Page 33 of My Rules for Revenge
“You wanted the freedom to act like an absolute madwoman as well?” Heather asked.
“I understand the need to let loose every once in a while,” I replied.
“Whoa. Do you like to party? That sounds like you like to party.”
“I don’t enjoy parties, but I do like dancing,” I clarified.
“Where do you dance?” Heather asked.
“I…I dance alone in my room.”
“Oh wow.”
“Yes.”
“That’s depressing.”
“I know,” I responded quietly.
“Oh, I’m joking. If that’s what you like to do, so be it,” Heather assured me.
“It is. But my father comes into my room sometimes and tells me to stop. He believes I listen to satanic ritual music and that I’m performing a dance for the demons in hell,” I explained.
“Your dad tells you to stop? That’s crazy. If I were you, I’d dress up as a demon. If he’s gonna be mad about it, might as well drive him nuts. That’s just me, though. I’m a madwoman.”
“I could imagine you doing that. That would be very funny,” I chuckled.
“Yeah. My mom’s kind of like that, though. She’d probably tell me to stop dancing, but I would be blasting my heavy metal music, of course, just to annoy her.”
We finished building the shelf and began to place the knick-knacks on top of it. To joke around, Heather put the Dark Lord helmet on her head and made the famous heavy breathing noises. We freaked out when she couldn’t take it off. Thankfully, we were able to slide it out eventually and had a good laugh about it. In the back of my mind, I hoped that our growing friendship would last. I needed something like that in my life, very badly. I suppose most people did.
“So, any guys you like? Any guy you’re into?” Heather asked.
“I’m not into any guy right now, but I have a hard time talking with them. I’m a quiet person. I don’t know how to approach them,” I admitted.
“To be honest, I don’t know how to do it either. I just make cringy jokes and hope for the best. Sometimes it works, and sometimes they look at me like I’m a circus freak.”
“Do you ever get embarrassed?”I asked.
“I used to, but I think I grew out of it. I just make light of the situation. If the guy doesn’t awkwardly laugh with me at my awkwardness, I yank out their ball hairs with tweezers.”
“That’s kind of disturbing,” I remarked.
“Not to me.”
We both laughed.
“See? It works.”
“Heather, can I show you a dark joke?”
“What is it?” Heather asked.
I quickly retrieved my phone and scrolled through this blog. I found the meme and showed it to her—it was a picture of a crushed snail. She read the caption aloud.
“I always die a little inside when I step on a snail. They do, too,” Heather scoffed.
“Do you get it?” I asked.
