Chapter II: A Confrontation of McMahon Proportions

Samia Carlsen picked up speed once behind the black curtains. She had to get out of there before any members of the defunct nWo or Rob Van Dam found her. Particularly, she wasn't ready to hear face-to-face what he had to say about her return to WWE. She was almost at a jog as she pushed the fedora down over her hair to hide her face and pulled the gray and black jacket over her shoulders. She passed McMahon's office door and took off at a run, having finished her business with him almost two years ago.

"Mr. McMahon, sir, I want out," she nervously stated, although it sounded more like a question.

"Out of what, Miss Carlsen?" he asked, his brows knit together.

"I want to leave WWE." She glanced down as his eyes widened in surprise at her words.

"I'm sorry. Did I hear that right? You want to leave my company?" She only nodded. "The only woman here who's about had it all, the nWo's protégé, the Heart Break Kid's bed buddy, RVD's girlfriend, wants to leave? You are sitting on top of the world and you want out?" She nodded again, this time looking up at him. "From what you've done to me and my wrestlers, I don't see why I should just let you go. You were a thorn in my side while you played with the nWo." He rose and growled out the last sentence. She kept eye contact with no response on her face.

"All the more to let me leave," she coolly replied, finally finding her resolve.

He leaned across the desk, bracing himself with his hands. "No, and that's final." He sat down and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "Now, I believe you have a match to be preparing for."

"No, I don't," she replied, a hint of anger in her voice. He shot her an "oh, really?" look. She pulled a file from her briefcase and threw it down at him. Without a word, he opened the manila folder.

"This is your contract. So?"

"On page eight, there is a clause I've highlighted that you'll find interesting. Yes, this is my copy that you signed and had notarized. Please feel free to check it against personnel's when you get back to Connecticut next." When she had finished, McMahon flipped to the specified page and read the paper. "Oh, yes, I did get that by you," she said, confidently, as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in anger. "That was right before you caught on to us. Good thing I got that, um, what should I call it, 'indecency clause' written in time, huh?"

"Why didn't you invoke this when I put you in those matches against that Bradley woman?" he asked, throwing the file at her. She caught it before it hit her in the face.

"Why should I when I had all that power, prestige, and money?" Then she laughed. "To tell you the truth, I had forgotten about it at the time. Here's some advice, too much power will go to your head."

Vince quickly stood, knocking papers off his desk. "Get out of my office!"

"Not until you've agreed that I am no longer an employee of WWE and that I have not committed a breach of contract—"

"Oh, that's easy, you're fired—"

"And that I've not been fired because I have not done anything to be. You can't get away with it that easy. Here's the paperwork," she interrupted and pulled another file from her briefcase. McMahon perused the document and quickly signed both copies. She rose and jerked a copy out from under his hands as he barely finished dating it. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, sir." Samia stuffed the papers in her briefcase and headed for the door. "I bet you never thought in a million years that one of your divas could quit just because you put her in a swimsuit contest and a chocolate bra and panties match."

He picked up a crystal paperweight to throw at her but thought better of it. "If you've got it all at your fingertips, why are you leaving?" he surprisingly asked quietly.

She looked at him with an extremely serious face that was borderline anguish. "Because I have to." She quietly closed the door behind her and went straight to her car without saying 'goodbye' to any of her friends.

Her answer to Vince McMahon was no lie. It had been four weeks since she had backed Shawn Michaels down with a chair but had yet to return to an arena ring. That particular night she had returned to her Atlanta apartment to bide the time for a Thursday flight to a Saturday house show. The next morning found her so ill at her stomach she could barely get to the bathroom in time. Her first thought at being nauseated was quickly solved with a quick calendar check. She didn't care what was wrong as long as she wasn't pregnant. She squeaked through a phone call to the airlines to change her flight and then one to the Undertaker, who would have met her at the airport. She was so sick that she didn't even consider calling Rob Van Dam before falling back into a fitful sleep for the rest of the day. Friday and Saturday wasn't much better, so her friend Kerri came to stay with her for the weekend. Kerri made plans to get her to a doctor on Monday morning, whether Samia wanted to go with her or not. However, when Monday arrived, she was finally eating again and was able to stay up to watch RAW.

There was no house show until the next weekend and her flight was scheduled for Sunday. Yet, the same scenario seemed to have arisen. Samia woke up sick at her stomach that morning but was able to keep everything down to get to the airport and to the next city. She didn't realize how sick she had been until the Undertaker had woken her from a half-conscious state on a bench at baggage claim that she had confiscated for a bed. The hotel room called her name and she didn't leave again until Rob Van Dam came to collect her for the show. At the arena, he barely caught her when she almost passed out in the parking lot. They left her on Undertaker's couch until Bradshaw could get her back to the hotel. When she woke up feeling much better but not up to snuff, Bradshaw put her on a plane back home. He, RVD, and the Undertaker told her to get to a doctor and take the next weekend off. She agreed and made an appointment not just to see her general practitioner but also to see a psychiatrist.

