Author's Note: Thanks to all who give reviews! And now for the notification: J. K. Rowling holds the rights to Harry Potter, not me. Hello, Captain Obvious. Anyway, hope you enjoy the second chapter!

Chapter 2: Falling Apart

That evening, during dinner, Dad announced that although we had only been in England for five months, he was being stationed to California. We'd be leaving in a week. Sasha was in an outrage. She shouted that she wouldn't be coming with him. She was here to stay, she assured him. She had a reason to stay here, and there was no way that she would be moving. And I knew what her "reason" was: Eric. I stood, in a kind of dazed trance, watching her as she seethed and raged until she stormed upstairs and slammed her bedroom door closed. Dad's face remained expressionless throughout the whole ordeal.

****

I knocked on Sasha's bedroom door later that night and was promptly greeted by a slightly muffled "Go the hell away, Olive." I ignored it. Walking into her room, I found her, eyes puffy and her jaw set, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Go away," she repeated, more hoarsely than before.

"No."

Sasha eyed me threateningly, but I didn't waver. After a few seconds of silence, she broke eye contact, sniffed loudly, and spoke.

"I meant what I said," she muttered firmly, her eyes fixed somewhere upon the wall behind me. Her voice came almost as a growl, as if she expected me to contradict her sincerity.

"I know," I replied. Her eyes snapped up, and she half-smiled. "But you're wrong," I continued. "You can't stay with him." Her eyes flashed and the smile disappeared. A cold expression spread across her face and then a sneer.

"Of course you wouldn't understand," she said. "You've never been in love, have you? Never had a boyfriend! And you hate Eric! You can't stand him, I know it! Can't you just look past that?"

I opened my mouth to tell her that I had come to terms with my dislike and that moving away was not something I would wish upon them, but she interrupted.

"I will NOT just move again and tear myself away from the only person that loves me!" she screamed emotionally. I stood still, feeling as though she had slapped me.

"The only person that loves you," I whispered coolly.

"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly. "Mom's gone. Dad's been in shock since Mom left." She paused, and I thought she would say something about me. But she didn't. Instead, she merely said "The only time I feel like I belong is when I'm with Eric."

"You belong with your family," I growled. My face felt like it was hardening and my voice sounded broken.

"It's gone," she whispered. "Fallen apart."

"It has not! You still have me!" I spat angrily.

Sasha lowered her eyes. "I'm staying with Eric," she whispered.

"Eric," I laughed humorlessly. "Sasha, open your eyes and see! All this talk of love. It'll be gone in a year or so."

Sasha's expression was darkening and she opened her mouth to berate me again, but I cut her off.

"You have to realize that some people…," I took a deep breath and continued. "Some people are just temporary parts of your life. They might love you now, but sometimes life makes you leave them behind."

I exhaled. I felt drained, physically and emotionally, and my mind was blank. I felt like an idiot and I waited for Sasha to say something in defense of Eric, to yell it in my face. But instead, her face softened and simply murmured "You're right".

I stared at her. The room was silent for a few seconds. Finally, I regained control of my mouth. "What?" I said incredulously, surprised that she was agreeing with me.

"You're right," she repeated. She sighed deeply, and lay down on her bed, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head against her pillow. I remained motionless, a bit confused at the abrupt end to our argument.

"Goodnight, Olive," she called.

I nodded slowly and turned to exit her room.

"Olivia!" she called again.

I turned back around.

"I'm sorry."

I smiled weakly, glad to know the argument was over, and left the room. It was past midnight, and I was exhausted from all the drama. I crossed the dark hallway to my bedroom, creeping quietly so as not to wake Dad, and went into my bedroom. My energy gone, I did not bother to change into pajamas; I walked straight toward my bed and fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

I woke up the next morning to the honk of a horn outside my bedroom window. Bleary-eyed and debating whether to go back to sleep, I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and found that it was nearly noon.

Surprised, I hopped out of bed and made my way towards the kitchen. There was so much to do, and so little time. Everything had to be found and put away in less than a week. At the moment, however, my first and foremost priority was breakfast, and I busied myself with a search of the pantry closet. Humming happily to myself, I spotted a box of corn flakes and was pouring some into a bowl for myself when I spotted Sasha sitting at the table, already dressed for the day and spacing out on her bagel.

I sat down next to her. The room was silent except for the crunching of corn flakes. Dad had gone to work and, since Mom wasn't here anymore, the news no longer blared from the television during the day.

I gulped loudly and Sasha seemed to wake up from her bagel-staring trance. She looked me in the eye and I struck up a conversation on the topic of the day: packing.

"So," I started, stuffing more cereal in my mouth. "What's the plan? I was thinking we could start by packing up all the books on the bookshelves in the living room." Another spoonful of corn flakes entered my mouth. "And then maybe we could conquer our rooms. Now, mine will probably take a while, since it's just a bit messy, but-"

"No."

"Oh," I muttered. "Well, okay, then maybe we could-"

"Actually," Sasha said, swiping a strand of hair from her face, "I was thinking about going to see Eric today."

I stopped rambling on about organizing (something that didn't cross my mind often, mind you) and raised an eyebrow. I meant to stay silent, but a disgruntled-sounding "mmm" escaped from my mouth.

"I need to talk with him. You know, about moving and all," she said, looking at me, wide-eyed and expectant, for a sign of approval as she slowly ripped apart her bagel.

I realized that she needed to talk to him before she left and, feeling a bit guilty at the look on her face, nodded.

Sasha beamed and stood up, gathering her large messenger bag from beside her.

