“Some things are easier to say in the dark,” He started, “Easier to say because you don’t have to see the disappointment on anyone’s face if you said the wrong thing.”

“The wrong thing?” She questioned.

“Stuff like, I need help, or I can’t do it alone,” he paused, trying to hold back a sob.

“And why would that be the wrong thing?” She asked, once again confused as to what the boy ment.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, “It just always has been.”

“Well I think asking for help is a good thing.”

“I don’t think it’s bad either, but my parents think it means someone; usually me, is weak.”

“Well I think your parents are being stupid, being able to ask for help is really brave.”

At this he started to cry, “I’m not even brave enough to look at your face while telling you this, how could you possibly think that?”

“Because it’s hard to admit you need help and it’s good to tell others when you can’t do it by yourself, the people who tell you otherwise are the wrong ones.”

And with that all the walls the boy had built up crumbled as though they were saltine crackers as big fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

They just sat like that for a while in the dark the girls reassuring presence making the boy feel safe for the first time since he was 3.