Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 4 - Rita's Apartment

Pepelito scraped himself slowly to his feet, and cautiously began exploring his surroundings. Under the thick bandages, the pain in his back was less overwhelming. This place was like a small barn except the floor was tiled and hard to walk on. Parts were covered with rolls of plastic. Where was the grass? Thinking about each step, he wandered over to one of the buckets of water Rita had placed at the side of the living room for him, and started drinking greedily.

Once he'd finished, he moved onto a small bale of straw her and Alfonso had hurriedly bought with cash last night, from an agricultural wholesalers. It was too dry, but he could eat it. He was getting back his appetite. They'd put something in his food in that place that made him sick and tasted horrible. And then they'd stopped feeding him at all.

As he swished his tail he knocked a photo of Rita's parents from the table. He walked out of the door and wandered towards the bathroom with its narrow doorway. To enter, he had to make the painful effort to move his head to the side.

Unable to see a way out of the flat, he wanted to leave, but then remembered what was outside.

Rita had filled the bath with water for him. He took a few gulps, brushing the grey and white bathroom counter with his horns and knocking some lipstick and a toilet roll to the floor. A foundation bottle now stood precariously on the edge of the bathroom counter above the toilet.

This place was better than there.

But it was weird.

He walked into another room with a large double bed in it, a dressing table and two large, freestanding wooden cupboards. He climbed onto the bed and walked around. It was too soft and felt very unsteady. As he walked, some of the wooden slats snapped. He lay down for a bit on the dark grey duvet. It was more comfortable than standing up. His neck was starting to hurt again. He rubbed it on the duvet. The painkiller Alfonso had poured onto his neck and back, a bright blue liquid called Finedyne, came off all over the covers. 

After a few minutes, he pulled himself to his feet, trying not to move his head so as not to aggravate the cuts. He had drunk so much water. He'd needed to. After doing what he needed to do he jumped off. Now, in the unlikely event anyone else came here, they'd know it was his territory.

Next to the bedroom was another, smaller room. It was shut and he tried to press down on the handle with his horn to open it. Someone had showed him that trick once on the farm. Nobody was there to hit him here. But touching anything with the tips of his horns was painful. He'd got clumsier; he couldn't use them to feel his way round or judge where he was. It took him several slow, careful attempts before the door opened.

This room was quite small and dark and Pepelito suddenly felt anxious. He backed away and mooed loudly, scratched the hard ground. Not that that was going to do any good, as he'd discovered. As he reversed, his hoof stepped on a light switch attached to a floor lamp. He felt slightly better about going in.

The room had a desk and computer at one end, and a filing cabinet. A wall on one side had a notice board covered with pictures. Each one of the pictures had a number and most of them were grouped. Some of them were of houses, some of them of woodlands, or fields.

But mostly, they were of dead humans.

Pepelito backed away, feeling a sudden inexplicable fear. His leg kicked a brown metal filing cabinet, which toppled and crashed to the ground. Papers and documents spilled onto the floor. He walked backwards out of the study, and backed away towards the living room, narrowly avoiding tipping over a bucket of water. The painkillers had worn off. He edged himself behind the sofa and lay down, panting but trying to keep quiet.