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Where did Xander's life go wrong? From the moment he was born, then his band years in high school to finally building a home with the love of his life, his days were always filled with loud laughter and friends. Now, he's one of the lone survivors in the apocalypse, he hasn't touched a bass in years and people try to kill him at the first sight of him. Fuck, his only friend is a goddamn undead.
He stared at himself in the mirror he grabbed from today's loot. Cerise, the undead in question, saw the thing and was so excited by it as if it was damn magical (and it better be with how much space it's taking up in their base). He had replied with a firm ‘’No’, but still ended up finding himself carrying the heavy thing in the eerie garbage filled streets all the way back to their base as he silently cursed himself for still being such a fuckin' pushover during the apocalypse.
Xander now laid alone on his rock hard, old and stained mattress with the mirror placed right in front of him. Who decided that was a good fuckin' idea to put that there? As if he wasn't the one that had put it there in the first place. He grumbled unhappily and tried to force his eyes closed to finally drift asleep. It worked for a while, his eyelids heavy from exhaustion and his sheer will to just keep them away from the mirror, but his thoughts had no end, and his eyes opened almost automatically, his orbs stuck on his own reflection.
Maybe he should turn around, or get up and move the mirror away, at least turn it opposite way from himself but he found he didn't have the guts or the motivation to do any of those. Xander was frozen. Staring endlessly at the reflection of a man he today, just now realised he could not recognize anymore.
To be frank, he couldn't remember the last time he took a good look at himself. He only ever caught glimpses of his appearance from the corner of his eye whenever he walked past a large shop window, but he never fully stared. Never dared to, never wanted to. But ‘ere he is.
The only thing he can think of glaring at this stupid mirror, is that whoever it is staring back at him is not Xander. He can still remember the young him– the one still in band, with his stupid smile and best friends, making wild decisions on a whim with his group as if there was no tomorrow. Xander couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle at the memories and the irony; today there’s a real chance for there to be no tomorrow, and he’s become a huge stuck up instead. Younger him would hate present him for it, for sure. He can recall the him from a long long time ago, trying to be an academic weapon just to seek the approval of his dad. Sorry, father, but you were so damn strict. Although he was never built for middle school. Eh, he had given up on the ol’ man a long time ago. Still, part of him hopes his father was able to join his mother's arms now; that he was able to sleep for eternity peacefully despite the current circumstances. He hadn't had the ability to check on him when the apocalypse begun, but as awful as it sounds he hoped he was able to be put to rest before it happened. The possible image of his own dad rotting and devouring flesh instead of resting peacefully in his eternal bed suddenly made him feel ill. His shoulders tensed and his chest tightened, he tried to switch his thoughts to something else. He's sure the old man was fine- he was always so stubborn like that. He supposes that was a positive sometimes. With his thoughts continuing to move, he landed on a specific time, the one version of himself he remembers oh so clearly, yet not at all.
It was arguably the happiest time of his life, and he couldn't even remember half of it. Barely anything of his small children, nor the face of the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. The life he had managed to finally build for himself before the apocalypse only felt like a distant dream now, more so than his other memories. He only could ask, why? Why can't he possibly remember his happiness during the one time in his life he can only feel suffering? His heart ached with both anger and nostalgia and he closed his eyes for a second, pausing his racing thoughts. But he forced them open just to stare at his reflection once again, and he could've sworn that for a moment his old self stared back, the one with the perfect teeth and toothy smile and the foolishness of a young man that had just discovered how to live. But upon taking a closer look, the image of his old self flashes back to present time Xander and he'll find it was as if the old him had never existed at all. Xander's eyes travelled and he picked out every little feature he deemed as pathetic. His greasy, unkempt hair, his deep and heavy eyebags, his yellowed teeth and his body once strong and healthy now less strong and clearly malnourished. Around his lips the start of a beard he once promised he wouldn't grow out. His jagged hands which sometimes he could still feel sticky, warm blood on, coating his palms, staying stuck underneath his fingernails no matter how clean they were. The scars on his arms that threatened to never fully fade away, a constant reminder of the day it all went downhill.
