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Alex stumbles into his apartment, tired and a bit tipsy from the night’s early events, which he had to leave early for due to his clothes feeling too tight. He was itchy everywhere, and when he smelt his shirt, he thought he was gonna puke. No wonder his game was weak tonight. Stripes had always told him how bad he smelt but it was never this bad when she was around. Maybe he should finally shower, it has been a while since his last one, like a week or two. Now that he thinks about it, it’s been so much longer than that, and it’s been even longer since he’s done his laundry. How’s he gonna pick up anyone like this?
He wobbles over to the bathroom and promptly strips down, struggling to get his tight pants off. “God damnit, why do I even wear these anymore? I can never get them off..” He mumbles to himself, once he finally gets them off, he turns on the shower. Alex stares at his reflection in the mirror, specifically the scar on his chest. He touches the three claw marks and gets lost in thinking about her . He hates her so goddamn much. Alex slips out of his socks and boxers before stepping into the shower. The hot water rushes down his body, shocking him, and it hurts. It’s way too hot and his rotting skin starts peeling.
“OW- SHIT- FUCK!!” Alex grabs the knob and turns it so it’s warm, rather than scorching hot. He lets the water run down his body for a few minutes before grabbing his wash rag. The zombie squirts his 3-in-1 body wash onto the rag, and promptly scrubs himself with the rag, gently, to not hurt his rotting skin. He sighs before beginning to speak to himself again. “If she were here, this rotting skin thing wouldn’t be a problem.” He thinks back to how Stripes would clean the rotting patches of his flesh and put medicine on it, when he realizes what he's doing, he shakes himself out of the thought. She’s gone, and she won’t come back. He can’t change that. After he finishes scrubbing himself, he grabs his shampoo, pouring way too much on his hand and scrubbing vigorously.
Trying to get all the blood stains out of his hair, he scrubs at it for most of his shower. It’s harder to get a partner when your hair is bloody all the time. After what feels like forever, he finally rinses the shampoo out of his hair, and the blood-mixed water pools into the tub. He stares at it in shame, he understands he can’t control it, but it’s still nasty. He doesn’t care for conditioner, ‘what’s the point in it’, that's what he asks himself, So he just steps out of the shower and dries himself off.
Alex looks around the bathroom and realizes he didn’t bring pajamas with him, oh well, he lives alone, he doesn’t need clothes. He looks in the mirror again, and he thinks about brushing his teeth. Which is strange, because he hasn’t brushed his teeth in forever. Stripes always would remind him, but he didn’t care enough about himself to actually do it. Damnit, he’s thinking about her again. Alex grabs his toothbrush, wetting it, and adding toothpaste. He brushes his teeth, for an agonizing two minutes, as all he can think of is her . ‘Get over yourself,’ he thinks, ‘You broke up practically ages ago.’ In all reality, it wasn’t even a year ago, but in times like these, he tends to trick himself so he can forget.
He spits out the toothpaste in his mouth and rinses his mouth out. He rushes out of the bathroom and lays on his bed, in starfish position. He can’t stop thinking about her still. He sits up and grabs his dirty clothes basket, which had piled up into two baskets, and a third if he had another basket. His room was filthy- His whole apartment was filthy, but he didn’t care, she did, but she’s a clean freak. He drags the baskets to his little laundry room, a closet he DIY’d into a laundry room. He was tired of going outside to the laundromat. Too many people and too much noise to deal with when sober.
He throws his clothes in, not bothering to separate them. He didn’t mind being sober before, but after she left, he just couldn’t stand it anymore. The day is agonizing if he isn’t fucking, being fucked, or not sober. Like right now, if he was drunk he wouldn’t be thinking about her so much. But she’s the worst nuisance ever. She drives him up the wall. He just wants to do his laundry. He pours in detergent and starts the cycle. Alex stares at the washer before getting bored, causing him to walk to the kitchen and check for food. He’ll go to sleep and switch the load tomorrow, he’s way too tired to stay up and make himself food, so he walks to his bedroom, and crashes for the night.