A/N A darker one, rated M for violence. You've been warned. As ever, not mine.
2. Red is a Color
Red watched as the white floor tiles beneath him warped in and out of focus. Detached retina? Or just kicked in the head one too many times. He could see dark red spots jumping on the ground, hitting the floor and bouncing. A wet feeling on his cheek; a metallic taste in his mouth. Red. Red for blood. For danger. His cornflower blue stripe shirt picked up in Oxford last year was ripped and soaked. It was a little garish anyway. Boarding schools and Teddy boys. Hands chained above his head, his shoulders screamed when he sagged. Another blow to his kidneys. Be pissing blood for a week. Mr Kaplan won't be happy. Another blow.
"Why don't you try aiming a little lower?" Red's voice was imperious, and echoed round the windowless tiled room. Rooms like this one were not good. "That's what you really want isn't it? To spank my ass?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning him an eye-watering punch in the jaw. He spat blood onto the floor, watched as the spray made patterns on the tiles. Red for pain.
"I don't know you. Therefore I'm reasonably confident that you were hired for this job by someone else." He chuckled but it came out as more of a bloody cough. "So you mustn't take it personally when I inevitably kill you".
A hand on his shoulder then, for leverage, before a punch landed squarely at his groin. He blinked the tears from his eyes, a hissing noise the only sound he made. Red for lust. It's a miracle the equipment still works after years of this.
"If you're going to punch a man in the gonads you should at least introduce yourself first…Nothing? Well I can talk enough for the two of us, I'm sure you're aware of that, although it's highly doubtful that I'll say anything you want to hear."
A pull on a lever and the chain raised a fraction higher, the tips of Italian calf-leather brogues now only just meeting the floor, slipping on his own blood. They'll have to go too. Shame. What the hell is that?
It turned out to be an electric cattle prod. Very unfortunate, but unsurprising there'd be one to hand, it being a disused slaughterhouse. He stopped talking after that.
Electric shock is not good for the heart. The heart is unpredictable. In different ways it's both the strongest and the weakest organ. Break my mind and I'll put the pieces back together; even disordered fragments can clothe a withered soul. Break my heart… break my heart. Red is the color of love.
"Lizzie."
He always cried her name in the end.