He looked nothing like he used to. Couldn’t feel clean like he used to. Nothing like how he wanted to look like today, but obviously life had other plans. He became the opposite of his old self, everything he didn't want to be and everything he despised, he had become gross, vile, disgusting. And fuck, does he feel gross– every part of his body, everything he touched, everything he loves or have loved became tainted like him, and he hates it, he hates it, Xander is scared of the undead, yet he feels like one himself. And who’s to say he’s not scared of himself, of the blood on his hands, the dirt and the hands he feels all over his body?
Xander suddenly sat up straight, clutching his chest with his left hand as he tried to catch his breath to just calm the hell down. He needs to breathe, his mind ventured too far and it was time to calm the hell down. But he was immediately greeted with a cheerful Cerise throwing herself towards him like a goddamn labrador.
Xander's breath hitched as he was suddenly taken out of his trance by the crazy girl, his heart dropping to his stomach. He wasn’t given time to collect himself however, as Cerise waved a hello before starting to sign. Shit, he forgot he had started teachin’ her sign language. It’s not like she was signing fast, but the corners of his vision were weirdly blurry and his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his sockets. God, he needs to get himself together, actin' like this in front of the girl- it's embarrassin'.
Xander took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a solid moment to recollect himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he reopened his eyes.
“Can you repeat that?”
His entire body ached with the fatigue of the day, built upon the sudden high amount of stress he was just in, yet even with his mind spiralling he tried with all his remaining might to force it to stop and concentrate on the girl in front of him.
Yet he found that it was completely fuckin’ useless, as Cerise had apparently decided to become deaf. She, kneeled in front of Xander, in fact did not repeat herself, her lifeless eyes fixed onto his, unmoving and frozen like he was barely a minute ago.
Growing uneasy, he spoke up. “Knock knock, someone there?” He teased, unamused. That got a reaction out of her, as she shuffled back a small distance with her eyebrows shot up in realisation, only to then tilt her head to the side like a lost puppy. Xander would’ve found it cute, if it wasn’t for what she signed right after.
The smallest ‘Are you okay?’ was asked with her shaky undead hands, a clear pout plastered on her face, and Xander instantly almost gagged.
His face shifted into a subtle sneer. It had been well, fuckin’ years since he’s been asked that. And sure, yeah, he could recall that last time, he was able to just reply with a simple ‘Yes,’ even if he wasn’t fine, and go on with his merry day. But after 10 long years of isolation, today felt different, and he swore that if Cerise wanted to, she could’ve just teared apart his ribcage right this moment and feed on his heart, turning it to shreds, and that experience wouldn’t make much of a difference to how he felt at that single question.
Now it was his turn to stare. His eyes focused intensely on Cerise, never leaving his line of sight, frowning. It should’ve been easy to just say that he was good and get to bed, but he knows himself well enough to know that he won't be able to fall into slumber, and Cerise is a smart girl, she's proven as much; she’d know he’s lying whether she pries or not, and he can’t say yes—can’t say anything. Frozen just like he was now less than three minutes ago. But he knows he shouldn’t stay silent when he sees Cerise's eyebrows furrow, before she shuffled closer to him again, placing her hands on his shoulders…—and shaking him !
“For god’s sake—” He startled, “Don’t!” At least that snapped him out of it. He forced her hands off of him, and Cerise’s expression slowly morphed into a guilty pout. Xander let out a deep sigh to recollect himself, and didn’t fail to notice the change in her expression.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” He huffed, and in fact she didn’t. Her pout quickly shifted into a smug smile, and Xander couldn’t help but roll his eyes, moving himself backwards to sit his back leaned against the wall.
He didn’t remember when, but somewhere along the line during that interaction his lips slipped into a small smile, and at the realisation his mind suddenly played back the events of the evening; his god-forsaken thoughts, his blurry memories—and the small smile dropped into a frown once again, his shoulders tensing and his chest tightening with his sore heart for the second time tonight.
