Compulsive Wheedling

Content warning: compulsion

I don’t notice the difference in beguiling flattery coming from your mouth right off. You always turn to wheedling me when you want something. I’ve learned to shut down the listening part of my brain when you get going. 

But tonight, the shadows have grown long across the prairie, yet still you haven’t given up asking. I can’t imagine you’d want to visit the corner store with your friends this bad. 

I frown, realizing. Turning to you, I say, “You can just ask.”

Your eyes widen as I break the compulsion. “Please help—something’s tellin’ me to ask to go outside.”

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