Page 21 of Chasing Hope

*link*

ASHFORD

dude

this is so fucking cool

I can’t believe you coded this

MATTEO

it’s far from done

ASHFORD

giving me a heart attack with that statement

how much better can it get?

MATTEO

just you wait and see

Evie doesn’t come out of her room until quarter past ten, which is actually the earliest she’s gotten up this week. Usually I don’t see her until around two o’clock.

I’ve tried everything. I’ve cooked her favorite meals, have put her favorite movies on the TV, have tried asking her to go for walks with me, but she won’t budge. I’ve never so evidentlyseen depression hit someone like it has Evie, and I don’t think it’s even because of the cheating.

It can’t be.

This is more primitive. All she does is sleep, and if she’s awake, I can hear her crying.

Even in sleep, peace doesn’t find her. I’ve spent every night in her room, running a soothing hand up and down her back. Those first two nights I woke to her screaming at least three times. Ever since, I’ve given up sleeping in my own room and just wait in the hall by her door for the first scream.

Watching Evie in this state is killing me.

She’s a zombie, a mere speck of what she used to be. There’s no life behind her eyes, there’s no joy, no happiness. And I can’t fucking take it anymore.

“Good, you’re up,” I say, closing down my monitors.

Caleb never minded that I set up my monitors in the living room. They’re tucked away in a nook to the left, facing the windows that overlook downtown Denver. I love seeing the hustle and bustle of the city while I code. The view helps pull me away from the screen when a particularly frustrating code won’t go my way or I spend nearly five hours looking for an error, like using a comma instead of a semicolon.

The only response I get is a grunt.

It absolutely guts me that I’ve become used to seeing her eyes so swollen and puffy from crying, that the sight of her walking through the kitchen so broken is normal.

As she has every day, she begins making coffee, ignoring the plate of food I left for her wrapped on the island. This morning, I made strawberry waffles, another of her favorites. She barely glances at it.

I know she’s not being rude, I just don’t think she can stomach eating right now, which is a problem. She looks like she’s lost over five pounds this week alone. If Caleb knew it was this bad, he would kill me for not telling him.

“Good morning to you, too,” I drawl. “Seems we’ve switched places. I’d love for you to start talking so I can go back to grunting.”

She just waves her hand at me.

“Okay, that’s it,” I declare. Standing, I make my way over to her, her eyes widening at my purposeful strides. I stop at the edge of the kitchen and point at her. “We’re leaving this apartment.”

“You might be but I’m not.”

Her voice.