He peeled open his eyes, though he didn't remember when he had closed them in the first place, and was firstly met with Cerise, his undead ‘friend’, sat on her knees at the opposite of him, on the end of his makeshift bed. Without even blinking, his tired eyes laid on her, he inhaled a deep breath of air before mustering up the courage to just say;
“No, to be honest. ‘M not okay.”
There was a brief pause between the two, a moment of uncomfortable silence. Cerise raised her trembling hands to sign, before resting them back on their knees. She was back to focusing intensely on Xander, she sat unmoving with her blank eyes fixed on him. He looked slightly down and realised she was picking the skin on her fingers. What was she thinking? Crap, had she made her nervous? Could he scare off an undead? Xander continued to stare, unblinking, trying to look for any significant reaction coming from the girl.
When there was none, Xander closed his eyes, pulling his head back and feeling the hard brick wall behind him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know what he was expecting, opening up to an undead out of all things. Younger him would laugh at him with that god forsaken perfect toothy smile, although he wouldn't even know what an undead is. Maybe the kids would too. Maybe Madeline would, if he explained their current predicament. I mean really, bantering with the creatures that got us into this mess in the first place. The thing that had gotten them kidnapped, tortured, killed—was this what he was doing with his second chance? Leaving his kids, friends, family to rot away both physically and in his mind, just to befriend some kind of—
Cerise suddenly pushed herself towards Xander as he opened his eyes and her face appeared uncomfortably close to his and he jumped, hitting his head on the wall behind him. She gave him a cheerful yet nearly guilty smile once she noticed Xander’s eyes shot open again, backing away whilst he shot a piercing glare at her. She raised her hands to sign, and Xander was even more baffled by her next sentence.
‘What’s wrong?’
He was taken by such surprise that he had to abruptly sit up straight, his shoulders stiffening greatly. He whistled before humming, putting a hand over his strong chin in thought. First of all, he was not expecting this question from Cerise- neither did he want to engage in this conversation. But second of all, yeah, that was quite the question, wasn’t it? What’s wrong?
He wishes he could reply that, well, everything's wrong. From the ache in his bones from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, the dull pain in his chest, everything he remembers and everything he doesn’t—everything fuckin’ sucks. But as he gave it more thought, it all came down to the same key element. What was the cause of his pain, of his lost memories? What surrounded him then and today, making it impossible for him to ever live instead of surviving, to ever move on?
Death. It’s always death, ain’t it?
No, Xander does not fear the thought of death itself. He has witnessed death firsthand and has had to live with it for the past decade. He’s still very well aware of his surroundings, thanks, but what makes him really squirm is the fact he doesn’t know where he will end up. The promise of a comfortable life is never really promised, let alone a non-painful death. He's learned that the hard way. Never had he ever expected that he would have to be the one to experience his wife’s and children’s torture and murder, and to never find out what had become of his remaining family, but he did. Xander closed his eyes tight at the thought, running a hand through his hair.
And ‘yeah, sure, ye’ could argue that it’s over, but it has never ended for him. The memories replay in his mind every single day. When there’s a sudden sound, an undead or a person way too familiar for comfort, and even when there isn’t. It lives in his mind always, rethinking the things he could’ve done differently, the things he could’ve said before they died. He’s the only one remaining to document his loved ones deaths and lives, yet now that he had finally found another conscious being he finds he physically cannot open his mouth to speak about it. Can’t even fuckin’ think about it anymore. He claims to love them yet he has forgotten their names, their identity lost with the wind as time passed. The memories stay with him, but their faces are blurred and their voice a mere echo, dizzying him and making him stumble on his feet.
