full of moxie and viscosity

(no picking)
Some people just like to fuck with your head. It's fun to let them do it, but it's not so easy at night. When you're alone with just their manipulations, it's a lot different. The glow in the dark stars you hung on your ceiling when you were fourteen shed light on the mature complication you've designed for yourself, and suddenly, that late night message you were about to send feels so vulnerable. Those emails? Something a child would send. You cringe remembering blood you shed, little reassurances you gave to them. You search your brain for anything they ever gave to you- remember a few little slipups, confessions, "I'm insecure," they said. Doesn't seem enough.

If they call tonight, you promise yourself, you won't answer the phone.