"'It's no big deal.' That's what they all say," I murmur.

Naomi's eyes narrow, but her words are soft. "I'm really okay, Violet. It's--it's just--" she breaks off. I can hear only the steady patter of the rain on our windows.

"Losing the first person you ever loved is hard," I say. Naomi makes a choking sound, and her eyes water. I continue, "And... And it's not just losing. When you lose someone, there is a chance of finding them again. This is... Is..."

A tear drips down Naomi's face. "I know," she whispers. "She's gone. Forever. And there is nothing I can do about it." She slumps down onto the red couch in the room, and it makes a groaning sound. When we were younger, we used to joke that it sounded like her dad when he bended over. We really only stopped joking about it three days ago, when the Bad Thing happened. But when it did Happen, we both felt older, much older than we are. And in no mood to joke. So we have stopped.

I quietly say, "You could write."

Naomi glances up at me, her brows knitted it confusion.

My cheeks burn, but I force the words out. "Writing--writing helps me to express my feelings... You could try it..."

Naomi shrugs and sighs, but snatched up a few pieces of paper and a pen. She starts scribbling so furiously on it, the papers starts to rip, and the pencil's tip wears down fast. By the end, she is panting, and the papers look horrible; all wet from tears, and torn apart. Penciled words are stretching across the pages. But with determination in her eyes, Naomi hands the papers to me.

I slowly start to read the first page. It is about the car crash, and how Naomi thinks it is her fault that her sister died, because if she was there she could have woken her sister up, therefore preventing her to crash into the truck in front of her. The second page is about all of her favorite memories of her sister, and the third page is about what she wished the would have done with her sister that she never did. By the end, my tears have plopped onto the pages, mixing in with Naomi's.

Naomi abruptly gets up from the groaning couch, and walks over to me. Her deep blue eyes are welling with emotions as she opens her arms and hugs me.

"I'm glad you're my best friend," she whispers into my shirt. "Thank you."

I hug her back. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"I'm not fine," Naomi admits. "But over time, my heart will heal." Suddenly, through all the sadness, she smiles. "Except for that couch. I'm sure it'll never stop groaning."