He can remember Xander, how he used to be, what he used to do, but everybody that he ever cared about was lost and the memories were slowly fading away too. And damn, he would be lying if he didn’t feel selfish for it. Again, he asks himself the same question, why? Why must he forget about the people that managed to keep him sane, to bring a smile on his face? Even if he could, the flashbacks only bring a torturous pain in his chest, but as he slowly loses his memories, the pain is instead replaced by an empty void, slowly overtaking everything that makes Xander him. And somehow, he finds himself missing the pain.
As the memories slowly dissipate from his head, he can feel himself losing his mind. His only remaining thoughts are survival and his only focus most days on his current body, yet he’s never dared to take a good look at it until he forcefully today because he knows he’d fear what he’d see. He doesn’t have to feel like his sanity is escaping him to know that his body is slowly dying. His countless scars and mysterious bruises, the filthy feeling of dirt and sweat all over him, the sensation of bloody hands everywhere on him. Xander can feel himself physically rotting, and although he is unafraid of what comes after death, part of him hopes that it is safe enough to welcome a man like him.
He knows that his death will be a painful one. Whether he manages to die of old age or by other circumstances, there is not much left his body can handle now. Either way, whatever will happen to him, he doesn’t wanna stick around long around to find out. But he can’t find it in him to end his life himself, yet he can’t find it in him to be killed by another creature’s hand either.
Sometimes he wishes he had just let himself die that fateful day, but he could never let himself give the satisfaction of being killed by his abductors, the same people who had taken the life of his reasons to live. So he is forced to endure. Now he can only hope that death will feel like coming home from a long day from work, hurrying over to fall into a tender embrace from his loving life and hearing the bright laughter of his children as he slowly slips his eyes closed.
But right now, Xander blinked he dryness away from his droopy eyes. They were currently very well open, staring down at his stained mattress, and Cerise, he recalled, was still waiting for a reply. He finally looked up at her again, and he was stunned to see that she was still sitting on her knees, her own eyes fixed on mine. She was still waiting for a reply from him.
Xander hummed thoughtfully.
“’You ever lost somebody, Cerise?”
That seemed to earn him a dumbstruck reaction from the undead girl, and she gawked at him. Despite the serious talk, Xander couldn’t help but huff out a chuckle at the astonishment in her eyes before frowning again. She definitely wasn’t expecting that question. Cerise looked away for a moment, thinking. She kept her hands on her knees, fidgeting by picking her skin again, but never once raising them to reply. When she stayed without a word, he continued.
“I did. I.. I lost two little girls. My girls, and my wife.”
Xander turned his head away, finding the barricaded windows very interesting suddenly. In the corner of his eye he noticed Cerise’s head perk up once more, but he didn’t dwell on it.
“Back when the whole infection thing started. Somehow I managed to run away, but I watched ‘em die and I couldn’t—I didn’t do anythin’ about it.”
He placed a hand to the back of his neck when a sudden cramp shot through it, making him shift as he sat. His tone when he spoke was sad, full of regret and wavering as if he was on the verge of tears. After letting those words out, he refused to look at Cerise more than ever.
“Grief… is damn strange.” He breathed. “I can’t remember ‘em, yet my head still plays little snippets of ‘em as soon as I find any ounce of joy. It’s like my brain remembers the last time I was happy, yet it fuckin’ ruins it all on its own.” He continued thinking at the same time as he spoke, and this time, instead of staying silent all the damn time, he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, throwing them up from his hurting chest.
“And not once does it not feel like my two little girls are right behind me, following me around everywhere I go, but instead of cheering me on like they used to, they’re asking me to give up. To come pick ‘em up. And I just… can’t.”
His voice broke at that last word, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He quickly brought a scarred hand to his eyes to wipe them away, choking on a sob. He wasn’t about to break now, especially not in front of Cerise—never in front of her.
He kept covering his eyes with his jacket’s sleeve as he kept going. “I can’t pick up that damned gun and put a bullet through my brain. No matter how much I miss ‘em. I don’t know what I’m fightin’ for, if not for my life, but what’s the point of living now, right? What the fuck am I scared of?”
