There was blood on the floor near where he'd been sleeping, but she couldn't find him. She called out his name once. Maybe she just hadn't looked hard enough. There was no response. She checked every closet, the bathroom, the shower, even under her bed, but couldn't find him anywhere. Everything of his was still there, even his shoes. She rushed to the door, glanced down the hall in either direction. Straining her ears, she listened for footsteps. She headed for the stairs. There was no sign of him anywhere.
Rushing outside, she looked around, unable to find anyone who even remotely resembled him. She called out for him once. There was no response, not a head turned. She supposed she should have expected it. He himself had told her he never stayed in one place for too long when Bison was on the hunt. She glanced around again, though she knew at this point he could be anywhere. If he'd left in a state of confusion, surely someone would notice him when he began bleeding, or talking gibberish or...
The idea that he'd gone somewhere to die was one she didn't want to consider. That he knew it was done, but didn't want her to wake up to a corpse. Tears stung her eyes, and she didn't know why she cared so much whether or not he died. She could tell herself all day about what he'd done wrong with his life, but she couldn't make herself not care about that small part of him that had still been normal. The part that he'd tapped into when she was created, when he decided he would do something good, even if it was misguided. Even if it was simply because she looked enough like his mother.
Maybe he'd come back. Maybe she'd never see him again. Either way, she'd be prepared.
She returned home, greeted by the mewling of her cats. It was morning. They knew they'd be fed then. She looked around the otherwise silent apartment, wondering if maybe he'd come back when she was out. But that was a long shot. She wandered into the kitchen in search of the cats' food, when the drawing on the fridge caught her eye. Something about it had changed. The picture was still the same, and the words were still there, but a few had been added. "The safest place for the matador now is before the bull." She didn't understand, and wondered if perhaps it'd just been more gibberish he'd written due to the deterioration of his mind. But something, just a tiny little something, began to scratch its way to the surface. Some words of advice.
She shook her head as she remembered. He'd told her before she fought the bull using his body that a bull couldn't see what's in front of its face-that it knows better what is beside it. The matador in front of the bull was practically invisible, though not exactly an ideal position, especially when the creature began to charge. But until it did, maybe he could be considered 'safe', waiting for the next time the horns would come for him.