Zombie (The Cursed Manuscripts, #2)

by Iain Rob Wright

Eventually, he would calm down and see her point of view, so she would just wait. The problem was that he had utterly humiliated her tonight, and she didn’t know whether to scream or cry about it. Her anger was so thick, so viscous, that it made her contemplate leaving him. Once upon a time, that would have seemed absurd.

There was a fairground in her guts, carousels and Ferris wheels going round and around. But she couldn’t let her fear rule her. Her entire life, she had chosen the safe options – the path of least responsibility.

Danny had eventually calmed down and apologised, but then he had asked her to sympathise with him because of how upset he was. He just loved her so much that it hurt him to think of her with anybody else, that was all. He said it as if she should somehow be grateful, so she had held him for twenty minutes, trying to reassure him while at the same time wondering how he had somehow ended up the victim. She didn’t even understand why there had to be a victim. Why couldn’t they just have a nice time? Why was happiness so unsustainable for him?

“Mistakes belong in the past, young lady,” he said. “Every tomorrow is a blank slate and a chance to start again, so don’t cheat yourself by believing that you’re stuck.” “I feel stuck.” “But you’re not. People always think they have to stick with the life they chose, but that’s nonsense. A life is long, and it happens in chapters. My Margaret and I didn’t buy this farm until we were in our mid-thirties. Before that, we felt trapped in a life of barely getting by and working jobs we hated. We dreamed of having our own farm filled with our own animals, but we always convinced ourselves we were being silly. Then, one day, after an awful day at work, Margaret came straight out and asked me: Why not? What the hell was stopping us? Why does a dream have to remain a dream? Well, my Margaret might have passed on seven years ago now, but we had the most amazing life here together on this little patch of land. If you need proof that life can end up in a much different place than it started, I’m it. If your husband was a bastard, just make damn sure that the next one isn’t.” Laura huffed. “Or maybe there doesn’t even have to be a next one.” “Perhaps, but don’t close the door on love just because you gave it to the wrong person.”