"Don't worry," she said as she put it over her shoulders. "I'll have my room all packed up by tonight."

I nodded again. Sasha was at the door before I knew it and she turned to face me.

"Goodbye," she called and walked out, closing the front door softly behind her. And with that, she was gone.

I sighed and finished my breakfast alone. I took a shower, and the hot water helped me feel more awake. I swept my hair up in a ponytail, donned an oversized T-shirt, some shorts, and a couple of fuzzy slippers, and began the tedious task of cleaning and packing.

I spent the next few hours categorizing and packing into boxes all the books we had. Here were Dad's old computer books, big, dusty manuals that I couldn't understand; there were all the classics, Dad's old college textbooks, and childhood stories; in another box were the favorites of Sasha and mine. While I was doing this, I came across Mom's collection of poetry and how to guides and felt an impulse to throw them all into the trash, but I suppressed it, packed it neatly into a box, and finished packing up the books. The rest of the afternoon was spent organizing the monstrosity I called my room into little brown boxes.

Feeling accomplished from my packing success of the day, I headed to Sasha's room. She still hadn't come home and I foresaw that she might be grumpy and moody when she returned. Thinking that I would pack some of her clothes for her and not bother her about helping tonight, I went into her bedroom and shuffled through the closet and her chest of drawers, only to find that a good deal of her clothes and her piggy bank were gone. Puzzled, I spun my gaze around my room. My eyes finally came to rest on the only object out of the normal place in her room, a note taped to her mirror on the wall. A sense of foreboding crept over me as I started to read it, and I knew, even before I finished, what it would say.

Olive, it read,

I know that you don't what to hear these things that I am about to tell you in this letter and that this will put a huge amount of stress on you, but I can't go without making sure you'll know. I'm leaving to be with Eric. I don't want to move away from him. I love him. I know you don't understand. I know that you don't like him and that you will probably think I'm being irrational and immature. Maybe I am, but Eric needs me right now. I'm sorry. You and Dad are important to me, but Eric is even more important. He's in a complicated situation and needs my support. I'm going away with him. I can't really explain all the details, but I can tell you that I truly want to stay by his side. I've already taken all the things I need and we're leaving together. Please understand.

I'll miss you.

-Sasha

I finished reading the note and, on the second time that I read it, the reality of the news sank in and I stood stock-still. I wasn't panicking or crying. I just stood in silence feeling betrayed and angry. Betrayal because she was had deserted me. Anger because evidently I was not only not important enough, but also not worthy of the complete truth. It was like a repeat of what happened with Mom, only worse. The two feelings warred inside of me for a while until the slam of the front door echoed through the house and indicated that Dad had come back from work. Or rather, the bar as I soon found out.

I had never seen Dad drunk before. When I met him in the living room, he was approaching me with a swaying kind of swagger. His expression was off, his stance was different, his hair disheveled. The corners of his mouth rose when he saw me.

I observed him cautiously. I didn't know what to do. He was obviously drunk. The smell of alcohol perforated the air and become stronger as he approached. I needed to tell him, though. I needed to tell him about Sasha. I didn't know if he would (or could) help in this state, but I needed to tell him. I gulped and began to speak.

"Dad," I said shakily. "Dad, I need to tell you something."

"Whassh the matter," he bellowed. The sound stung my ears and made me jump.

I backed away from him and continued, trying to sound a bit firmer. "Sasha…She's gone. She's gone somewhere with her boyfriend. I don't know where. Dad, she's not coming back; she told me about it in a note she left. She's run away."

He laughed a strange laugh that was too loud. "Don't kid about stuff like that, 'Livia," he said. He was putting emphasis on weird parts of his words, and I was beginning to feel more anxious.

"I'm not. I'm serious," I said earnestly.

His face contorted and he suddenly stepped forward; his hand swung out and whipped toward me with all the strength he had, and I staggered and felt the sting of a slap on my face before I could react.

"DON'T!" he yelled, slapping me again and slamming me against the wall. His voice thundered in my ears.

After a few seconds, he laughed again. "Apple sure don't fall far from the tree, huh? Well, they can both leave if they want. I don't care anymore. Don't care! Let them deal with the world on their own, I say!" He took a deep breath, and his whole body seemed to quiver. And with that, he released me, muttered something unintelligible under his breath, made his way towards the couch, and plopped down with a huge thump. Within a minute, he was asleep, snoring deeply and loudly.

I squinted at him, indignant and, to be honest, a bit disdainful. If this had been any other day before that day, if Mom had been there, or if Sasha hadn't gone, things probably wouldn't have played out how they did. Mom would have been able to appease Dad. Sasha would have been able to sympathize and calm me down. But, as it happened, neither of them was there and I had been there in that apartment alone with a father who had decided for some reason that that day was a good day to drown his sorrows and self-pity in alcohol.

Something inside of me had snapped. And now there was no way in hell I was staying. As soon as I knew that Dad was asleep for sure, I rushed to my bedroom and found the biggest backpack I could. Breathing heavily, I stuffed as many of my belongings and clothes as I could into it and took all the money I had and put it into my wallet. Slipping on some sneakers, I rushed out of my bedroom, backpack in hand, heart racing.

I walked swiftly back to the living room and was at the front door when I paused. I wasn't sure what I was doing or what I would do. This wasn't smart. This wasn't sensible. I shouldn't be leaving my family like this. But then Dad gave a big snore and I walked right out the door. I wasn't leaving my family, I realized; it had already left me, given up, and fallen apart. I stepped out from the apartment complex and caught the last bus of the day to Little Whinging. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and the only thought in my head was of finding Sasha.