There was complete and utter silence for a moment. Nobody dared to move. The silent air was only broken by the harsh wind outside making the windows clank and Xander’s quiet occasional sniffle as he continued to dry his eyes with his sleeve, refusing to let any tears fall.
The silence was eventually interrupted by shuffling on the mattress, before hearing footsteps run against the creaky wooden floorboards. Xander didn’t bother to remove his arm in order to take a look—it was already obvious Cerise had left without even saying anything else. He clenched his teeth and dug his nails into his palms, but to be honest, he couldn’t even be mad. Talking to an undead about anything has always been a bad idea, why would it be any different now? He didn’t know what he had expected, nor did he really want her to do anything. He was more mad at himself for letting himself believe Cerise maybe cared and letting his guard down, even if just for a small moment.
But he cautiously lowered the arm that was hiding his eyes when he heard footsteps jog back towards him. Cerise appeared in his vision again, sat back down on her knees as if she had never ran off to begin with. Only difference was that she now held in between them a small metal box and Xander’s eyes lingered on it, only wondering where in the hell she had gotten it from.
At that moment he regretted not keeping his full undisturbed focus on the girl, because in a matter of seconds she was now barely three inches away from him, holding his arm up in front of her.
She clicked open the box with a free hand, but Xander didn’t even bother to take a glimpse of what was in it. What did she want with him? His heart was racing once more, and he bit his cheek in order not to straight up yell at her to stop touching him. She looked at him with sad eyes and a raised eyebrow, as if she was trying to ask him for something—but Xander was unable to get a grip of what she was trying to say at all right now.
That was until she drifted her attention back to his arm, and raised his sleeve!
Xander flinched hard, and he was not afraid to call her out. “What are you?!—”
Cerise gently stuck a star shaped sticker on Xander’s bare arm, on top of one of his scars.
…Come again?
“…What?” His eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion.
Cerise’s cheeks lit up a bright peach pink as she removed her grip from Xander’s arm, shuffling away. But Xander stayed frozen in place, his eyes widened in bewilderment, his gaze frantically shifting from his arm to Cerise repetitively.
He almost repeated his vague question before Cerise raised her trembling hands to sign again.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you. I don’t know what to say. I'm not very good with people.’
She paused for a moment as she genuinely frowned, a rare sight to be seen on the girl. Something was on her mind, but he couldn't figure out what.
‘I don’t think It’s your fault. And I really want you to know I’m happy you’re still living today. You're very special to me. I don’t like it when you’re sad, but you always are.’
She moved towards him again, picking up another star shaped sticker from the small pink and glittery metal container and carefully sticking it onto another one of his scars. This time, Xander did not tremble or flinch, just looked attentively as she worked.
‘ So maybe when you look back at your scars next time, you can smile. And you can realise how pretty and awesome you are! Like how I think you are.’ She smiled sweetly.
Xander felt his heart skip a beat and his breath hitched. He could only gawk at her in awe, before turning his attention back to the two new star stickers on his arm, and— although it didn’t do much to hide them, when he paid further attention to them this time, he didn’t think of them as a source of ugliness or an insecurity. Instead his mind immediately went to Cerise and her words—and although he didn’t think it fixed anything, he still felt a huge weight be taken off his chest, like he was finally allowing himself to breath.
His expression relaxed into a sad smile and he huffed a small laugh. He shook his head before his gaze shifted back to the girl sat in front of him, who was observing Xander in search of any reaction.
“You’re too kind, ‘girl.”
Her cheeks lit up a bright peach pink again, her lips pressing into a thin line as she gripped the brim of her pink jacket.
“’Sure. ‘I guess It’s not a bad idea, the stars are pretty cool. Ye’ got any blue ones?”
Cerise smiled a big, cheerful smile, one that puffed her still pink cheeks. Even if Cerise has always been since he met her very gleeful, he doesn’t think he had ever seen her smile so genuinely until today. And at that moment, Xander thought he’d do just anything to live long enough to be able to see it again.