holes and fruit juice cocktails over a very competitive game of one-on-one volleyball. She stalked into Payson's room to find her friend standing helplessly in front of her open closet.
She plucked out a dress. "This," she announced, holding it against Payson's frame before twisting her mouth in thought and changing her mind. "No. This." She held up a sleeveless dress of black lace with a silk bandeau slip—the lace extended upwards to a high scooped neckline and downwards below the hem of the slip to sweep against the top of Payson's knees.
"I have the perfect shoes for you to wear with this," she announced excitedly, tossing the dress onto Payson's bed and rushing around the furniture to her own closet. She emerged, triumphant, from its depths, holding two black lace stilettos with a peep-toe. Payson's eyes widened.
"No. No, no, not a chance in hell."
"Yes, Keeler, you're wearing these. Let's talk jewellery and make up." Kelly moved over to the vanity and grabbed her make up bag. Payson's eyes widened further.
"I have seen your make up; you are not touching my face, Parker." Payson warned, squirming as Kelly pushed her down onto the stool in front of the mirror.
"Relax, PK, I have more than just competition and whorish in my repertoire. Hold still."
By the time Kelly had finished, Payson sat still and silent. Kelly had dried Payson's hair into soft waves and twisted the front pieces into a delicate knot at the back of her head. Her makeup was understated and elegant with fresh, natural colour to her cheeks and the barest hint of shimmer on her eyelids.
"Kelly…" Payson began.
"Nope. Don't say a word. Get dressed, I'm gonna find you some accessories."
"There are some bangles in that black case," Payson waved a hand at the desk as she shimmied into the dress. "My mom went wild in some sale for party accessories—something about looking nice for the parties in the village," she explained, continuing with just a touch of disdain. "I don't think she realised most of the parties around here involve beer pong and strip twister."
Kelly let out an inelegant snort, nodding dutifully and abandoning her search through her own suitcase to rifle through Payson's instead. She retrieved a small stack of slim silver and black bangles wrapped together with a length of ribbon. She tossed them on Payson's bed beside the black clutch Payson had just dug out of her suitcase.
"Breathe, Keeler, I know Sasha thinks women will fall at his feet but you don't need to prove him right," Kelly joked. Nervous energy was radiating from Payson in waves and it was beginning to make Kelly anxious. Payson smiled tightly and reached for the door.
.
Sasha was waiting at the gates, as promised, and she slipped out quietly to meet him. His eyes widened when he saw her approach and he swallowed hard; she wore a dress he had never seen before and it hugged all of her gentle curves, leaving just enough to the imagination to drive him wild all night. He beamed as she jogged the last few steps into his arms, teetering slightly in impossibly high heels. He breathed deeply—the scent of her shampoo was as familiar to him as his own name but each time it struck his senses, it was new and fresh and exciting.
Although he had seen and held her the previous afternoon, his mind and body were in agreement over the decision that he had a lot of lost time to make up for—he'd been ten weeks without so much as a smile and he'd even missed the way his stomach flipped girlishly when her eyes sparkled in his direction.
"You look beautiful," he whispered into her hair. She squeezed her arms tighter around his waist in response before pulling away and settling into his side.
"So, where are you taking me?" she asked. She couldn't hold back the smile that graced her lips in his presence—however angry she still felt about him leaving ten weeks earlier and however confused she felt about the current status of their relationship, she was secure in the nature of her feelings towards him and as his arm settled comfortably around her shoulders, she let out a musical giggle.
"You'll see," he answered mysteriously. He guided her to the underground station and down the escalators to the platform. The Olympics were winding down—plenty of sports had already finished their competition and athletes were either partying hard and making the most of their time in London or had already gone home. The platform was mercifully quiet and they stepped onto a mostly-empty train. Sasha couldn't have timed it better if he'd tried—empty tube trains in London were rare, even first thing in the morning and last thing at night. They took the train south of the river to London Bridge and as they emerged from the station, actors dressed as zombies tried to entice them into the London Bridge Experience. Payson laughed in delight.
"That's what I missed most when I was gone," Sasha admitted once they were alone again. They ducked down a narrow street and emerged on the river bank. Payson looked at him with a quirked eyebrow.
