Competition entry for The Freeze-Dried Groom Fanfiction

A Way Out

This is my entry for Margaret Atwood's Freeze-Dried Fiction contest. It is an ending for her story "The Freeze-Dried Groom".

#freeze-driedfiction

#freezedriedfiction

Please read that story first for this one to make sense. :)

Many, many thanks to MorrighansMuse who created the cover.

They are both lying still, staring at the ceiling. The sound of the wind, and the snow on the window, seems to take away the need to fill the silence with words. Sam listens to her breathing, she breathes quietly, he thinks, and evenly. She doesn't fidget, or scratch, adjust her pillow, she doesn't sniff or clear her throat. She seems very comfortable.

He turns over towards her and slides his hand under her pillow. He feels the crisp, clean hotel-quality sheets and inwardly shudders. At least there's no smell of fabric softener. Her eyes are open, unblinking. He's not sure what to say, but it feels like he should say something now. He's grateful, but it feels wrong to say “Thanks”, or “You were great” or even to acknowledge what they've just done. He stares at her neck and jawline, her earlobe. He notices that her ears are not pierced. Interesting.

She relieves his dilemma by speaking first. “We should get something to eat from the bar. It's getting late.” She sits up in one easy movement and swings her legs over her side of the bed, letting the covers slip down over her body. As she stands up and walks silently to the bathroom Sam is reminded suddenly of a big cat. Perhaps a black leopard or jaguar, he thinks, as her dark silhouette recedes into the next room. She didn't kill him. She could have; she's easily strong enough. Is he disappointed or relieved? There's still time. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing again.

He showers too, after she comes out with her blonde hair wrapped up tight in a towel. His duffel bag is in the car but it's a lot of trouble to go and get a clean shirt. He doesn't like putting worn clothes back on after a shower, but the snow and wind make up his mind. Besides, she has put her black dress back on, and that makes him feel a little less slovenly. It occurs to him that she doesn't have any luggage. Did she have a car? He didn't remember seeing one. She mentioned the traffic from the airport, he'd assumed she'd come by cab. But she had said she was away on business, and women who are away on business tend not to travel light.

They go back down to the bar, their booth is empty and Sam naturally sits in the same place he had before. There's a woman behind the bar now and he catches her looking his companion up and down. Out of his league, she seems to be thinking, then gets back to her busywork, realigning glasses and flicking specks off the bar. The room is empty but for a couple of burly men dressed in warm work clothes. They are eating large plates of chilli at the other end of the bar. Delivery drivers, more than likely, maybe even hired to empty one of the units he didn't win.

Sam wonders about what she said earlier. “We should be together.” It was an odd thing to say at that point in the evening. There was no doubt what they were about to do; it wasn't a suggestion. Then he remembers something else; “always”, she had said. “We should always be together.” That was decidedly odd now that he thinks about it, and he feels a little prickle from the hairs on his neck once again.

“You've been here before” she says. “What should we order?” They have hardly spoken since getting into the elevator, but her demeanour has changed. No longer desperate, no longer anxious. Composed, thinks Sam, but familiar, even warm, as she looks questioningly at him, and smiling, a natural smile.

“I usually just grab a sandwich. I've never tried the cooked food. Those guys over there seem to be enjoying their meals, perhaps we should have whatever they ordered?”