Her dreams had gotten so out of hand that she slept only when she was sick and her brain had shut down. The nightmares still came, but at least they weren't every night. She had only ever taken twos chairshots in her stint with wrestling but every chairshot in her dreams was so bone-crunching that she woke up in actual pain. When she wasn't being physically beaten by someone in the nWo, Benoit, or Guerrero, she was running from them in a labyrinthine arena that had no exits. However, the dreams of almost being raped were the worst. They included all the brutality of the ring on top of her worst fears.

By the end of the consultation, the psychiatrist had a much too easy answer that Samia was definitely not wanting to hear—quit. Even though she had been through worse and never given up, according to the psychiatrist, it had all come to a head with her defection. She had been beaten down by wrestlers before, so that was not surprising where those dreams were coming from. Her protection was gone in the form of the five monstrous men and she didn't know whether or not she could truly trust the trio with which she now kept company. She had been humiliated by others' actions and through sporting her body before the crowd. However, she had not suffered one particular humiliation and that was the next logical step her brain was taking. Because of all this, she was subconsciously making herself sick when it was time to face her fears to keep from having to do so.

Samia considered the psychiatrist's conclusions all bunk when she walked out of the door of the office. Everything she had said was just stupid and Samia was not going to heed her advice. Then…in one more nightmare, her body was humiliated and broken in almost every way her mind could imagine, vividly, in detail, surround sound, and technicolor. It was so real that she didn't even know she was dreaming until she woke up by falling out of the bed. Regardless of the time of night, she dialed Rob's number. He had been in her nightmare, on the edge and suffering immensely for trying to save her; the man had lain over her broken body, his face in anguish. He mumbled a 'hello' into the receiver with a deep, rough voice that told her he had woken from a deep sleep. It was that voice that had comforted her in the night or had nudged her into sweet moments of love. She tried to say something but her throat closed on her and she could only hang up the phone. Even though it wasn't his fault, he was no comfort that night.

The next few days finally brought her to a decision. She had spent them in deep thought and there was only thing left to do. In just three weeks, wrestling had put her in such a state that she couldn't function, even though she had spent time on the doctor's couch trying to understand why this didn't happen to her after Benoit's and Guerrero's attack or when she first left the nWo. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. She had made the only decision that would help her keep her sanity and her friends safe, so she dejectedly stomped into McMahon's office. When she hadn't shown at the arena, Rob hunted her down at the hotel. She didn't answer the door at first but he had heard her on the phone with a friend. When she finally answered the door, he found her packing her bags for a late night flight.

"What are you doing? Are you sick again?" he asked, sitting on the bed and watching her pack.

"I'm going home," she bluntly stated.

"That's obvious. Why?"

"I quit tonight," she answered quickly.

"How did you get out of your contract?" Rob asked, turning around to watch her head to the bathroom to get the rest of her toiletries.

"Very carefully," she drawled out.

"Why did you quit?"

"I'm…I've not been feeling well…well, you already know that. My doctors think I should take time off."

"Well, do that. Go home for a few months and then come back better than ever," he said with a puppydog look on his face.

"No. I'm done. I can't explain why exactly but I can't come back," she replied, but turning away to gather a few clothes that lay on the floor.

"Is your…illness that bad? Did he do something to you?"

She knew precisely who he was—Shawn Michaels. "Yes to the first and no to the second."

Rob stopped her and took her hands in his. "You know we'll be here for you."

She jerked away from him. "I'm not dying! I'm just leaving this business." She threw a bottle of lotion in the bag and zipped it up. "Will you…or Mark—it doesn't matter who—make some kind of statement for me at the next show. Just say that I've got personal things to take care of and I'm sorry to disappoint anyone and…and whatever you think best." She took a big breath. From the way Rob was looking at her, she knew that if she didn't walk out the door now, all resolve would be gone. "I have to go. My plane leaves in an hour and a half."

"Can I call you?"

She didn't know how to take the question. Catching her off guard, she blubbered through an answer. "Well…I guess. Why not?"

With that, she closed the hotel door behind her, leaving him alone in the room, and walked out on her friends, fans, and career.

TBC…

Author's Note: A special thanks to Eternal Sailor Serenity for getting me started with an idea for this sequel!