I limped to the curtain, biting my lip to keep my eyes from watering. I was injured, and I was forced to be in a match. Against Randy Orton. Vincent Kennedy had been on a rampage since he lost his ECW Championship at One Night Stand one week and one day ago.

This wasn't fair. I had never said or done anything to Orton- ever. And I knew he would show me no mercy. I questioned myself why would he want to do something like this to someone who had done him no wrong but I realized that he was just being his cold, heartless self.

That was nothing I could change.

I wore a hot pink tank top, and a black mini-skirt with pink spankies.

The mini-skirt showed off my heavily bandaged injured upper right leg. I had a match with Melina at One Night Stand, and after I beat her, I got hit in the leg by a camera- several times by Melina. And it killed. And then the next night on RAW, I had to do a rematch with her-and won, but it made the injury worse.

And that had been last week. And now, I was going to get rampaged on- all because Orton and McMahon were heartless assholes.

My music, "Girlfight" Brooke Valentine pumped, and I reluctantly went through the cutain.

A troubled Lilian Garcia said, "...And his opponent, from Atlanta, Georgia...Natalie!!!"

I desperatly wished that my Uncle Dwayne (The Rock) was here, so I wouldn't be pummeled into oblivian

I regretted every step I took towards the ring. I managed to climb the steel steps okay, but I tried to raise my right- and injured- leg to get over the middle rope, but it simply couldn't be done.

I saw a glint of Orton's evil smirk as the referee sat down on the middle rope to assist me through it. I stood about five feet from Orton as the ref began to say something to him.

I closed my eyes, sighing deeply, trying not to shake- at that moment, I was scared of Randy Orton.

If I was one hundred percent, I wouldn't be as afraid of him. But I was like a wounded deer and he was a hungry bear. I opened my eyes as the bell rung, signiling the beggining of hell for me.

I looked to the side of the ring, making a grave mistake.

Randy Orton slapped me so hard across the face, I flew backwards, landing flat on my back. The side of my face burned so badly, and I tried to think of a way to get out of this.

The wetness on my face was NOT sweat- It was tears. I tried to sit up, but Orton slammed his foot down on my leg, causing me to cry out in aungish. I rolled over, managing to get on my hands and knees- although I balanced all of my weight on my left knee and hands.

Randy kicked me hard in the ribcage, causing me to whimper and collide again with the canvas. He kicked me twice in the ribs again and once in the back of my injured leg. He kicked me in the stomach, and I gasped for air as he attacked my leg. I rolled over onto my back, trying to protect every part of my body at once.

And then...it stopped.

The bell rung, signiling the end of the match. But I hadn't pinned him. And he didn't pin me.

Confused, I rolled onto my stomach, and looked around the ring. Only three people stood in the ring- none of which were Orton. Randy backed up the ramp, shouting at whoever had just saved my ass. The broad- shouldered man turned around.

John Cena and the referee ran over to me, both crouching beside me.

"Were gonna take you to the hospital," Said the referee loudly, as if I was deaf.

"I'm not going to a hospital!" I shouted, being my usual stubborn self.

"At least let me take you backstage to the doctor," John said.

"I can get there myself, Cena," I hissed.

I was to much of a proud person to rely on somebody else for something like this.

By the time I made it to the apron, John was already out of the ring.

I steadied myself on my left leg as I got out of the ring, holding onto the bottom rope.

I let go of it, and immediatly went plummiting to the floor. John caught me out of pure instinct just as I was about to hit the floor.

He pulled me up with such ease, I was slightly amazed. I tried to pull from his grip, but I had no energy to fight it- Orton had taken that out of me.

I realized I was both crying AND shaking badly- and that took to my pride like an axe to a tree. I sucked it up, trying to hide the tears.

John simply ahd one hand wrapped firmly around my waist, and I barley had to walk at all, purley because of his strength.

"I'll only be out of work two weeks?" I said, amazed.

"Yes," Began the RAW doctor, "It feels the worst right now, because it was just injured worse than it was before. But in order to be here and get my O.K to wrestle in three weeks from tonight, you need to stay off of your feet as much as possible- no autograph signings or photo shoots."

"Alright," I said as he wrapped my bruised ribs.

"And use these crutches whenever you absolutly need to travel," He said, handing me the crutches.

I thanked him, and hobbled out to find Cena standing outside of the door.

"Why did you do that?" I asked him blantenly as I began to hobble to the dressing room to get my bag. He followed me.

"It was a favor," He awnsered.

"For who?" I asked.

"For you, of course," He said, laughing.

"I barley talk to you, Cena. Why'd you do it?" I said, not believing him whatsoever.

"It was a favor...but to your unc-" He began, but I cut him off.

"To my uncle," I finished his sentance for him, "I should have known that. Well, thanks, I guess."

"What is your problem?" He snapped suddenly, stopping in front of me, preventing me from moving past him.

"Nothing," I lied.

"I'm stupid, your not just being a bitch to be a bitch. What's your problem?" He said.

"I'm being a bitch because you didn't do that for me," I hissed.

"What are you talking about?" He retorted, "Of course I did."

"No, you didn't!" I argued loudly, "You did it for my uncle."

With that, I pushed past him and into the dressing room. It was empty, and just as I got in there my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I've got a plane waiting for you to bring you home to Atlanta," Said the firm voice of my Uncle Dwayne.

How could he know? RAW hadn't even aired yet.

Cena. That asshole told my uncle.

"Alright," I said, knowing damn well I wouldn't be able to argue with him and win.

"I'll be there to pick you up," He said.

"O.K. I'll see you there, Uncle Dwayne," I said.

"You'll be staying at my house," He informed me.

I chuckled, "What? Don't you trust me with an injury?"

He laughed, "No, I don't. You'll run around town, or try to train and hurt yourself more. I know you, Natalie. You won't be able to stay down for two weeks if I'm not there."

I was going to kill Cena. Kill him.

"See you there," I said.

"Bye," He replied.

I hung up my pink RIZR phone and threw it in my backpack. I put the crutches aside, put my backpack over my shoulder and put the backpack back on, then grabbed my duffel bag, using my right hand to hold onto the crutch and my duffel bag.

I frowned at my best friend, Ashley not being there. She was back home, visiting her family. She would know just what to say.

I walked out of my dressing room, to once again, find Cena waiting for me.

"You told my uncle?" I hissed, glaring at him.

"Well, yeah, I told him, " He retorted, "He's my good friend."

"Get away from me," I said calmly as I could.

"Okay, whatever," Cena said, walking away.

This was none of his buisness. He didn't need to go blabber to my uncle about my injury. I went outside to find a limo waiting for me- typical for my uncle. I was taken to the airport, and helped onto a private plane.

I pulled a blanket over me and quickly fell into a troubled sleep.