"Your laugh," he clarified. "I used to dream about it. It's so natural and free—" he stopped himself. His eyes darkened and Payson watched as a storm began to brew in his denim blue irises. His face twisted with something she couldn't quite identify, but as his hands twitched slightly by his sides, she thought she saw a flash of despair.
"Sasha, no," Payson stopped walking and waited for him to stop too. He looked at her with concern. "If we're going to do this—us—you can't not say things. This is going to be weird and it's going to be hard and people are going to say all kinds of things but if we are going to do this—" she waved a hand between them. "—then you can't be afraid of talking to me. Especially about how you feel."
"I'm sorry, iubită," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. "Talking about how I feel has never been easy," he reached his arms behind her back and braced his hands against her spine. "Especially when it comes to my feelings for you."
"You don't have to hide anymore," she whispered. Instinctively she pushed up onto her toes to touch her lips to his, although the extra height afforded by her borrowed shoes meant that she only had to tilt her head back to meet his lips as he leant down. He smiled as they pulled apart, foreheads together.
"Shall we continue?"
They walked alongside the river for miles, stopping every now and again as Sasha pointed out an iconic sight of London across the Thames. After a little while, Sasha pointed across the water again.
"St Paul's Cathedral," Sasha began, leaning against the railing and looking across the river. Payson mimicked his actions, desperate to drink in as many sights as she could. Boulder's architecture was largely unremarkable but London had a culture and history dating back to before the United States even existed. Payson couldn't—and wouldn't, she hoped—ever see enough of London.
"You know, there are five hundred and thirty steps to the top of the gallery. You can see across the whole of London from there," he explained.
"We should go there before we leave London," Payson insisted. She had been composing a mental list of places to visit in London all evening. Sasha hummed a non-committal response, turning around to rest his back against the railing. Payson frowned and turned to see what had distracted Sasha so much. Her jaw dropped.
"That's the Globe Theatre," she whispered. Her eyes danced in wonder. Sasha smiled and held out an arm.
"Shall we?"
At the door, Sasha produced two tickets to the evening's performance of Romeo and Juliet and Payson's eyes shone brighter than he'd ever seen. Her hand reached for his and she gripped it tightly, fingers saying thank you, don't let go, I love you—all the words she didn't trust herself to say as her eyes filled with tears.
"You told me once that this was your favourite story—I couldn't let you come to London and not see it the way it was intended to be seen."
Payson leaned into him as they took their seats—two spaces on a hard wooden bench placed centrally in the amphitheatre, just a few rows back from the edge of the stage. Sasha wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head tenderly as she show began. He would be the first to admit that he spent the majority of the show watching Payson's reactions rather than the action on stage—but the way Payson's lips moved in time with the monologues being performed made his heart skip a little.
The actors on stage portrayed a story eerily similar to their own—a love forbidden by society yet more powerful than anything he'd ever felt—and he found himself moved almost to tears as Payson stood to applaud at the end, tugging on his arm to make him stand too. He was unsurprised to see the faint marks of tears on her cheeks, small disruptions in the even tone of her makeup visible only to eyes well-versed in the nuances of her face. Wrapping an arm around her waist felt so natural as he guided her out of the theatre and into the crisp summer evening. Payson argued passionately about the characters' motives and Sasha nodded, adding as much as he could remember from his A Level studies years before—but as he watched her speak so fervently, all he could do was smile.
Not too long ago, he had been castigating himself several times daily—every time he caught himself thinking of the pint-sized blonde stalking just ahead of him, balancing better on five-inch stiletto heels than he had ever managed on a practice balance beam three inches above the ground. She had been his first, last and every thought during his stay in Cambria and he had hated himself for it, knowing the dangers of his feelings for her—his star gymnast, and an underage one at that.
The previous evening had opened his eyes to a lot of things—to Payson, the woman he thought he knew inside out, but of whom, it seemed, he had barely scratched the surface—and to their mutual feelings. Now that she was no longer his gymnast, he was no longer her coach—and she was no longer underage. The media would still vilify him and assume or imply all kinds of things about her—but it was a risk she was more than willing to take, and after two years of kidding himself and ten weeks of self-destruction, Sasha was ready to take it too.
iubită - sweetheart
fin.